Firestorm

by Anne Malcom

  “I’m guessing you must be Amy,” he stated causally, shamelessly eyeing my barely clad body.

  I stood straight, refusing to cover myself; this was my freaking apartment, after all. I also refused to acknowledge the flutter of desire that came with his gaze. Getting turned on by a man who had just broken into your apartment? That’s fucked up, Amy, no matter how hot he is.

  “How do you know my name?” I questioned.

  Shit, maybe he was here to kidnap me and hold me for ransom. The hottest guy I’d laid eyes on in my life and he wasn’t around to date me, but kidnap me. Great. But then again, that accent sounded familiar. I had a feeling I was missing something.

  The hunk crossed his arms and I failed not to appreciate the way his veins bulged when he did that. I mentally shook myself. Focus. Strange man in house, not good.

  “Every time I talk to Gwen she mentions you at least four times. Although she failed to quite accurately describe you.” His voice was full of manly appreciation and so was his gaze, which had my nipples in danger of popping out from the seriously flimsy material encasing them.

  That was not my main concern right now, considering my brain was the one in control of this situation, although my ovaries were fighting for the opportunity to rub up against him. Something flared at the edge of my mind while I battled not to have weird burglar sex fantasies.

  “You’re Gwen’s brother,” I said slowly, doing a mental forehead slap. I had completely forgotten he was arriving today, regardless of the fact Gwen had informed me this morning. But in my defense I had only had one cup of coffee, which meant my brain only had control over limited motor function. It was only number three at which I processed and retained information.

  “Amy, don’t forget that Ian’s arriving today. I’ve left a key with the doorman, so don’t be freaked if you come home to a strange man in the apartment—he is not there to rape or murder you. And try not to walk around naked, either.”

  Shit.

  “Ian.” Gwen’s seriously hot brother shocked me back into the present moment. “What?” I asked, trying to figure out if there was anything in the immediate vicinity to cover up my nakedness. I subtly glanced around for a robe, a throw…hell, I’d settle for a rug. I was out of luck. In any other situation I would have been happy to be in such a state of undress in front of a sex god, but meeting my best friend’s brother for the first time was something that required clothing. And in his case, a chastity belt.

  “The name’s Ian. I would shake your hand, but I’m figuring you might want to put away the deadly weapon and put on some clothes before we exchange pleasantries.” He nodded to my body, eyes teasing. My panties dampened at the underlying sexual hunger in his gaze. Not appropriate, Amy.

  “Not that I don’t appreciate the view,” he continued cheekily.

  I felt my face flame. I threw the candlestick back on the side table with a clatter without breaking eye contact with Ian.

  “Um, yes, I think that would be wise. I’ll just, ah…” I pointed with my thumb to the direction of my room while sidestepping there, really not wanting to share the fact I was wearing a g-string.

  “You do that,” Ian responded, eyes sparkling.

  I had made it to the edge of the room with Ian watching me the whole time, even though the polite thing would have been to avert his gaze or excuse himself to the corner. But no, he just kept the edge of his attractive mouth up; his green eyes had both rendered me mute and sparked a flame of desire that made me want to jump him then and there.

  I am not a woman who gets rendered mute. Especially with men. I’ve always thought of it as my kind of superpower. I could flirt my ass off and pretty much use my feminine wiles to mold men into my little puppets. I don’t mean to be vain or anything but it’s the truth. Some people are math geniuses or brilliant artists; I’m a man whisperer.

  But not with this one. Oh no, I wouldn’t have been surprised if I spent the entirety of my journey to my bedroom slack-jawed and drooling. This guy had a presence, an air about him that screamed male. His hungry male gaze maintained eye contact with me as I edged into the hallway, then rushed into my room.

  In the safety of my bedroom I gathered my scrambled thoughts. The first one being that Gwen’s brother was hot. I shouldn’t be surprised, considering Gwen was a total babe and I had seen photos of him. Hotness ran in the family. But photos seemed a poor representation of the real thing.

  His dark hair was shaved close to his skull in a military buzz cut, which didn’t make him look like a skinhead or a lice victim. No, it made him look like a bad ass. Think Channing Tatum in G.I Joe times a thousand. He had a square masculine jaw and freaking amazing green eyes like Gwen’s. His face was not classically handsome; it was rugged and masculine as fuck.

  His body. I couldn’t get stuck on that thought for too long or I would turn into a drooling mess on the floor. He was built, like built. Broad shoulders and some crazy defined arms, it looked like he bench pressed cars for shits and giggles. His tee unfortunately didn’t give me a view of his abs, but I knew they were there. He’d probably have that amazing ‘v’ that pointed to the most important part on a male. Unfortunately I hadn’t got to check out his no doubt amazing jean-clad ass, but I bet I could eat a steak off it.

  My dreamy gaze wandered to the Tiffany clock on my dresser. Shit. This guy had the ability that made me completely forget about the prior engagement I was seriously late for. That was a feat in itself; the horrific night ahead of me was as easy to forget about as genital warts. I turned my thoughts to my closet and directed my body toward it, picking out an outfit on autopilot.

  I slipped on a silk Calvin Klein gown, one that I knew looked amazing on me. I may have been trying to position my second encounter with Ian on more even ground; ground which I planned to be standing in designer footwear. Plus, designer armor was essential when going into battle with my mother. A fire-breathing dragon would be ideal, but I worked with what I had.

