Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC 2)

“You must be Mrs. Abrams. I’m Ian Alexandra, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I apologize for my lack of formal attire, but I just got back from deployment and Amy wasn’t expecting to have to babysit me tonight.” Ian cut in smoothly, taking my mother’s hand in his.

His rough accent and veiny arms transfixed me, and I struggled not to stare. Or drool. I focused on sipping my drink.

“Oh, that’s quite all right. It isn’t your fault at all—Amy has the entire Upper East Side on speed dial. She could have wrangled you up a suit. I’m sure the thought never occurred to her though. She always has so much pressing matters on her mind, like the next club opening she has to attend.” My mother delivered that barb with a smile and continued. “Deployment? You’re in the Army? With that accent you must be Gwenevere’s brother. Your parents must be so proud to have two such successful children. I only wish Gwenevere could influence Amy a little more.”

I took a deep breath and willed myself not to react to my mother’s apparent disappoint in me and my accomplishments. It didn’t matter I had just graduated from Columbia or that I helped facilitate one of the biggest business deals my father’s company had ever had. I was a constant disappointment. I think if I had found a cure for cancer she would have replied with, “Only cancer? You couldn’t cure something like HIV as well?”

Ian’s face turned hard and he moved to stand beside me. “Our parents are proud of us no matter what, Mrs. Abrams. That’s what makes them such good parents—they would never judge or criticize Gwen and my decisions. If you’d excuse us, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

Without letting my mother get a word in Ian swept me away toward the bar. I whipped my head around to watch my mother’s frozen face staring after us. I gazed up at Ian in awe.

“That was freaking awesome. I may just promise to carry your firstborn for that,” I joked.

Ian gave me a long and serious look that wiped the smirk right off my face. The intensity behind those green eyes was scary as hell. It also made wetness pool between my legs.

“I’ll remember that, sweetheart. Your mum, she always like that?” His face was focused on mine with…concern?

“That’s damn near warm and cuddly from her. I’m surprised she didn’t eat me at birth,” I replied, going for breezy. Gwen was the only one who knew the effect my mother’s disdain had on me.

Ian raised an attractive eyebrow. “I don’t like that for you, sweetheart. Someone as beautiful and funny as you could not have come out of that.” He scowled over at my mother. “You must have had a rough fucking childhood,” he muttered as he took my empty glass out of my hand.

I locked eyes with Ian. “Yeah, my life was so hard with a private chef and birthdays where I got gifts like a BMW baby racer,” I joked.

Ian frowned at me. “That crap doesn’t mean shit when you’ve got parents who treat you like that,” he said quietly.

I stilled. How could he see through the blasé attitude toward my mother’s indifference—or let’s face it, straight up hostility?

“Yeah, well, I made it out alive and I didn’t turn into a designer-clad vampire, so it’s a win.”

I scanned the room, observing the usual suspects, some of whom were glancing in this direction. Well, almost all of the female population were salivating at Ian.

Back off, bitches, he’s mine.

Wow. Where did that come from? I was not a jealous person and Ian was most certainly not mine. Maybe this martini was spiked and causing me to have weird thoughts. I frowned down at my glass. Surely Ian wouldn’t roofie me; he should have known he could click his glorious fingers and I’d be his.

Those glorious fingers lightly grasped my chin, and with his other hand he put my drink down.

“Look at me, beautiful. Trust me, from someone who knows how lucky he is to have two loving parents, I’m sorry you didn’t have that. And I’m fucking amazed you are who you are, having been brought up like that.”

“You don’t even know me. I could be a raging bitch, just one surgery away from becoming like them,” I whispered to him, transfixed with his stare.

“I know enough. And I know who my sister is and what she’s told me. I know you’re special. Knew it the moment I laid eyes on you.”

Okay, this was serious shit. Like defcon level five type shit.

Battle stations! Do not let the sexy soldier with the endearing accent in! At all costs, people!

“The first time you laid eyes on me I was in my underwear brandishing a candlestick. I’m sure you knew I was some kind of special,” I replied with a raised eyebrow.

Ian smiled but his eyes darkened.

The moment was charged with a sexual tension that I didn’t know was real outside of romance novels. I was so fucked.

“Amy, you love to make our mother’s blood pressure rise, don’t you? Just once could you come to one of these events and not cause some kind of stir?”

My brother’s superior tone interrupted the moment. For once I was glad for the patronizing little shit’s scolding.

“Tripp, what would be the fun in that? She’s already got her Stepford son. I’m just keeping her on her toes, making sure all that plastic surgery and hairspray doesn’t fry her brain,” I replied, giving my brother a sweet smile.

He frowned at me disapprovingly. Where I was the imprint of my mother, Tripp was the imprint of my father. You would never even guess we were related. Where I had pale skin and red hair, he had olive-toned skin and dark locks. His eyes were dark and his jaw chiseled. He was expertly groomed like always, down to suspiciously manicured eyebrows. His short hair was styled perfectly, and I knew it would have taken him longer to do than mine. His suit was of course designer and tailored expertly.