Page 37

Intelligence and paranoia often went together, Ice knew as he watched her swallow hard and continue her pacing. She was a CIA analyst, trained to think in terms of double-crosses and conspiracies. Ice could see that her intelligence and imagination was fueling the fear, making her see possibilities that would be invisible to most people.
Ice almost felt sorry for her. But he stayed silent and let Indy think herself deeper into the abyss of anxiety, the pit of paranoia. Yeah, he was starting to believe that his first instincts had been right, that she was indeed being set up. But it didn’t change the fact that he was tied up and compromised. His only priority was to get back in control.
Get back on top.
Now Ice coughed once, cleared his dry throat, gestured with his head towards the room-service tray on the bed. “Well, how about a drink, at least.”
Indy stopped at the far end of her pacing path. She was too far away for Ice to lunge at her. He needed to draw her closer.
She narrowed her eyes at him, flicked her gaze to the half-empty water-glass on her room-service tray, then looked back at him.
“Negotiation 101,” she said with the glimmer of a smile. “Never give away something for nothing. Quid pro quo.” She strolled closer to him, her hips moving in a way that made Ice’s throat seize up for real. “Sure, I can give you a drink. But what do I get in return?”
Ice shifted on his ass, wondering if she could tell how hard he was, how his body was taut like a wire as she got closer, how Ice was by no means sure what he would do when she got close enough for him to make his move, close enough for his hands to get on those curves.
“Consider it payback for saving your damn life,” he growled, his eyes narrowing as the animal in him began to awaken with every sultry step Indy took in his dark direction. He was rapidly moving past the point of reasoned negotiation, of thoughtful tactics. He just needed to hold steady until she was close enough.
And then he’d be on her.
Back in control.
Back on top.
Back where he belonged.
Indy stopped just out of his range. She tapped her big toe on the carpet. Her toenails were painted black, Ice noticed. Well-trimmed and perfectly even, toes naturally splayed in a way that told Ice she wore sensible shoes and also spent a lot of time barefoot.
Means she has good balance, Ice warned himself as she took another step towards him before stopping again. It won’t be easy bringing her down. She could sidestep you, kick you in the face, break your damn nose if she gets you with her heel or the ball of her foot.
Silence fell over them like a shroud. Then a sigh emerged from Indy. She padded over to the bed, giving Ice one more glimpse of her butt as she bent over and picked up the half-empty water-glass.
She turned and took a sip, leaving a smudge of saliva on the glass, a shine of wetness on her lips. She began to walk towards him, cautious like a cat, careful like a kitten.
Did she suspect something, Ice wondered. Was it written all over his face? Ice prided himself on being unreadable, but this woman had exposed a part of him with that comment about his parents, with that probe into his past, with those spot-on guesses that hit him where it hurt, opened up vulnerabilities he didn’t know existed.
His head buzzed as Indy moved closer with those glistening lips and those black-painted toes and that dark bruise on her cheekbone where he’d shoved her against the wall, pressed his hip into her ass before searching her for weapons as professionally as he could, using all his willpower to not squeeze that ass, to not pinch those nipples, to not part her legs and stick his damn face in there like the dog he was, to not rip off those stretch pants and tear off those panties to reveal her treasure, to sniff her secret, to take what he wanted, what he needed, what he knew was his.
Fuckinghis.
The last thought came not in words but in images, vivid and vicious, clear as daylight, darker than midnight, raw like a fresh wound, raging like a flooded river.
Suddenly she was close enough, and before he understood what was happening Ice went for her, lunging up with arms outstretched, leaping at her and almost pulling the whole damn sink out of the fucking wall as he pounced.
Indy screamed as Ice’s arms went around her knees. She kicked out but he locked her legs and dragged her down to the carpet.
Then he was on her like a beast on its prey, dragging her closer as she kicked and screamed, slamming his heavy body over hers and ramming his pelvis down hard against her hips to pin down her legs.
“Youfucker!” she gasped as Ice caught her right wrist just in time to save his damn eyeballs from her claws. “Youasshole!”
Ice cursed as her left hand got him on the nose with a side-swipe. She got him again, but finally he managed to grab the free wrist before she got a third shot in.
“Fuck, you made me bleed, you . . . youbitch,” he growled as he felt the hot blood pour from his right nostril down over his lips. His nose throbbed. It wasn’t broken, but she’d gotten a couple of solid blows in, enough to make his head ring like a dinner bell.
Ice shook his head to get it clear, blinked away the rage that was mixing with everything else this woman had made him feel, was still making him feel, feel in a way that was dangerous and deadly, like he wasthisfucking close to crossing the thin line that separated good from bad, man from beast, sex from violence.
He shook his head again to get the buzzing out of his brain. His hands were closed tight around Indy’s wrists, pinning her arms down into the carpet above her head.
She writhed and thrashed under him, but Ice was lying on top of her like a dead weight, his hard heavy body smothering hers, his crotch pressed into her hips, his bound legs between hers as she tried to break free.