Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC #2)(44)

I threw my arms up in the air. “Stop it! I’m not ‘yours’—I’m not anyone’s. I’m my own person. Belonging to a male does not define me and it sure as shit isn’t going to happen.” My anger threatened to turn me green as this whole freaking situation was hurtling out of my control.

Ian stepped forward. I held my hand up. “You need to leave,” I ordered, sidestepping him and opening my door.

He glared at me. “I’m not going anywhere until we sort this out,” he declared.

“There’s nothing to sort out!” I snapped at him. “You think we have some kind of future because now you’ve decided you want it. I disagree. Subject closed.”

Ian crossed his arms over his chest. “The subject is not f*ckin’ closed, Amy! I’m going to apologize a thousand times for the way I treated you, but I’m never going to apologize for loving you. I’m going to do it until the day I die, and I’ll do everything I can to make you give me another chance.” He stared at me a moment longer before he strolled out the door.

I slammed it, resting my back against it. I sank to the floor, holding my head in my hands. This was a disaster.





The next few days were spent dodging Ian. This was hard considering he had commenced his ‘make Amy forgive me and remember how much she loves me’ mission. He cornered me every chance he got and did all this chivalrous stuff like opening doors for me while blatantly checking me out and doing his best to touch me in some way.

I did my best to scowl at him, but I was only human. A woman could only be trapped in a house with a seriously hot soldier who she used to be in love with without something happening. That something was either pouncing on him or spontaneously combusting.

I did my level best to be at the store as often as possible and out of the house. I didn’t see or hear from Brock, which I was conflicted about. He was serious about being “done” and I was upset. Then I felt guilty about missing him when I had a kind and extremely sexy man declaring his undying love for me. I didn’t know what to think about the whole situation so I did the adult thing and tried to ignore it.

I couldn’t ignore it, however, on Ian’s last night when Gwen dragged me out to dinner with her, Ian, and Cade. It was torture; he sat across from me the whole night staring like I was his dinner. It didn’t help that his legs kept touching mine. He would purposefully brush them together, rubbing my ankles with his. He wasn’t even fazed when I attempted to kick him, only succeeding in spilling my cocktail.

The attraction between us was something not to be denied; neither was the reality of the fact he was leaving the next day. As much as I wanted to ignore the entire situation, I couldn’t when he was running back off to war and I would regret not laying it all out when I could. I couldn’t spend six more months obsessing over him while he was god knows where. I had to do it now. I was about to creep into his room after the house went quiet later that night, but my door slowly opened, showing he had beat me to it.

I had planned on saying a lot of things. On explaining why it wasn’t going to work after everything that had happened. On telling him I couldn’t open myself back up to him again. On letting him know that I had feelings for another man. I had a speech and everything. But it all tumbled out of my mind the moment he closed the door, the moment our eyes locked.

He was leaving the next day. I didn’t know whether I would see him again. He strode toward me purposefully and clutched my body to his, crashing his mouth on mine.

Ian kissed me tenderly, taking his time like he was savoring me. The feeling of his lips against mine, his hands on my waist had me pressing myself against his hard body. I poured every single bit of emotion I had into the kiss: all the love I had bottled up, all the anger I had already unleashed, everything. Ian directed me towards the bed, lowering me down and covering my body with his.

He peeled off my clothes slowly, worshipping every inch of my body. When I was naked he sat up, his eyes full of hunger and desire.

“You don’t know how much I’ve pictured this.” He ran his hand across my nipple slightly and I shivered. His mouth moved to cover it. “How much I craved the taste of your nipple,” he whispered. His mouth moved lower. “I thought about how sweet you tasted, how perfect it was when you came on my tongue,” he murmured, putting his mouth on me. I held back a scream as he brought me to climax, his tongue working magic between my legs, slowly and tenderly.

He stayed there for a moment, gazing at me. His rough face was soft and full of emotion. He seemed to shake himself out of the moment and pushed himself up to undress, not taking his eyes off me the entire time. When he was on top of me, divested of his clothes he stroked my face.

“I’ve dreamed of making love to you. When I was sleeping, hugging my rifle, fearing I’d wake up with a bullet in me, it was you I pictured to get me through,” he growled, pushing inside me.

I moaned as he moved slowly, making love to me. His huge hands cradled my face and his mouth moved against mine as he slowly built me up to explode in his arms. Every inch of his hard body was touching me, his eyes locked on mine. It was beautiful, tender, and the perfect way to say goodbye. To put an end to everything between us. To get closure.

I awoke the next morning to Ian’s arms around me and I felt conflicted. Extraordinarily guilty. Like I was betraying Brock. Then I felt like I was betraying Ian by thinking about Brock. I didn’t doubt that he was probably waking up next to some club slut right now, but what I was doing was worse. There was an emotional connection with Ian. I loved him. He loved me. He wanted a future with me. Commitment. The thing was I didn’t want that anymore. I didn’t want it with Brock, either. Not right now. We were too volatile. I loved Ian. Last night was proof of that. But it wasn’t the right type of love. Forgive the cliché, but I wasn’t “in love” with him. There was something missing with us. Something I wouldn’t have missed had I not met Brock. It was the fire, the passion, the wild urgency that made me feel like bursting into flames.