Firestorm, Page 4

  Ian watched me a beat then answered. “I don’t know about the ‘big, badass alpha’ bit, but I enjoy the army. I work with some decent guys who are like brothers,” he shrugged. “It’s what I’ve wanted to do since I was a kid and I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.”

  His answer was so not satisfactory.

  “Come on, you’ve got to give me more than that. Do you know how to disarm a nuke? Do you chop the blue wire or the red wire? Can you kill a man in twenty different ways by touching a specific pressure point on their body? Give me the deets.”

  Ian stared at me a moment, then burst out laughing. Boy, was that a wonderful sight. I watched the cords of his neck move and started to squirm in my seat.

  “Jesus Christ, you’re a laugh, woman—you’re not at all what you seem. You growing up to be who you are is like a flower growing through a crack in the sidewalk.”

  I tried my hardest to ignore the power behind Ian’s gaze, the connection that seemed to be buzzing between us.

  “I bet I seem a lot more interesting than I actually am due to the fact you probably haven’t seen a woman in a while,” I said awkwardly, trying to deflect the compliment. Usually I lapped up praise from the opposite sex, but it was always about my appearance: my tits, legs and hair. Ian saw past all of that; it made me uncomfortable and feel warm inside. It was dangerous.

  He frowned. “Trust me, you’re nothing like any woman I’ve ever met. You’ve been an amazing friend to my sister. I’ll be forever grateful for that alone.”

  I relaxed at him steering the conversation back to a safer subject, one that might douse the flames of my out of control libido.

  “Gwen’s the one that saved me from suffocating in the stifling Upper East Side cult. She’s real, honest and loyal—I’m lucky to have her.”

  From there the conversation seemed to flow and although there was a sexual undertone, the topics were general.

  We talked for hours, talking about nothing and everything. Ian told me about having four-wheeler races with Gwen on their farm back in New Zealand. I told him about the time I signed my mother up to attend a drag queen benefit without her knowledge. I talked with him like I had never talked with anyone before. It felt easy, normal, right. Dangerous.

  The easy banter and extreme attraction I felt for this man did not bode well for my future. I had only been in his presence for a couple of hours; how could I stand the two weeks he was here without pouncing on him? I would just have to ovary it up and find a way to resist it. I was a grown woman, after all. I wasn’t a slave to my baser instincts.

  “Fucking hell, you’re beautiful,” Ian growled while his hand traced my breast.

  “No talking,” I commanded, pulling him back to my mouth.

  Okay, so it had taken my resolve about five sexually charged minutes to waver on the car ride home. Ian seemed to be struggling too and as if we had reached some kind of mutual agreement, we had pounced on each other. Luckily the car had a little screen so the driver wouldn’t be getting a free amateur porn show. Not that I cared at this moment. Hell, he could pull up to Times Square and sell tickets, I didn’t give a shit.

  He yanked me up to straddle his lap, bunching the fabric of my dress so my almost bare core rubbed against his hard length. I moaned into his mouth. Calloused hands snagged against the silk of my dress, playing with my nipples as they hardened under his touch. I ground my body against his, desperate to feel closer. To meld myself against his rock hard body. I almost came from the friction of his jeans against the lace of my panties.

  “You’re gonna have to stop doing that, beautiful, or I’m going to lose control and fuck you right here,” Ian bit out.

  I opened my eyes and gazed at him through my lashes, “I want you to fuck me right here.”

  Ian seemed to struggle for a moment and he let his forehead fall against mine.

  “You’re too good to fuck in the back of a car. I want you in a bed where I can take my time, taste every inch of your body, then fuck you slow and watch your face when you come,” he hissed, palming my breast.

  I grasped his hand and directed it into my soaking panties. His jaw clenched as his fingers brushed my clit. I barely restrained a scream.

  “You’re testing my willpower, Amy,” he grunted, rubbing me in delightful circles.

  My eyes glazed over as he brought me close to the edge, his other hand grasped my neck, pulling me to face him.

  “I want to watch you come,” he declared, eyes bright.

