Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC #2)(42)

I narrowed my eyes. Gwen got in before I could unleash my feelings for that gesture.

“This is not the time to discuss any of this, okay? Go back inside and put some clothes on, Amy, the neighbor’s boys will be snapping photos of you with their phones.”

I looked down, remembering my lack of attire. Luckily I hadn’t slipped a nip.

“Ace, we’ll talk inside, okay? Just calm yourself first—we don’t want any more brawls in the living room.” Ian stepped in, his voice level and calm like always.

He directed me into the house with his hand on the small of my back. I reluctantly let him, hating the intimacy of the gesture at this point in time. Hating that I couldn’t go to my friend and pour everything out to her. And also hating the look Brock had directed at me.

“Why didn’t you just pee in a circle around me, Ian? Then everyone in the neighborhood would know to stay away,” I bit at him sarcastically as the door closed behind us.

Ian turned to me with a hard expression. “That was him, wasn’t it? Brock.” He spat out his name like it tasted bad. He didn’t give me time to answer. “Do you love him?”

“That’s none of your business. He is none of your business,” I said, crossing my arms.

“It is my f*cking business. You’re my f*ckin’ business because I love you!” he yelled.

I stood silently, taken aback at the sudden slip in his usual iron clad temper. He ran his hand through his short hair; it was a gesture I saw a lot when he was frustrated or stressed. He stepped towards me to lightly put his hands on my hips. His green eyes met mine. “I love you, Amy. You’re all I think about when I’m over there. I tried to let you go. To forget you. So you could move on. I can’t. I want you. You want me too,” he said gently.

“I used to,” I admitted quietly. “You can’t expect me to jump into your arms after saying something like that. You left. You left me.”

The person saying that wasn’t the independent, strong Amy Abrams. This was the vulnerable little girl who had been neglected and left behind too many times.

Ian’s face hardened. “It’s because of him, the biker.”

I shook my head. “It’s because you broke my heart and now you’re acting like I should be ready to jump back into things with you. I can’t.” I pulled out of his grasp.

“Amy,” he said.

“I need to think. I need time,” I declared.

His face softened. “Take all the time you need. I’ll wait for you. Forever if I have to.” It hardened into a grim look of determination. “And I’ll fight for you. I’m not going to do the polite thing and stand down. I’ll fight tooth and f*ckin’ nail to make you mine. For good.”





CHAPTER SEVEN


I did need time. I needed space. I needed to breathe, away from all of the stifling emotions that cropped up from being in the same room as Ian…and from being in the same zip code as Brock. I swear I could feel the heat of his fury. So I took a drive. I drove down the coast and tried to clear my head. It didn’t work. My thoughts bounced around the interior of my car.

The way it felt with Ian when we were together was easy, right. Then there was the way I felt when he left me. How excruciating the pain of a broken heart was. How debilitating the sting of his rejection was. Then it was back to Brock. He was the fire to Ian’s ice. Ian was cool, calm, never lost his temper. Brock ran wild and hot and his emotions simmered on the surface.

When I got back home hours later I still didn’t know what to feel, but I did know I wasn’t going to run back into Ian’s arms. Too much had happened. Ian was drinking beer in the kitchen when I arrived home, he stood, eyes on me.

“You’re back.”

“You’re perceptive. Bet that’s why they’ve got you in the army, huh, soldier?” I remarked dryly.

He grinned. It was his cheeky grin with the side of his mouth and it made his hard army fa?ade crumble and remind me of the playful guy underneath. He tapped his head “I’ve got it going on up here.” After an expectant look he asked, “So, you’ve thought?”

Irritation bloomed. “Really? You think after I go for a drive I’ll have it all wrapped in a tidy bow and ready to give you what you want, after you’ve decided you want it?” I snapped.

Ian’s brows furrowed. “Well, I know it’s what you want too. The way you kissed me this morning, babe, you still want me. I sure as shit still want you.” His eyes darkened and I ignored the flutter between my legs.

“You’re a hot guy. Of course I want you. That doesn’t mean I’m going to forgive you and decide to wait on the sidelines patiently for you to finish playing war,” I snapped.

“I’m not playing war, Amy. It’s my job, it’s my duty! It’s been my life for ten years—it’s not something I can just walk away from,” he argued. He stepped forward and his gaze turned feral. “This is about the lowlife biker. He’s in your head,” he growled.

“Don’t talk about him like that! You have no right to act jealous. You gave away that right when you dumped me,” I hissed at him, hurt seeping into my tone.

Ian looked frustrated. “I told you, I thought I was doing the right thing, what was best for you.”