Firestorm (The Sons of Templar MC Book 2) Page 3

  My mother’s eyes went to my multiple cocktails and she opened her mouth. Ian, the sweetheart, beat her to it.

  “You must be Mrs. Abrams. I’m Ian Alexandra, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I apologize for my lack of formal attire, but I just got back from deployment and Amy wasn’t expecting to have to babysit me tonight.” Ian cut in smoothly, taking my mother’s hand in his.

  His rough accent and veiny arms transfixed me, and I struggled not to stare. Or drool. I focused on sipping my drink.

  “Oh, that’s quite all right. It isn’t your fault at all—Amy has the entire Upper East Side on speed dial. She could have wrangled you up a suit. I’m sure the thought never occurred to her though. She always has so much pressing matters on her mind, like the next club opening she has to attend.” My mother delivered that barb with a smile and continued. “Deployment? You’re in the Army? With that accent you must be Gwenevere’s brother. Your parents must be so proud to have two such successful children. I only wish Gwenevere could influence Amy a little more.”

  I took a deep breath and willed myself not to react to my mother’s apparent disappoint in me and my accomplishments. It didn’t matter I had just graduated from Columbia or that I helped facilitate one of the biggest business deals my father’s company had ever had. I was a constant disappointment. I think if I had found a cure for cancer she would have replied with, “Only cancer? You couldn’t cure something like HIV as well?”

  Ian’s face turned hard and he moved to stand beside me. “Our parents are proud of us no matter what, Mrs. Abrams. That’s what makes them such good parents—they would never judge or criticize Gwen and my decisions. If you’d excuse us, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

  Without letting my mother get a word in Ian swept me away toward the bar. I whipped my head around to watch my mother’s frozen face staring after us. I gazed up at Ian in awe.

  “That was freaking awesome. I may just promise to carry your firstborn for that,” I joked.

  Ian gave me a long and serious look that wiped the smirk right off my face. The intensity behind those green eyes was scary as hell. It also made wetness pool between my legs.

  “I’ll remember that, sweetheart. Your mum, she always like that?” His face was focused on mine with…concern?

  “That’s damn near warm and cuddly from her. I’m surprised she didn’t eat me at birth,” I replied, going for breezy. Gwen was the only one who knew the effect my mother’s disdain had on me.

  Ian raised an attractive eyebrow. “I don’t like that for you, sweetheart. Someone as beautiful and funny as you could not have come out of that.” He scowled over at my mother. “You must have had a rough fucking childhood,” he muttered as he took my empty glass out of my hand.

  I locked eyes with Ian. “Yeah, my life was so hard with a private chef and birthdays where I got gifts like a BMW baby racer,” I joked.

  Ian frowned at me. “That crap doesn’t mean shit when you’ve got parents who treat you like that,” he said quietly.

  I stilled. How could he see through the blasé attitude toward my mother’s indifference—or let’s face it, straight up hostility?

  “Yeah, well, I made it out alive and I didn’t turn into a designer-clad vampire, so it’s a win.”

  I scanned the room, observing the usual suspects, some of whom were glancing in this direction. Well, almost all of the female population were salivating at Ian.

  Back off, bitches, he’s mine.

  Wow. Where did that come from? I was not a jealous person and Ian was most certainly not mine. Maybe this martini was spiked and causing me to have weird thoughts. I frowned down at my glass. Surely Ian wouldn’t roofie me; he should have known he could click his glorious fingers and I’d be his.

  Those glorious fingers lightly grasped my chin, and with his other hand he put my drink down.

  “Look at me, beautiful. Trust me, from someone who knows how lucky he is to have two loving parents, I’m sorry you didn’t have that. And I’m fucking amazed you are who you are, having been brought up like that.”

  “You don’t even know me. I could be a raging bitch, just one surgery away from becoming like them,” I whispered to him, transfixed with his stare.

  “I know enough. And I know who my sister is and what she’s told me. I know you’re special. Knew it the moment I laid eyes on you.”

  Okay, this was serious shit. Like defcon level five type shit.

  Battle stations! Do not let the sexy soldier with the endearing accent in! At all costs, people!

