Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC 2)

“See you tonight, Sparky.” His voice was full of promise.

“Mmmhmmm,” I replied, my mind already at the tonight part. My panties dampened in anticipation.

Gwen and Lily were both smiling at me as I got off the phone. “What?” I asked them defensively.

Gwen looked sad for a moment, then her smile returned. “It’s just good to see you happy, to see you and Brock finally happy. You deserve it.”

I smiled back at her, but I knew it was a sad smile. “Thanks, Gwennie, although he makes me happy approximately twenty percent of the time and pissed off the other eighty,” I declared.

Gwen snorted. “Whatever. You love arguing with him. It’s like foreplay for you two.”

I couldn’t disagree with her there.

Things between Brock and I had been good the past week since I’d been home. He had been crazy possessive and protective, would growl at me for being on my feet too much, and was intent on making sure my legs were healing. He got an angry, faraway look in his eyes every now and then when he saw the bandages, but other than that he kept his fury at bay. I didn’t get much more out of him as to what was happening with Devon, which pissed me right off. When I told him this he replied, “Babe, you had to deal with that shit for a week—likely you’ll be dealing with it for the rest of your life. Let me deal with as much as I can so it’s not on your shoulders.”

I argued that it should be on my shoulders since it was my family’s problem in the first place; therefore the club should not bear the responsibility nor face the danger that came with “dealing with” Clark Devon. Brock disagreed.

“You’re family. You’re mine. Therefore it is my responsibility to sort this shit out and make sure it doesn’t touch you again. Plus there needs to be retaliation against someone who harms the Sons.”

At this point the argument threatened to descend into the problem I had with me landing as a possession, but a phone call had interrupted and he had kissed me firmly before declaring he had club business to attend to.

So apart from that things were good. He stayed with me every night and checked in multiple times during the day. He was there to hold me when I jerked awake from nightmares of Rafe and his blade. He made me feel safe and loved.

There was an undercurrent to our happiness though. The least of which was the fact I hadn’t uttered those three little words. It’s not that I didn’t it’s that I wasn’t sure I was ready for the giant strings that were attached to it. The potential for heartbreak. The power it gave him. Plus there was the big elephant in the room that was Ian. Or more precisely Ian’s death. Brock knew there was a history, I suspected he knew my feelings for Ian, and he hadn’t confronted me about it. I knew it was coming though.

I had finally broken down and spilled the beans to Gwen about almost everything in regards to Brock. I kept silent about most things regarding Ian because she still flinched anytime she heard his name and I didn’t want to upset her. She also was convinced I had missed out on my true love and was ecstatic I had a second chance. I also didn’t want to break her heart setting her straight on that one.

Needless to say, she was happy with the fact Brock and I seemed to be together and she informed me that Cade was over the moon. I found it hard to believe that that big gruff man had any strong emotions over my romantic life and told her as much. She had clarified it was because Brock was no longer threatening to disembowel everyone that pissed him off which was, prior to our reconciliation, everyone.

So on the surface at least things were good, apart from the fact I still needed an escort everywhere and the house of cards that Brock and I had built our unsteady relationship on.

I was curled up on the couch a few hours later Googling plastic surgery and scar removal. I had gotten my stitches out earlier; although the angry red lines looked seriously scary right now the doctor assured me they would fade. She did say there was a chance they could be almost fully removed with surgery, so I was looking at my options. A knock at the door interrupted my web surfing. It was a good thing too because I was getting worried about the fate of my scarred legs thanks to the Internet.

I expected Brock and my stomach fluttered with anticipation. I frowned slightly at this. I wasn’t a girl that had stomach flutters. I got turned on; I didn’t get butterflies in my stomach at the prospect of sex. But I couldn’t ignore the little fuckers fluttering around in my mid-section.

I opened the door with a grin, planning on pouncing on the hot biker on the other side of it.

“Why are you knocking? You usually just…” I stopped short. The man at the door was not Brock.

He was good looking, that was for sure. He had light brown skin that hinted at exotic origin, just not one I could place. His black hair was close cropped to his head which accentuated his handsome face. He was freaking tall and had serious muscles.

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else,” I explained, meeting the handsome man’s eyes. For once I wanted to encounter a normal freaking male in this place. One that did not make my womb clench.

The man smiled; it was warm and made his face light up. “That’s okay, I’m sorry to turn up unannounced,” he said. “I’m Keltan.”

“Yes, you are,” I muttered, eyes on his tee.

His eyes twinkled. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “I’m Amy. How can I help you?”

He had jerked in recognition at my name.

Oh shit, please don’t be here to kidnap me.