  I was about to treat him to the Abrams orgasm show when something broke the moment. “Sexy Bitch” blared from the flimsy material of my Gucci.

  “Fuck,” I muttered.

  I tried to scramble off him, the reminder of what I was doing like a bucket of ice water. Hands gripped my waist, keeping me in place. I frowned at them before reaching for my bag to answer my phone.

  “Hey Gwennie.” I watched Ian stiffen slightly. Good, we both needed to calm this shit.

  “Hey Abrams, where are you guys? I got home and I figured you would have ditched that snoozefest by now. Don’t tell me you’ve dragged Ian out clubbing, he hates that crap. Actually I could use a drink or ten. I can meet you?” Gwen greeted with her usual speech.

  “Um, we’re actually on our way home.” I squirmed, uncomfortable having this conversation in Ian’s lap. I felt like I was betraying Gwen somehow.

  “Okay, no worries. I’d rather put on sweats and get drunk off homemade cocktails. I’ll start making them now. See you soon, bitch!” She hung up before I could say another word.

  I stared at the silent phone, willing someone, anyone to call to rescue me from this situation that turned awkward with the sound of one song. Even my mother or Craig, the stage five clinger who I was trying to shake. I’d welcome Craig right now. But alas, crazy stalkers never called when you wanted them to.

  I was forced to face the music when Ian grasped my chin and gently directed my gaze to him.

  “Gwen’s at home. Making cocktails as we speak,” I whispered.

  He smirked. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  I paused. “She can’t know about this.” I gestured between us. “This can’t happen again.” It pained me to even say it; feeling in Ian’s arms felt so right. Ew, did I seriously just think that? I hated girls who said cheesy shit like that. I wanted to tit punch girls that said shit like that.

  “I agree Gwen probably shouldn’t know I pashed her best friend within hours of arriving,” he grinned.

  “What does pashed mean?” I asked, wondering if it was New Zealand slang for some sort of sexual wizardry.

  “It means I’ve tasted how sweet your mouth is, felt how amazing your body feels and it means I want to taste all of you. Feel what it’s like to slide inside you.”

  Holy fuck. What does one say to that? Especially when one is feeling the impressive length of what could mean multiple orgasms if this guy’s kiss was anything to go by.

  “I’m going to be straight up here. This is complicated. You aren’t just a fuck for me, I can tell you that already. You’re more. But I can’t give you more. I’m here for two weeks and then I’m gone. I won’t be back for another year. My job is dangerous. Who knows if I will come back?” I tensed at the thought of Ian getting hurt. I tensed even more when I realized how deeply this thought affected me. He brushed my cheek. “All of that means I should be keeping my distance, not complicating things, not putting you through this. That’s what I should be doing. But if my job’s taught me anything it’s to make the most of every day, every second. Even if it’s for one night I want the memory of your face, your body to think of when I’m in the next hellhole.” His fingertips grazed the edge of my panties. “It may be selfish as fuck but I want to remember how tight your pussy is whenever I look at you, know what it feels to have you pulse around my finger. I want you, all of you,” he murmured.

  I exhaled. Wow. I wanted all of that. Hell, after that speech I’d offer to carry his firstborn child and to sell m
y entire Loubie collection if that’s what he wanted.

  So after that night that’s what we did. We made the most of every moment, and against my wishes I fell head over red-soled heels in love with him.

  We attempted the long distance thing. We tried to keep it casual, to keep it a secret from Gwen, with stolen moments and late night rendezvous. But it wasn’t casual. It couldn’t be. Not with us. I was prepared to wait. To try. But Ian had something else in mind. Namely yanking my heart out of my chest and stomping on it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A presence violating my personal bubble shook me out of my trip down memory lane. It was probably a good thing too; that was a dangerous place for me to venture. I was tempted to thank the space invader but stopped short as my eyes met his. His blue eyes were full of menace and danger, not the good kind.

  “Pretty lady like you shouldn’t be drinking alone. Next one’s one me,” he drawled.

  I waved my tequila bottle at him unsteadily, “No thanks, I’m set.”