  “The first time you laid eyes on me I was in my underwear brandishing a candlestick. I’m sure you knew I was some kind of special,” I replied with a raised eyebrow.

  Ian smiled but his eyes darkened.

  The moment was charged with a sexual tension that I didn’t know was real outside of romance novels. I was so fucked.

  “Amy, you love to make our mother’s blood pressure rise, don’t you? Just once could you come to one of these events and not cause some kind of stir?”

  My brother’s superior tone interrupted the moment. For once I was glad for the patronizing little shit’s scolding.

  “Tripp, what would be the fun in that? She’s already got her Stepford son. I’m just keeping her on her toes, making sure all that plastic surgery and hairspray doesn’t fry her brain,” I replied, giving my brother a sweet smile.

  He frowned at me disapprovingly. Where I was the imprint of my mother, Tripp was the imprint of my father. You would never even guess we were related. Where I had pale skin and red hair, he had olive-toned skin and dark locks. His eyes were dark and his jaw chiseled. He was expertly groomed like always, down to suspiciously manicured eyebrows. His short hair was styled perfectly, and I knew it would have taken him longer to do than mine. His suit was of course designer and tailored expertly.

  My gaze moved to the woman hanging off his shoulder and I struggled not to roll my eyes in distaste. Okay, maybe I didn’t struggle.

  “Penelope, so lovely to see you,” I lied through gritted teeth.

  “Amy, darling, it’s so good to see you too. You look great. I would be too nervous to wear something as revealing as that to an important event such as this, but you really make a statement.” Her voice was sickly sweet, but the thinly veiled insult was clear.

  I despised this woman. I had known her since we were kids, on account of our parents being friends, which meant I unfortunately was forced to be in her presence a lot. Her only aims in life were to snag herself a well-to-do husband that Daddy approved of and to make other girls feel terrible about themselves. She was a snake. A pretty one at that, with blonde hair, blue eyes and an hourglass figure, but a Gucci-clad reptile she still was. I was less than impressed she was latched onto my brother. Although hardly surprised. She had been after him since we were kids.

  “Who’s your date, Amy?” she purred, eyes roving over Ian.

  “Sorry, how rude of me. Ian, this is my brother Tripp and this is Penelope,” I stopped myself from elaborating further as I was worried I might label Penelope as man-eating bitch and Ian as a sex god.

  “How do you know my sister, Ian? Did she pick you up from a bar on the way here? It wouldn’t be the first time,” Tripp asked, disdain dripping from his tone.

  “Of course I didn’t He’s my bodyguard,” I interrupted sarcastically. “He’s here to make sure one of the silicone socialites doesn’t shiv me in the bathroom.” I gave Penelope a pointed look.

  Ian coughed beside me; I was pretty sure he was doing it to cover up his chuckle. I was happy he was on board with my flavor of humor.

  Tripp scowled at me. “Can you take anything seriously?”

  I glared back at him. “Can you at least pretend you have manners and treat my guest with respect? I’m doing the same with yours, despite her being Satan’s mistress,” I bit out, ignoring Penelope’s fake gasp.

  “It’s okay, Amy, I’m sure your brother is just being protective. I understand. I’m Gwen’s brother, I
an.” He held out his hand which Tripp shook.

  Penelope was glaring at me. I smirked at her, daring her to come at me. I’d been itching to bitch slap the evil little twat for years. Unfortunately, she was far too image conscious to pounce on me in front of so many well-to-do types. She was more likely to slip arsenic in my martini when I wasn’t looking. I glanced to my brother, whose small manicured hand was still encased in Ian’s large one.

  Tripp’s eyes bulged slightly at Ian’s no doubt firm grip and I smirked into my glass.

  “If you would excuse us, there is someone I would much rather talk to over there.” I gestured vaguely to the other side of the room, grabbing Ian’s hand.

  “Having fun yet?” I asked dryly.

  Ian grinned. “I know some battle-hardened soldiers who would prefer to be in a gunfight than this situation.” His voice was teasing.

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet, soldier boy.”

