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Pushed at the door.
It was locked.
And Ice’s thundering heart almost exploded in his chest.
He staggered away from the door like he’d been shot.
Totally crushed.
Absolutely destroyed.
He blinked about ten times, shocked at his body’s reaction, the way it felt like he was coming apart at the seams. It was the sickening feeling of being rejected by your high-school crush, but a hundred times worse because it was so unexpected, so unwanted, so fucking uncharacteristic.
Now Ice began to pace the empty bedroom, the shellshocked sensation dissipating with every angry step. Soon his jaw was tight like wire, his eyes narrowed to focused slits, his fists clenched with determined fury.
But the anger wasn’t directed at Indy.
It was directed at himself.
Because he understood now that the game wasn’t being played against the woman behind that door.
It was being played against himself.
Hell, this woman had turned Ice against his own inner being.
Made him fight back his own natural need to dominate, to take control, to fuckingwin.
Yeah, she’d made Ice doubt his own instincts, second-guess his own motives, hold back what needed to come out.
Now Ice stopped his pacing and grinned like a madman. He stared blankly at the bathroom door, then rubbed his stubble and stormed out into the living room.
He went to the front door, peered through the spyglass like a manic obsessive, tested the deadbolt and the chain. The door itself was reinforced steel, fire-proof to make sure a room-fire didn’t spread to the entire hotel. Nobody was coming through this door without explosives. And that would take time. It would take a team. It was very unlikely someone was going to storm into this hotel room tonight.
Still grinning like a damn maniac, Ice went to the window and double-checked the steel frame. The thick glass panels were bolted to the steel. No way to open them without smashing your way in—which wasn’t happening because there was no balcony or ledge and they were too high up for anything but a chopper.
Which meant the next time anyone was going to disturb them would be when that hotel attendant returned with Indy’s clothes in a couple of hours.
Ice pulled the drapes closed and strode back to the center of the room. He was grinning so hard his face hurt. That reasoning part of him was still whispering a warning, but this time Ice wasn’t having any of it.
“Think very carefully about what you’re about to do, Ice,” he muttered, pulling his shirt off over his head, unbuckling his canvas utility belt, kicking off his military boots and hopping out of his combat pants. “This is a bad idea and you damn well know it, so just stop and get your head right.”
But although the words rolled off his tongue, they sounded distant and muffled through the hot blood pounding his ear-drums. His body had taken over, and Ice was doing things his brain definitely didnotwant him to do.
Within seconds he was naked like a bear in the woods, all gleaming skin and rippling muscle. He thought a moment, then snatched up his combat pants and pulled out the Glock 9mm from the left cargo flap. Thought another moment and grabbed his sheathed blade from the side-table. Best to keep these handy just in case.
His gaze rested on his sunglasses, and he chuckled, tucked his knife under his armpit, picked up the shades and put them on.
Then before his frantically protesting brain could shout another warning Ice stormed into the bedroom and without breaking stride slammed his heavy shoulder into the bathroom door.
The deadbolt ripped through the wood inside the frame, the door swung open with a violentslam, the momentum barreling Ice into the steamy bathroom like the invader he was, the animal he was, the man he was.
A man who’d found his woman.
A man who’d found his mission.
A man who hoped to hell he’d read this right.
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