Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC 2)

“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, fuck 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 fucking 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.

I tried my best to look innocent. I was afraid that didn’t work, considering I had just been daydreaming about getting fucked by the man standing in front of me. While in front of my uncle. I needed to see a psychiatrist.

“It’s only happened once before,” I argued, trying to get my head in the game and away from thoughts of Ian’s penis.

Garrett raised his eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe twice,” I conceded, feeling red creep up my cheeks. I never blushed. I was beginning to worry Ian was the catalyst for some kind of medical condition. Was pheromone poisoning a thing?

“This one’s a handful, my man, but she’s worth it.” Garrett winked at me and I cringed; for some reason my favorite uncle thinking I was involved with this sexy piece of male deliciousness was a blow. Maybe it was because he actually cared about my personal life, unlike the rest of my family, and would ask about Ian the next time we talked. I would then have to correct him in telling him who Ian really was and how he was so off limits. Like carbs or refined sugar.

I opened my mouth to correct him but someone beat me to it.

“I know she is,” Ian declared, gazing down at me intensely and not at all platonically.

So maybe tonight could be my cheat night. I did it for diets; why couldn’t I do it for socially off limits men?

“As much as I would like to stick around and shoot the shit with you two, I’ve got to go and embarrass my sister. Have a good night.” Garrett winked at me again, pecked me on the cheek, then strutted off in the direction of my mother. I almost wanted to stay and watch the drama unfold.

“Time to go home.” A rough voice tickled the nape of my neck, sending shivers right down to my happy place.

I glanced up to meet Ian’s eyes yet again, about to say something when the hunger in his gaze stopped me short. I only managed to nod stupidly and let him lead me out the door.

The promise in his eyes, in his tone, the hand on my back, it all spoke a language I was fluent in. Sex. I wanted Ian more than I had ever wanted another man. I had never felt this attracted to anyone before. And that’s saying something since I’d dated a couple of seriously yummy Calvin Klein models. Ian was just so male. Not just in the way he looked, but how he acted, so different than all the men I had in my sexual past. Maybe it was because he was from New Zealand; an exotic, different kind of male than I was used to. Masculinity seemed to waft off him. If that’s how they bred them in New Zealand I should seriously consider moving there.

I had to fight it though, no matter how freakishly strong our connection was. It would be a seriously uncool thing for me to do to my best friend. Ian and I would have amazing mind blowing sex, then something would happen, we’d end it and it would be supremely awkward for the rest of time. I wouldn’t do it.

“You hungry?” I asked Ian as he opened the door for me.

“Fucking ravenous,” he answered in a gravelly voice, eyes flaring.

I gulped and tried not to picture the fact his eyes were not talking about food. Nope. I failed. The image of him in between my legs, using that beautiful mouth to make me come made my knees buckle. I shook my head.