  Two hours, four martinis and some nonexistent canapés later I was feeling pleasantly buzzed. Also supremely horny. Like I almost wanted to jump on Ian and beg him to take me in front of the entire party horny.

  Ian and I had been having a ball all night, trying to get the masks of the image conscious attendees to slip at our risqué conversation topics. I was finding it hard to focus on the current conversation I was having with some investment banker. No, wait. Even if I wasn’t struggling with impure thoughts over a sexy but off limits man I would be bored to death at this conversation.

  “The way the economy is at the moment, most people are struggling to turn a profit. Not me. It all comes down to instinct.”

  I restrained a snort. More like he had Daddy’s checkbook.

  “Speaking of instinct, I have a certainty I must take you out for dinner tomorrow night. I own the nicest little Italian restaurant, plus we could take my jet to wine country.” His hand trailed down my arm and I inspected his manicured nails with indifference. He was like a clone of every guy in here. Money, good looks, arrogance, and a certainty that the female race should drop at their feet.

  Gag.

  “I’m going to have to go with my instinct and give you a resounding no on that one,” I informed him.

  The banker was unruffled, arrogance making him unable to fathom the fact someone was saying no to him. “No one can say no to Italian,” he urged.

  “Trust me, it’s not the Italian I’m saying no to.”

  “Oh, come on,” he pressed and I was starting to get seriously irritated.

  “I believe the lady said no, mate,” a rough voice declared from behind me.

  I felt callused hands on my arms gently pulling me out of the banker’s reach.

  He glanced at Ian and dismissed him just as quickly, opening his mouth to no doubt spit something patronizing before trying to lure me away with a description of his stock portfolio. Thankfully I was directed away by the same callused hands that brushed my bare back. I tried to ignore the increase in my heartbeat, the flames that burned underneath his hands, the pool of desire settling between my legs, but I couldn’t.

  “As much fun as I’ve had tonight watching you shine like a fucking supernova amongst all these idiots, I think it’s time I took you home.” Ian’s mouth brushed my ear as he directed us towards the exit.

  My breath hitched at the suggestion. Did he mean what I think he means? Was ‘take me home’ code for sex, or did he just mean escort me back to the apartment I shared with his sister? Ugh, my man whisperer powers have left the building and I seemed to have reverted to an awkward teenager incapable of speech.

  “Slugger! Don’t tell me you’re running off so soon! The bar is still fully stocked and nothing’s on fire—that’s not like you.” A booming voice carried over the soft-spoken socialites, who looked over their shoulders in distaste.

  I grinned wide. “Uncle Garrett! I thought you were in India,” I reluctantly pulled myself away from Ian to be hauled into my uncle’s embrace.

  “Oh, fuck no. I got out of that shithole as soon as I could. Not my idea of a good time—dirty filthy place,” he declared into my hair.

  “Good to see you are as politically incorrect as always, Uncle G,” I responded dryly.

  I loved my Uncle Garrett with all my heart; he was the only reason I didn’t consider myself adopted. And the only reason I couldn’t say with certainty my mother was an emotionally stunted cyborg.

  Garrett pulled away to hold me at arms-length and inspect me. “You are looking stunning, as always. The plastic surgery queens don’t hold a fucking candle to you, Slugger. Speaking of my sister, where is she?” Garrett asked, scanning the room with a gleam in his eye.

  To say they didn’t get on would be like saying the Titanic only grazed the iceberg. But, like me, Garrett reveled in pissing my mother off, especially by acting decidedly uncouth at these events. We were usually partners in crime, getting drunk off the open bar. And there may have been an incident with a small fire, only teeny tiny. That woman’s eyebrows grew back, I’m sure.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t know. I paid my obligatory dues and caught my share of veiled insults for the night, so I guess she’s done with me,” I responded, feeling Ian’s heat at my back.

  Garrett’s eyes moved from scanning the room to inspect Ian. He grinned. “Well, the fact you aren’t wearing a goddamn monkey suit makes me like you already, whoever you are. Amy didn’t drag you off the street, did you?” he asked cheekily, holding out his hand. “Garrett Lucas, the closest thing Amy has to a blood relative, on account of the rest of them being blood-sucking vampires,” he joked.

