Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC #2)(22)

On that note I yanked myself out of his grasp and stormed into my house, slamming the front door behind me. I sank against it, breathing hard. Not from fear but arousal. I had really gone and done it. Wished for a hot * to come into my life and make me forget about a certain someone.

Be careful what you wish for, Amy.





After that encounter I had not been able to get Brock off my mind. Every time I thought about him I got pissed off. What kind of arrogant * alludes to the fact that he thinks Gwen and I are some kind of spies here to infiltrate a biker gang by sleeping with the members? Although that would make for a kick ass TV show. Two undercover agents attempting to bring down an outlaw motorcycle gang using only their wits and their feminine wiles, with the added bonus that the men they seduce are sexual demons. My mind wandered to plotlines for the TV show, or more specifically the sex scenes between the Brock and Amy characters.

“Amy!”

I jumped, looking guiltily at Gwen who had just called me. “I wasn’t thinking about an erotic TV show,” I declared quickly.

She frowned at me. “Okaaay.” She looked at me like I was insane. “I was going to ask you if you wanted more wine, but obviously you’ve already finished your own bottle.” She shook her glass at me then wandered out to the porch with a book in her hand.

I wanted to talk to her about the whole Brock thing; she was my best friend and I told her everything. She had been seriously grilling me. She knew something went on with Brock and I hated keeping things from her but I had to. If I mentioned why I was so pissed off at Brock I would have to mention that I had someone look into the club. She wouldn’t be mad I did it; I knew that much. She’d probably be unhappy I kept it from her. That wasn’t the main reason for my reluctance, though.

If I told her I looked into the club because I was worried about her, she would think it meant I didn’t think she was strong enough to make her own decisions about Cade. She would take it as me handling her like a victim, treating her like she needed someone second guessing her choices. It would break her heart, not to mention it was wrong.

Gwen was strong. She was the strongest person I had ever met. She was beaten within an inch of her life, almost gang raped by her boyfriend and his buddies, and she somehow still managed to come out the other side. Sure, her smile had a shadow every now and then and it has taken a lot for her to be around groups of men, but she was still her. She was kind of my hero.

Plus, if I told her about Brock she’d deduce he was an * and then question my reason for wanting to be with an * in the first place. Then I’d have to tell her about falling in love with her brother, not telling her about it, then getting my heart broken by him. That she would get mad about.

Keeping secrets from Gwen was like keeping secrets from the other half of myself. But it was over with Ian. No need to bring it up. That got me thinking. All of my weird thoughts about Brock had taken up my headspace; I hadn’t once thought about Ian. Four days. That was a record.

Since it looked like I was leaving heartbreak city in my rearview, it was time to ovary up and get out there. Since shit had recently gone down with Gwen and Cade I decided that motorcycle men were not the way to go for us. This brought me to the conclusion we needed to gussy up and check out the nightlife this town had to offer. But first I had to get Gwen out of that awful football shirt.

Sipping delightful cocktails, talking to some attractive men in well-tailored suits…I mentally slapped myself on the back. I had divested Gwen of her shirt, replaced it with Gucci and taken us to Laura Maye’s chic bar.

I was impressed with the tasteful furnishings and sleek décor, not to mention the view. Within minutes of getting there we had scored free drinks from our current companions. Now a couple of hours later I was completely happy. And also reasonably drunk. I didn’t think the two were connected. I was sitting very close to an advertising executive whom I had forgotten the name of. Not that his name was important. He had been telling some boring story which I was half listening to, I was trying to figure out what kind of body hid under that shirt. He looked lean, like one of those guys that did marathons regularly and had wheatgrass growing in their apartments.

“Do you run?” I interrupted, needing to sate my curiosity.

He stopped talking and looked confused. “Excuse me?”

“Are you a runner?” I repeated. “Like marathons and stuff. You look like a runner.”

He stared at me for a second and then smiled confidently. “Why yes, I am. I just completed a 20k last weekend,” he declared with a slightly puffed up chest.

“I knew it,” I whispered, almost to myself. I was about to ask how his wheatgrass was growing when an angry male voice penetrated the conversation. I was glad. Who ran 20k voluntarily? This guy was nuts.

“You won’t be buying her any more drinks.”

I blinked up to see Cade glowering down at the guy Gwen had been talking to. I started to smirk until I spotted Brock directing the same look at Marathon Guy.

I got what Cade was doing here. I was even happy about it; I had hoped he wouldn’t be stupid enough to let Gwen get away. Plus, she had been pining around the house for him for days. She needed Cade. They had a freaky deaky connection. Anyone could see that. But I didn’t get why Brock was here. I had met him once, shared some sexual chemistry with him, then argued with him. He certainly didn’t need to back up Cade, he could wipe the floor with these guys. Not that he needed to, since he was currently directing Gwen toward the restrooms. Kinky bastard.