Firestorm (The Sons of Templar MC Book 2)

By: Anne Malcom

“Darling, you must let Anna do your makeup for these events. She would give you the perfect powder to cover up those freckles—they make you look common.” My mother eyed my cheeks in disdain.

I didn’t have time to reply as she glared at Ian’s jean-clad back. Her face was tight and expressionless. But I swear a vein in her eye twitched. This only helped cement my theory that she was a cyborg incapable of human emotion. The normal reaction of a human woman would be drooling, or at least swooning over the male specimen in front of her.

“Really, Amy? Is this your latest attempt to embarrass me?” she asked, her judgmental gaze now focused on me. “You bring some hoodlum to my event dressed like a drug dealer?”

“Oh, but he is a drug dealer, Mother. You know how hard it is to get good blow at these things. I thought I’d just cut out the middleman,” I replied seriously.

My mother raised an eyebrow; well, as much as was possible with the amount of Botox in her face. “When are you going to grow up, Amy?” She sighed.

I pretended to think about that. “If by grow up you mean buy a closet full of Burberry, play tennis, head ridiculous charities and have a stuffy banker husband, I’m going to say...never,” I told her. “And plus, I thought the idea of aging in any way shape or form is utterly distasteful to you, considering the amount of surgeries you’ve had to stop the evidence of time’s passing,” I added.

God, I wish I had a drink. Or at least a hammer to whack myself in the head with.

Katherine scowled at me, preparing a no doubt scathing retort when Ian approached us. He handed me my two drinks.

“Here you go, Ames,” he said softly.

“I love you,” I muttered under my breath, cradling my precious drinks.

My mother’s eyes went to my multiple cocktails and she opened her mouth. Ian, the sweetheart, beat her to it.

“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.

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