Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC #2)(37)

I thought for a second. “I think I have my hands full with Brock at the moment. Literally. He is very well endowed.” On that thought my head snapped up. “I’m sorry, I know he’s your friend, I haven’t meant to be such a witch to him.”

Rosie waved her hand. “Don’t you dare apologize. Brock’s a big boy, and by the sounds of it he’s been an *. This isn’t all on you. Unfortunately, I have a feeling they might meet. And I don’t think the first thing on their mind will be becoming brother husbands.”

I put my face in my hands. “Why can’t I be a lesbian? I feel like my problems would be so much easier if I liked girls.”

“I agree—if it wasn’t for the fact I liked sex with men I would have turned a long time a ago,” Rosie said, folding some sweaters. She glanced up at me, her face turning from joking to serious. “What are you going to do?”

I looked at her, feeling overwhelmed. “I honestly don’t know. I was getting over Ian. I was at peace with the fact we weren’t going to be together. And Brock...” I trailed off. I couldn’t articulate my feelings for him right now. They didn’t exactly rival the feelings I had for Ian. They were different. Raw and all consuming.

“I need to go for a walk,” I declared. We had been quiet all morning. “I’ll take my cell. You get busy, call me,” I said.

“I’ll be fine. Go and clear your head. But you can’t take off to Canada, no matter how enticing the prospect,” she joked.

I had been tossing up the merits of leaving the country and seeking asylum. A few minutes later I walked along the beach, carrying my heels in my hand and letting the water kiss my toes. I was sure I’d regret it later when I got sand in my seven hundred dollar shoes, but right now it was therapeutic. I was letting the water wash all my man troubles away when it washed something else right up in front of me. Running out of the surf, holding a board and looking all wet and delicious was Brock.

I stopped walking.

“Shit,” I muttered.

We hadn’t spoken since our yelling match four days ago and I was surprised to realize how much I had missed him. I itched to go running into the surf and pounce on him, no matter the fact I was wearing a white lace Chloe dress that would not survive salt water. It must be serious if I was willing to risk couture. The fact that his abs looked great dripping with water and his long wet hair framing his attractive face had me willing to throw my entire wardrobe into the ocean if need be. I had already decided to turn and remove myself from the situation when Brock’s head turned my way and his eyes locked on mine.

At that moment while he changed direction and strode towards me I was locked in place. It was as if his gaze had turned the sand underneath my toes into quicksand.

“Sparky,” he greeted me softly.

“You surf,” I replied, drinking in his sculpted body.

“As much as I can,” he replied.

“I’ve always wanted to surf,” I continued.

“I can teach you.” He seemed to not be perturbed by the weirdness of my greeting.

“You’d want to drown me after five minutes.”

Brock’s face went dark. “Maybe. But I’d want to f*ck you after five seconds. Especially if you wore that red bikini that makes your tits look good enough to eat.”

Silence descended at the mention of the red bikini and the argument it represented. “I’m sorry I was such a bitch. It was all a bit...intense,” I blurted, feeling generally sorry.

“Shit, babe, I’m sorry I came on too strong with the whole old lady thing. It’s too fast for you, I get it.” He ran his hand through his damp hair and I followed it intently with my eyes. “It’s too f*ckin’ fast for me as well. But I can’t stop f*ckin’ thinkin’ about you, babe. Your body, your hair. That bikini, the way you taste.” His eyes were dark on mine. “Fuck it,” he muttered. He speared his board into the sand and grabbed the back of my neck, pulling my body against his damp and hard one.

I melted into the kiss, submitted to the firestorm that followed his touch. As his hand squeezed my ass roughly I was able to gain some coherent thought.

I pulled back. “We need to stop,” I said breathlessly.

“Yeah, if by stop you mean go to your place so I can f*ck you against the wall while you’re wearing that virginal f*ckin’ dress I agree,” he growled and I almost complied. Hell, I almost suggested the sand at our feet.

“We can’t,” I said firmly. More to myself than him.

He frowned. “Why the f*ck not?”

“We can’t do this for...awhile,” I declared, not wanting to end it entirely. It was selfish and possibly cruel, but the thought of never feeling Brock’s explosive touch again had me feeling vaguely nauseous.

Brock’s frown turned into a glare. “What are you talking about, Amy?”

“We just can’t, okay?” I said quietly.

Brock’s hands tightened at my hips. “That’s not a reason, and not something I’m going to accept, baby.”

I huffed at him. “Well, it’s my prerogative to end something without giving a reason if that’s what I want,” I shot at him.

A hand moved from my hip to graze the side of my breast. “Yup, it may be your prerogative but it sure as shit isn’t what you want. Tell me what’s going on,” he demanded.