Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC #2)(5)
My dreamy gaze wandered to the Tiffany clock on my dresser. Shit. This guy had the ability that made me completely forget about the prior engagement I was seriously late for. That was a feat in itself; the horrific night ahead of me was as easy to forget about as genital warts. I turned my thoughts to my closet and directed my body toward it, picking out an outfit on autopilot.
I slipped on a silk Calvin Klein gown, one that I knew looked amazing on me. I may have been trying to position my second encounter with Ian on more even ground; ground which I planned to be standing in designer footwear. Plus, designer armor was essential when going into battle with my mother. A fire-breathing dragon would be ideal, but I worked with what I had.
I hurried to my bathroom and commenced in doing a day to night transition of my makeup and hair. Luckily I was one of those women who could chuck her hair in a messy bun and make it look artfully messed. My talents, although useful in everyday life, did not really make me capable of contributing anything valuable to society. Something my mother loved reminding me of.
After finishing I moved to my full-length mirror for a quick inspection.
My soft grey metallic dress was cut on the bias and hugged my body in all the right places before falling softly to my feet. It had spaghetti straps which snaked down way low on my back. My red hair escaped from the bun artfully, falling in wisps around my face. I regarded my face in the mirror. As a natural redhead I was plagued with freckles. Some days I cursed them, others I liked them. Today I had let them peek out from under my makeup, just a light dusting on my cheeks. With a subtle smoky eye and a light pink gloss on my lips, I deduced I looked good. Good enough to face Ian again, and hopefully regain my ability to turn a phrase.
I entered the living room to a glorious sight. A view of Ian from behind. I was right; you could totally eat a steak off that ass.
“Yeah, Ace, she just arrived home about half an hour ago. I think I gave her a bit of a fright,” he chuckled.
I cleared my throat before he could recount the rest of our encounter, which Gwen would no doubt find hilarious.
Ian turned slowly, phone to his ear, smirk on his face. Did this guy have a permanent sexy grin on his face? If so, the chances of me pouncing on him increased exponentially.
When he turned to me the grin disappeared. It was replaced with a dark gaze so full of lust I struggled not to run over and hump his leg. I guess my dress had its intended effect. I mentally high fived myself.
“Sorry, Ace, didn’t quite catch that.” Ian spoke huskily, eyes still on me.
Now that I had recovered from the power of his male gaze I smirked and cocked my hip.
“Yep, that’s fine—I get you got to work late. I’m sure I can find a way to entertain myself.”
Breaking our eye contact, I moved through the living room while he spoke to gather things into my purse, feeling eyes on my naked back.
“I don’t think Amy can act as my babysitter tonight, Gwen. She looks like she’s off to some fancy ‘do,” he exclaimed, his accent seriously hot and rugged. I didn’t even care that I had no idea what a ‘do’ was.
I shelved a borderline sick babysitter fantasy and had a brilliant idea. I whirled around and ignored the panty-dropping stare I was getting, snatching the phone from Ian.
“Hey Gwen, don’t worry. I’ve got Ian sorted for tonight—he can come to this charity gala with me,” I told her, watching as Ian raised his eyebrows.
“Really? Oh, thanks so much, Ames. I’m sure he’ll hate it as much as you do, but at least he won’t be sitting in an empty apartment on his first night back from a warzone. Fucking work. I can’t believe I have to stay and sort out this order. On the day my big brother arrives,” she whined, sounding pissed.
“Um, sorry to put a spanner in the works here, but I can’t go to any ‘galas’ on account of the fact I don’t have a monkey suit stuffed in my duffel and by the way you’re dressed, I don’t think my jeans and tee will cut it,” Ian interrupted, watching me.
“You’re perfect as you are,” I replied, phone still at my ear. He seriously was perfect. If I had the ability I would sculpt him out of marble. Maybe I would commission a miniature of him for my own personal use.
“You’re so using Ian to piss off your mum and all the stuffed shirts at this charity thing, aren’t you?” Gwen knew me too well.
“I can neither confirm nor deny that, Gwen. Got to go—we are so late already. Don’t work too hard.” I cut the call off, knowing Gwen wouldn’t actually mind I was using her brother as a pawn in my constant battle to beat the Botox in my mother’s face to get it to form a frown. She’d just be angry she couldn’t be there. I was kind of glad she wouldn’t, considering I’d probably be drooling over her brother the entire night.
The drool-worthy brother was watching me with a raised eyebrow. “You’re telling me that you’re going to a party dressed like that and I’ll be okay in this?” He gestured down to his attire with a skeptical gaze.
I didn’t look down, for if I did I might just pull up his shirt to inspect his abs. I needed to make sure I didn’t do things like that; he was my best friend’s brother. Off limits. Which only made him so much hotter. This was going to be a huge test on my willpower; even worse than that time I decided to do a raw food detox.
“You’ll be fine, trust me. My mother’s the one throwing the party.”