Firestorm (The Sons of Templar MC Book 2)

By: Anne Malcom

“Bring it on.” Ian winked at me and got out of the car, rounding it to open my door for me. I clasped his outstretched hand and almost gasped at the spark I felt touching his skin. He pulled me up and the look on his face told me he felt it too. That moment everything seemed to fade away and it was just the two of us. There was a connection, something I couldn’t explain; an attraction tethering us together as if we hadn’t just met two hours ago.


“Miss Abrams, who are you wearing tonight?”

“Over here, Amy! Give us a pose!”

The voices of photographers shook me out of the moment, which was good. I couldn’t be having some freaking insta-lust type shit with my best friend’s brother. I needed to focus on the mission at hand.

I stepped forward to give the photographers a quick snap, but I was stopped with a hand on my back. I tried to ignore the desire that spread through my body from that touch as Ian directed us towards the doors, shielding me from the camera flashes.

“Who’s the new man, Amy?”

“Does that mean the rumors about you and the prince aren’t true?”

The questions died away as we reached the doors.

“You didn’t have to whisk me away like that. I have plenty of experience with this stuff—heck, it’s a normal Friday night for me,” I told Ian as I presented the man at the door with the invitation. Not that I needed it; he knew who I was. He gave Ian’s attire a speculative look before nodding.

“Have a nice evening, Miss Abrams.”

Ian raised an eyebrow at the guy and gave him a casual chin lift.

“Yeah, well, if you’ve been with the right man you wouldn’t have had to deal with that stuff. A real man wouldn’t let his woman get ogled like that, especially when he knew what the fuck those photos were being used for,” he bit out, directing us to the main room as if he’d been here hundreds of times.

I turned my head to look up at him. “Seriously? The only thing those photos will be used for is determining if I’m ending up on the worst dressed list.”

I had never ended up on the worst dressed list. I wouldn’t be starting today.

Ian glanced down at me, eyes twinkling. “Trust me, I’m a man. Those photos will be used for a fuck of a lot more than that.”

I scrunched up my nose. “Ew. I didn’t need that image.”

“Yeah, well, neither did I. It’s going to be hard enough looking at all the stuffed suits scramble over their Botox-filled dates to talk to you,” he replied stiffly, scanning the room and leading us toward the bar.

Ah, a man after my own heart.

I struggled to comprehend the meaning behind his words. They certainly seemed protective and almost angry, but that didn’t make sense. I was his kid sister’s best friend; we barely knew each other. That did not warrant this reaction. I chose not to believe he was feeling the same freaky attraction I was. Even if he wasn’t Gwen’s brother I didn’t do relationships. I knew they only caused a world of hurt. Caring, feelings, that fricking four-letter word. They all amounted to pain and heartbreak. I was in control over my heart and it would belong to no man…apart from Karl Lagerfeld.

I scanned the people at the party and my eyes fell on my mother. The look she was giving me, and more precisely Ian, was evidence that she had spotted me far earlier. She started to make her way over to us, smiling at her society friends tightly.

I glanced up at Ian. “Can you do me a solid and grab me a martini from the bar? Dirty.” I paused, gauging the expression on my mother’s face. “Make that two,” I amended.

Ian raised an eyebrow. “Sure thing, sweetheart.”

I sighed in relief as he escaped just before my mother arrived.

I took a deep breath. Katherine Abrams was a beauty; no one could dispute that. Her hair was the same red as mine, but colored to disguise any grey hairs. It was expertly coiffed into a chignon which accentuated her sharp cheekbones. Her makeup was flawless, like always, applied by her makeup artist. Her face was free from any lines thanks to surgery and injections. She was wearing a jade green gown which accentuated her trim figure, due to the fact she counted calories and barely ate more than one meal a day.

“Amy, darling, glad to see you could finally make it. I’m sure I told you countless times to be here at seven. Did your watch break? You know, your father and I got that for you to remedy your inability to monitor time passing.”

Fate was a cruel mistress to make me face this creature sober.

“Mother, how lovely to see you,” I lied, giving her air kisses.

I then shook the pricey timepiece my parents had gotten me, which I wore to every event I knew I would encounter them. “You know, these days watches have become obsolete. I merely think of this as a pretty bracelet,” I declared airily and watched my mother’s eyes narrow.

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