Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC #2)(9)
“Having fun yet?” I asked dryly.
Ian grinned. “I know some battle-hardened soldiers who would prefer to be in a gunfight than this situation.” His voice was teasing.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet, soldier boy.”
Two hours, four martinis and some nonexistent canapés later I was feeling pleasantly buzzed. Also supremely horny. Like I almost wanted to jump on Ian and beg him to take me in front of the entire party horny.
Ian and I had been having a ball all night, trying to get the masks of the image conscious attendees to slip at our risqué conversation topics. I was finding it hard to focus on the current conversation I was having with some investment banker. No, wait. Even if I wasn’t struggling with impure thoughts over a sexy but off limits man I would be bored to death at this conversation.
“The way the economy is at the moment, most people are struggling to turn a profit. Not me. It all comes down to instinct.”
I restrained a snort. More like he had Daddy’s checkbook.
“Speaking of instinct, I have a certainty I must take you out for dinner tomorrow night. I own the nicest little Italian restaurant, plus we could take my jet to wine country.” His hand trailed down my arm and I inspected his manicured nails with indifference. He was like a clone of every guy in here. Money, good looks, arrogance, and a certainty that the female race should drop at their feet.
Gag.
“I’m going to have to go with my instinct and give you a resounding no on that one,” I informed him.
The banker was unruffled, arrogance making him unable to fathom the fact someone was saying no to him. “No one can say no to Italian,” he urged.
“Trust me, it’s not the Italian I’m saying no to.”
“Oh, come on,” he pressed and I was starting to get seriously irritated.
“I believe the lady said no, mate,” a rough voice declared from behind me.
I felt callused hands on my arms gently pulling me out of the banker’s reach.
He glanced at Ian and dismissed him just as quickly, opening his mouth to no doubt spit something patronizing before trying to lure me away with a description of his stock portfolio. Thankfully I was directed away by the same callused hands that brushed my bare back. I tried to ignore the increase in my heartbeat, the flames that burned underneath his hands, the pool of desire settling between my legs, but I couldn’t.
“As much fun as I’ve had tonight watching you shine like a f*cking supernova amongst all these idiots, I think it’s time I took you home.” Ian’s mouth brushed my ear as he directed us towards the exit.
My breath hitched at the suggestion. Did he mean what I think he means? Was ‘take me home’ code for sex, or did he just mean escort me back to the apartment I shared with his sister? Ugh, my man whisperer powers have left the building and I seemed to have reverted to an awkward teenager incapable of speech.
“Slugger! Don’t tell me you’re running off so soon! The bar is still fully stocked and nothing’s on fire—that’s not like you.” A booming voice carried over the soft-spoken socialites, who looked over their shoulders in distaste.
I grinned wide. “Uncle Garrett! I thought you were in India,” I reluctantly pulled myself away from Ian to be hauled into my uncle’s embrace.
“Oh, f*ck no. I got out of that shithole as soon as I could. Not my idea of a good time—dirty filthy place,” he declared into my hair.
“Good to see you are as politically incorrect as always, Uncle G,” I responded dryly.
I loved my Uncle Garrett with all my heart; he was the only reason I didn’t consider myself adopted. And the only reason I couldn’t say with certainty my mother was an emotionally stunted cyborg.
Garrett pulled away to hold me at arms-length and inspect me. “You are looking stunning, as always. The plastic surgery queens don’t hold a f*cking candle to you, Slugger. Speaking of my sister, where is she?” Garrett asked, scanning the room with a gleam in his eye.
To say they didn’t get on would be like saying the Titanic only grazed the iceberg. But, like me, Garrett reveled in pissing my mother off, especially by acting decidedly uncouth at these events. We were usually partners in crime, getting drunk off the open bar. And there may have been an incident with a small fire, only teeny tiny. That woman’s eyebrows grew back, I’m sure.
“Oh, I wouldn’t know. I paid my obligatory dues and caught my share of veiled insults for the night, so I guess she’s done with me,” I responded, feeling Ian’s heat at my back.
Garrett’s eyes moved from scanning the room to inspect Ian. He grinned. “Well, the fact you aren’t wearing a goddamn monkey suit makes me like you already, whoever you are. Amy didn’t drag you off the street, did you?” he asked cheekily, holding out his hand. “Garrett Lucas, the closest thing Amy has to a blood relative, on account of the rest of them being blood-sucking vampires,” he joked.
Ian shook his hand, firmly like all men seemed to do. I got distracted looking at the muscles in his arms pulse as he clenched. My mind wandered to other types of clenching, like the kind his ass would do as he pounded into me.
“Ian Alexandra, pleased to meet you sir. Amy did not drag me off the street, although you aren’t the first person to ask me that tonight.” Ian regarded me with a raised brow.