  I turned my back to him, hoping that sent the message, but at my other side was an equally sinister looking man, eyeing me with that same stare. I was used to attention from men, but this stare was not sexual in any way. It was predatory and cold.

  I regarded them both as well as I could after half a bottle of tequila. It was safe to say they were blurry. Both were wearing seriously expensive suits, the kind that cost as much as a second-hand car. Ditto for the gold jewelry.

  I may have been halfway to blotto, but I’d have to be unconscious not to register fashion and accessories. One was young and not unattractive, with dark hair and dark features, slim and about my age. The other was older and balding; no matter how good the tailoring was you couldn’t hide the paunch hanging over his belt. They had money. They were not at home in a place like this. I didn’t get good vibes as to why they were here talking to me.

  “How about we take you somewhere a little more respectable, somewhere a woman like you belongs,” the older one addressed me.

  Warning bells sounded in my inebriated brain. This didn’t seem like it was going any place good. I searched for my friend the bartender, hoping he would be my knight in dirty plaid, but he was down the other end of the bar unpacking boxes. Guess I had to take care of myself.

  “Look, I don’t know what kind of sick father son fantasy you two have going on, but I don’t want to be any part of it. Go and check the yellow pages for hookers who specialize in ménage a troi.” They continued to stare at me. “In other words, fuck off.” I attempted to sound strong and unruffled at the proximity of the men and their not so subtle intentions. The slurring of my words might have screwed with that attempt.

  “Well, this one’s got spice.” The younger one raised his eyebrow almost amused at me. The way a cat was amused with a mouse before it gobbled it up.

  “’Fraid we’re gonna have to insist you come with us, sweetheart,” he continued conversationally.

  “’Fraid you’re gonna have to go screw yourself. I am not going anywhere with you two weirdos. Leave me alone before I scream at the top of my lungs.” I hoped the patrons of this bar were more chivalrous than they looked.

  Paunch Man stepped closer and I felt something hard press into my back. I didn’t think it was on account of him being happy to see me.

  “You better rethink that, Red. I’d hate to blow a hole in such a perfect little body, or splatter the brains of that nice bartender all over the walls.” He nodded his head at my tequila-giving friend who was heading our way with a frown.

  I gulped. This was a serious situation, one that required some serious brainpower if I was to get out of it. Unfortunately my brainpower had left the building three shots ago.

  “Everything okay there, darlin’? These guys bothering you?” he asked with a skeptical eye at my Armani clad kidnappers.

  I swallowed and struggled not to throw myself across the bar and cling to the safety this man represented. The hard barrel at my ribs stopped me.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. These are...” I trailed off, trying to think of some secret code I could use that would alert him to my situation. Then he could call the cops and they would hurtle into the building and save me. It happened in movies.

  “We’re her cousins, come to take her home. It’s not safe for a woman to be drinking alone out here. Who knows what kind of sickos could take advantage,” the fat one cut in.

  The barman eyed them skeptically, no doubt eyeing the lack of resemblance. He didn’t have time to inspect it thoroughly as I was roughly pulled to my feet.

  “Come on, cuz, let’s get you home.” Blue Eyes grasped my upper arm tightly.

  I swayed as the bar spun, but I didn’t have a chance to get my balance as I was dragged across the room. I managed to put one foot in front of the other without face planting; no mean feat in six inch heels and a belly full of liquor. My eyes burned as I was pulled out the door and into the sunlight. I put my hand up to shield my face from the rays and the grip on my arm tightened.

  “Keep walkin’, Red. Don’t want a bullet hole to ruin your outfit, do we?” Blue Eyes yanked me along the street in the direction of a blacked-out SUV.

  The sunlight may have temporarily blinded me but it also sobered me slightly. I glanced around at the small but busy street. I couldn’t remember the name of this place but I knew where my hotel was; not too far away from this bar actually. I also knew that a police station was two doors down from my hotel. I didn’t doubt these guys had a gun, but I also wondered if they’d actually use it on me. They were obviously kidnapping me for a reason; either that or they were going to kill me somewhere and dump my body, in which case I had nothing to lose. Or they needed me for some unknown reason, and then they would need me breathing. In any case I wasn’t going to let them have me without a fight. I was Amy Abrams, for fuck’s sake.