  I hurried to my bathroom and commenced in doing a day to night transition of my makeup and hair. Luckily I was one of those women who could chuck her hair in a messy bun and make it look artfully messed. My talents, although useful in everyday life, did not really make me capable of contributing anything valuable to society. Something my mother loved reminding me of.

  After finishing I moved to my full-length mirror for a quick inspection.

  My soft grey metallic dress was cut on the bias and hugged my body in all the right places before falling softly to my feet. It had spaghetti straps which snaked down way low on my back. My red hair escaped from the bun artfully, falling in wisps around my face. I regarded my face in the mirror. As a natural redhead I was plagued with freckles. Some days I cursed them, others I liked them. Today I had let them peek out from under my makeup, just a light dusting on my cheeks. With a subtle smoky eye and a light pink gloss on my lips, I deduced I looked good. Good enough to face Ian again, and hopefully regain my ability to turn a phrase.

  I entered the living room to a glorious sight. A view of Ian from behind. I was right; you could totally eat a steak off that ass.

  “Yeah, Ace, she just arrived home about half an hour ago. I think I gave her a bit of a fright,” he chuckled.

  I cleared my throat before he could recount the rest of our encounter, which Gwen would no doubt find hilarious.

  Ian turned slowly, phone to his ear, smirk on his face. Did this guy have a permanent sexy grin on his face? If so, the chances of me pouncing on him increased exponentially.

  When he turned to me the grin disappeared. It was replaced with a dark gaze so full of lust I struggled not to run over and hump his leg. I guess my dress had its intended effect. I mentally high fived myself.

  “Sorry, Ace, didn’t quite catch that.” Ian spoke huskily, eyes still on me.

  Now that I had recovered from the power of his male gaze I smirked and cocked my hip.

  “Yep, that’s fine—I get you got to work late. I’m sure I can find a way to ente
rtain myself.”

  Breaking our eye contact, I moved through the living room while he spoke to gather things into my purse, feeling eyes on my naked back.

  “I don’t think Amy can act as my babysitter tonight, Gwen. She looks like she’s off to some fancy ‘do,” he exclaimed, his accent seriously hot and rugged. I didn’t even care that I had no idea what a ‘do’ was.

  I shelved a borderline sick babysitter fantasy and had a brilliant idea. I whirled around and ignored the panty-dropping stare I was getting, snatching the phone from Ian.

  “Hey Gwen, don’t worry. I’ve got Ian sorted for tonight—he can come to this charity gala with me,” I told her, watching as Ian raised his eyebrows.

  “Really? Oh, thanks so much, Ames. I’m sure he’ll hate it as much as you do, but at least he won’t be sitting in an empty apartment on his first night back from a warzone. Fucking work. I can’t believe I have to stay and sort out this order. On the day my big brother arrives,” she whined, sounding pissed.

  “Um, sorry to put a spanner in the works here, but I can’t go to any ‘galas’ on account of the fact I don’t have a monkey suit stuffed in my duffel and by the way you’re dressed, I don’t think my jeans and tee will cut it,” Ian interrupted, watching me.

  “You’re perfect as you are,” I replied, phone still at my ear. He seriously was perfect. If I had the ability I would sculpt him out of marble. Maybe I would commission a miniature of him for my own personal use.

  “You’re so using Ian to piss off your mum and all the stuffed shirts at this charity thing, aren’t you?” Gwen knew me too well.

  “I can neither confirm nor deny that, Gwen. Got to go—we are so late already. Don’t work too hard.” I cut the call off, knowing Gwen wouldn’t actually mind I was using her brother as a pawn in my constant battle to beat the Botox in my mother’s face to get it to form a frown. She’d just be angry she couldn’t be there. I was kind of glad she wouldn’t, considering I’d probably be drooling over her brother the entire night.

  The drool-worthy brother was watching me with a raised eyebrow. “You’re telling me that you’re going to a party dressed like that and I’ll be okay in this?” He gestured down to his attire with a skeptical gaze.

  I didn’t look down, for if I did I might just pull up his shirt to inspect his abs. I needed to make sure I didn’t do things like that; he was my best friend’s brother. Off limits. Which only made him so much hotter. This was going to be a huge test on my willpower; even worse than that time I decided to do a raw food detox.

  “You’ll be fine, trust me. My mother’s the one throwing the party.”

  We pulled up to the party in the town car I’d had waiting outside our apartment. Luckily since I was so late there were only a few photographers loitering around. I usually didn’t mind getting snapped; I shared an easy relationship with the paps. I wasn’t famous enough to get followed around or anything, but at events like this they loved me. I didn’t mind getting on page five either; it helped get me some serious designer duds. But tonight for some reason I didn’t want Ian to see that side of my life. It all seemed so silly now, with him being the sexy man who fought terrorists and saved the world for a living. The life I had been so content with hours ago now seemed superficial and shallow. I was almost embarrassed. I turned to him.

  “Wanna have some fun with these stuck-up stock brokers and trophy wives to spice up the evening?” I asked with a smirk.

  “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.

  “Amy!”

  “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 kiss
es.

  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.

  “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.