Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC #2)(41)

The next morning I awoke early. I felt like shit. I had shut my eyes for about two minutes but my mind hadn’t been able to turn off. All of Ian’s words last night whizzed around my brain like an annoying mosquito in the night. He wanted me. He wanted us. It’s a shame he had to stomp all over me in order to come to that conclusion.

I had been up since six a.m. consuming copious amounts of coffee and distracting myself with online shopping. Nothing cured heartache like a new handbag. Or five. Gwen had ventured off to get more precious java since I had emptied the house of our supply.

“Morning, beautiful,” a rough accent greeted me.

I whipped my head up from my iPad. Ian stood in the doorway, shirtless and looking rumpled and seriously sexy.

His body was cut. He looked like he had rubbed oil on his six pack to make it glisten. It felt weird seeing a body free from tattoos; I had become accustomed to it. It didn’t make me any less turned on as I drank him in, remembering that body pressed against mine.

Ian’s body had momentarily distracted my caffeinated mind and I remembered I was annoyed with him. I jumped off the barstool, glaring at him.

“There’s food in the refrigerator—help yourself. Gwen’s gone to get coffee. She should be back soon.” I informed him, walking toward the living room. I couldn’t be in the same room as him when he was half naked; I was afraid of what I might do. Or what my hormones might do.

“Wait, Amy.”

I ignored this and kept walking. A strong hand grasped my arm, stopping me.

“What,” I started to say, but the arm whirled me around and yanked my body to a hard one. Ian’s mouth was on mine and I struggled at first, but I quickly melted into the embrace. My willpower shattered at his familiar touch, at the intensity simmering between us.

The kiss was wild and tender at the same time. His hand delved into my hair, the other gripping my ass. I let his tongue explore mine, savoring the slow burn that ignited with his touch. I shouldn’t be doing this. I was sure there was a multitude of reasons why I shouldn’t. I will stop it. In a second.

“Oh my god, my eyes!” A dramatic screech made me yank myself away.

Gwen’s horrified and disbelieving face darted between the both of us before she slammed the front door shut again. I didn’t miss the look of disappointment she shot at me before the door slammed.

“Fuck,” Ian muttered.

I ignored him and ran outside to try and repair the damage that kiss had done. This was not how I wanted Gwen to find this out. Ideally, I would have rasped it out to her on my deathbed so I wouldn’t have to face her wrath. That plan was foiled.

Gwen was pacing the lawn when I emerged.

“Gwen, stop—listen to me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s just—” I ran toward my friend, hoping the perfect explanation would pop out of my mouth but Gwen cut me off, her face wild.

“It’s just what, Abrams? You’ve been screwing my brother and lying to me about it?” Her yell was accentuated by a hard shove to my chest. I stumbled back, shocked at the fact she was getting physical. She didn’t stop her rant. “We never lie to each other. Ever. Jesus, how could you not tell me?” she yelled in my face.

Ian emerged from the house and tried to forage into the fray.

“Stay out of this, Ian, this is a chick thing. You don’t have a vagina so you don’t understand,” Gwen snapped at him.

Gwen had been glaring at her brother so the full weight of my pissed off stare didn’t penetrate with her. She was mad. I understood that. I expected that. But that didn’t mean she needed to go all “Jersey Shore” on me. I decided if she was going to get physical then so was I. I pushed her back, hard.

“Don’t push me!”

I didn’t know what I expected her to do, but tackling me to the ground shouldn’t have been a surprise. I tried to struggle, but for a tiny person she was scrappy as f*ck.

“It’s my brother, Amy. Do you not think I would’ve been happy for you two, you stupid idiot?” she screeched breathlessly as I struggled in vain to get the upper hand. I pinched her.

Her eyes flared. “Ouch! You bitch!” She looked like she was about to go for my hair when suddenly she was pulled off me. Cade had her in his arms, restraining her. I hadn’t noticed him pull up, deep in catfight mode. Ian helped me up before I flinched away from his touch.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” a small, hurt voice asked. I turned my thoughts away from Ian to my more important hurt best friend. I sighed.

“Shit, I don’t know, Gwen. First it was because I didn’t want to even admit how I felt, let alone admit it to you. Then things got complicated, you got hurt and there was never a right time,” I replied. It was a huge oversimplification of it all but I really didn’t want to pour my heart out to our current audience. They had already witnessed me lose a catfight. That was enough for today.

My gaze wandered past Cade and my breath caught in my throat as it landed on Brock. He had his shades on so I couldn’t see his eyes, but by the set of his jaw I could tell he was pissed. He was leaning against his bike, seemingly casual, but I could tell by the way he held his body he had figured Ian was the guy I was talking about yesterday. What a clusterf*ck.

Ian must have caught the stare off and made a connection of his own because he moved from behind me to stand in front of me, shielding me from the field of vision, and for all intents and purposes laying his masculine claim.