  The SUV was getting closer so I had to act quickly. I pretended to stumble, pulling Blue Eyes back around.

  “What the...” he started, but I interrupted him by jamming my heel into his shoe.

  That move would not work on some of the bikers I had been hanging around lately, on account of their steel-capped boots. It worked a treat on soft Italian leather loafers. My heel went straight through and into his foot. He screamed in pain and let go of my arm. I pulled my foot back and turned on Fat Guy, who was standing frozen. I kneed him in the nuts, satisfied at the grunt of pain he emitted. People on the street were looking now, but I didn’t want to put any of them in the potential crossfire. I ran in the direction of the police station, adrenaline replacing some of the alcohol in my system. Not all of it; I still swayed a bit but I managed to stay upright. I heard people yelling in concern but blocked it out, pushing my legs to go faster as I crossed the street. I started to feel elated and pleased with myself for my escape without the need for a rescue. I am a strong, independent woman who don’t need no man to rescue her from a kidnapping. On that thought someone tackled me to the ground. I felt a dull pain from the impact but thankfully alcohol provided a pain cushion.

  “Not smart, Red,” a voice hissed in my ear.

  That’s when everything went black.

  I woke up slowly with a thumping headache and aches all over my body. I kept my eyes closed for a few moments, trying to will myself back to sleep so I could sleep off this giant hangover. Unfortunately I was to suffer conscious. Great. I cracked my eyes open, intending to reach over to my nightstand for some water, but stopped short. The plush ceiling was not what I had at my mediocre hotel. I glanced around at the luxurious bedding, realizing I was not in anyplace familiar. I also realized that my hands were above my head and were handcuffed to an ornate bedframe. Why this wasn’t the first thing I noticed I had no idea. Hangovers did weird things to me. Speaking of weird things, what kind of guy did I go home with last night?

  I wracked my brain and tried to retrieve some memories, ignoring the sick feeling I had at sleeping with a strange guy. There hadn’t been anyone since...him. That feeling was qu
ickly replaced with dread as the previous events washed over me. My worries consisted of something a whole lot bigger than a Coyote Ugly situation and more in the realm of a fucking life or death situation. Fear crept up my throat and I struggled with the cuffs, trying to maneuver them off the frame.

  “She’s awake,” a voice declared and I jumped.

  A man strolled from the edge of the room to stand over me, a phone to his ear and a frown on his face. His blue eyes looked familiar.

  “Got it.” He ended the call and regarded me coolly.

  I gulped, fear crawling up my throat. “What do you want with me?” I demanded, meeting his gaze. I was proud that my voice didn’t shake.

  He stepped closer to the bed and leaned toward me. I failed to hide my flinch, expecting a blow of some kind. The pain I expected never came; instead my hands were released from the handcuffs. I rubbed them, eyeing the angry red welts that remained.

  “Up,” Blue Eyes commanded.

  I glared at him, scrambling up and over to the opposite side of the enormous bed, thankful for the barrier between us. It was an illusion of safety but I clung to it.

  “What do you want from me?” I repeated, eyes darting around the tastefully decorated room for a weapon.

  He ignored me yet again and nodded to a door in the corner of the room. “That’s a bathroom—got towels and a change of clothes. Clean yourself up, put on the clothes. You got twenty minutes.” He stared at me for a moment then turned to leave.

  “Wait a second, asshole, why should I do a single thing you say? You fucking kidnapped me,” I snapped, my temper rearing its head.

  Blue Eyes stopped and turned slowly, his expression not cold or detached as it had been moments ago. It was dangerous, sinister.

  “You’re going to do as I say because if I come back here in twenty minutes and you aren’t showered and dressed, I get to shower and dress you myself. I can assure you I will enjoy every second of it. I can’t promise you the same. Your choice, cara.”