  Ian shook his hand, firmly like all men seemed to do. I got distracted looking at the muscles in his arms pulse as he clenched. My mind wandered to other types of clenching, like the kind his ass would do as he pounded into me.

  “Ian Alexandra, pleased to meet you sir. Amy did not drag me off the street, although you aren’t the first person to ask me that tonight.” Ian regarded me with a raised brow.

  I tried my best to look innocent. I was afraid that didn’t work, considering I had just been daydreaming about getting fucked by the man standing in front of me. While in front of my uncle. I needed to see a psychiatrist.

  “It’s only happened once before,” I argued, trying to get my head in the game and away from thoughts of Ian’s penis.

  Garrett raised his eyebrow.

  “Okay, maybe twice,” I conceded, feeling red creep up my cheeks. I never blushed. I was beginning to worry Ian was the catalyst for some kind of medical condition. Was pheromone poisoning a thing?

  “This one’s a handful, my man, but she’s worth it.” Garrett winked at me and I cringed; for some reason my favorite uncle thinking I was involved with this sexy piece of male deliciousness was a blow. Maybe it was because he actually cared about my personal life, unlike the rest of my family, and would ask about Ian the next time we talked. I would then have to correct him in telling him who Ian really was and how he was so off limits. Like carbs or refined sugar.

  I opened my mouth to correct him but someone beat me to it.

  “I know she is,” Ian declared, gazing down at me intensely and not at all platonically.

  So maybe tonight could be my cheat night. I did it for diets; why couldn’t I do it for socially off limits men?

  “As much as I would like to stick around and shoot the shit with you two, I’ve got to go and embarrass my sister. Have a good night.” Garrett winked at me again, pecked me on the cheek, then strutted off in the direction of my mother. I almost wanted to stay and watch the drama unfold.

  “Time to go home.” A rough voice tickled the nape of my neck, sending shivers right down to my happy place.

  I glanced up to meet Ian’s eyes yet again, about to say something when the hunger in his gaze stopped me short. I only managed to nod stupidly and let him lead me out the door.

  The promise in his eyes, in his tone, the hand on my back, it all spoke a language I was fluent in. Sex. I wanted Ian more than I had ever wanted another man.
I had never felt this attracted to anyone before. And that’s saying something since I’d dated a couple of seriously yummy Calvin Klein models. Ian was just so male. Not just in the way he looked, but how he acted, so different than all the men I had in my sexual past. Maybe it was because he was from New Zealand; an exotic, different kind of male than I was used to. Masculinity seemed to waft off him. If that’s how they bred them in New Zealand I should seriously consider moving there.

  I had to fight it though, no matter how freakishly strong our connection was. It would be a seriously uncool thing for me to do to my best friend. Ian and I would have amazing mind blowing sex, then something would happen, we’d end it and it would be supremely awkward for the rest of time. I wouldn’t do it.

  “You hungry?” I asked Ian as he opened the door for me.

  “Fucking ravenous,” he answered in a gravelly voice, eyes flaring.

  I gulped and tried not to picture the fact his eyes were not talking about food. Nope. I failed. The image of him in between my legs, using that beautiful mouth to make me come made my knees buckle. I shook my head.

  “Me too. For food, I mean. Yes, food,” I stuttered, trying to find my cool.

  Ian watched me with a smirk.

  “There’s an awesome pizza place in Brooklyn that boasts the best pie in the city. The least I can do is buy you dinner after subjecting you to that horror. I bet you wish you were back in the war zone now,” I joked.

  Ian stopped us at the curb, hand on the door to our car. “You have no idea how happy I am to be right here. All that,” he gestured to the hotel, “was worth every fucking second cause it meant I was with the most beautiful woman in the room. Every guy in there wished he was in my shoes.”

  I stared up at him, unprepared for that response and unprepared for the emotions it garnered within me.

  Luckily Ian didn’t wait for a verbal reply, which I was thankful for. He opened the door. “And there’s no way you’re paying a dime for the pizza.”

  I couldn’t argue because the door shut behind me. I sighed and leaned back into the seat. I wondered how I wasn’t going to pounce on this guy.