by Anne Malcom
“I know!” he shouted. His raised voice echoed through the quiet house. I winced, hoping Gwen didn’t wake.
He stepped into my space and I held my breath. “I fucked up. When I was over there I knew it. The second I left the airport I knew it. I thought I was doing it for your own good.” He caressed my cheek.
I flinched away from his touch. “Oh yes. Chivalrous freaking martyr Ian. He knows what’s best for me because sweet delicate Amy couldn’t possibly have a brain between her ears. Don’t patronize me. I’m not some little flower that needs protecting.”
“I know that.” Ian kept his voice even, controlled.
It pissed me off. It was always like this. We never had arguments. He didn’t react. Didn’t fly off the handle. I would yell and scream and he would just stand there stoically with his iron clad control. That was it. The control. With Brock there was no control. It was pure, unbridled passion. He didn’t worry about hurting my feelings. He threw the anger right back, not caring whether I could handle it or not.
“What are you expecting from me, Ian?” I asked. My anger hadn’t lessened but I needed to know. I was tired. Tired of the pain I had been carrying in my heart. Exhausted from the weight of keeping this from my best friend. I wanted this finished.
“Everything,” he said quietly. “I want everything we had. I want you. I want to make love to you like the world is going to end. I want to feel you break apart in my arms. I want to have you. I want to go to sleep in whatever shithole I’m in knowing I’ve got you waiting for me at home.” He stepped forward again, his eyes intense, but I retreated.
They were the words I had been dying to hear. When my love for this man had torn away all my dignity and I had begged him to give us a chance, all I wanted to hear was this. But now...I didn’t know what I wanted. A part of me wanted to jump into his arms and be engulfed in the comfort and strength of his love.
“What am I supposed to say to that?” I hissed. “You are a year too late, Ian. Did you think you could shatter my heart, then expect me to be cradling the pieces waiting for you to put them back together once you finally decided you wanted a woman waiting for you on the other side of this war? Fuck you.” I shot a venomous gaze at him, downing my drink and storming off.
The next morning I awoke early. I felt like shit. I had shut my eyes for about two minutes but my mind hadn’t been able to turn off. All of Ian’s words last night whizzed around my brain like an annoying mosquito in the night. He wanted me. He wanted us. It’s a shame he had to stomp all over me in order to come to that conclusion.
I had been up since six a.m. consuming copious amounts of coffee and distracting myself with online shopping. Nothing cured heartache like a new handbag. Or five. Gwen had ventured off to get more precious java since I had emptied the house of our supply.
“Morning, beautiful,” a rough accent greeted me.
I whipped my head up from my iPad. Ian stood in the doorway, shirtless and looking rumpled and seriously sexy.
His body was cut. He looked like he had rubbed oil on his six pack to make it glisten. It felt weird seeing a body free from tattoos; I had become accustomed to it. It didn’t make me any less turned on as I drank him in, remembering that body pressed against mine.
Ian’s body had momentarily distracted my caffeinated mind and I remembered I was annoyed with him. I jumped off the barstool, glaring at him.
“There’s food in the refrigerator—help yourself. Gwen’s gone to get coffee. She should be back soon.” I informed him, walking toward the living room. I couldn’t be in the same room as him when he was half naked; I was afraid of what I might do. Or what my hormones might do.
“Wait, Amy.”
I ignored this and kept walking. A strong hand grasped my arm, stopping me.
“What,” I started to say, but the arm whirled me around and yanked my body to a hard one. Ian’s mouth was on mine and I struggled at first, but I quickly melted into the embrace. My willpower shattered at his familiar touch, at the intensity simmering between us.
The kiss was wild and tender at the same time. His hand delved into my hair, the other gripping my ass. I let his tongue explore mine, savoring the slow burn that ignited with his touch. I shouldn’t be doing this. I was sure there was a multitude of reasons why I shouldn’t. I will stop it. In a second.
“Oh my god, my eyes!” A dramatic screech made me yank myself away.
Gwen’s horrified and disbelieving face darted between the both of us before she slammed the front door shut again. I didn’t miss the look of disappointment she shot at me before the door slammed.
“Fuck,” Ian muttered.
I ignored him and ran outside to try and repair the damage that kiss had done. This was not how I wanted Gwen to find this out. Ideally, I would have rasped it out to her on my deathbed so I wouldn’t have to face her wrath. That plan was foiled.
Gwen was pacing the lawn when I emerged.
“Gwen, stop—listen to me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s just—” I ran toward my friend, hoping the perfect explanation would pop out of my mouth but Gwen cut me off, her face wild.
“It’s just what, Abrams? You’ve been screwing my brother and lying to me about it?” Her yell was accentuated by a hard shove to my chest. I stumbled back, shocked at the fact she was getting physical. She didn’t stop her rant. “We never lie to each other. Ever. Jesus, how could you not tell me?” she yelled in my face.
Ian emerged from the house and tried to forage into the fray.
“Stay out of this, Ian, this is a chick thing. You don’t have a vagina so you don’t understand,” Gwen snapped at him.
Gwen had been glaring at her brother so the full weight of my pissed off stare didn’t penetrate with her. She was mad. I understood that. I expected that. But that didn’t mean she needed to go all “Jersey Shore” on me. I decided if she was going to get physical then so was I. I pushed her back, hard.
“Don’t push me!”
I didn’t know what I expected her to do, but tackling me to the ground shouldn’t have been a surprise. I tried to struggle, but for a tiny person she was scrappy as fuck.
“It’s my brother, Amy. Do you not think I would’ve been happy for you two, you stupid idiot?” she screeched breathlessly as I struggled in vain to get the upper hand. I pinched her.
Her eyes flared. “Ouch! You bitch!” She looked like she was about to go for my hair when suddenly she was pulled off me. Cade had her in his arms, restraining her. I hadn’t noticed him pull up, deep in catfight mode. Ian helped me up before I flinched away from his touch.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” a small, hurt voice asked. I turned my thoughts away from Ian to my more important hurt best friend. I sighed.
“Shit, I don’t know, Gwen. First it was because I didn’t want to even admit how I felt, let alone admit it to you. Then things got complicated, you got hurt and there was never a right time,” I replied. It was a huge oversimplification of it all but I really didn’t want to pour my heart out to our current audience. They had already witnessed me lose a catfight. That was enough for today.
My gaze wandered past Cade and my breath caught in my throat as it landed on Brock. He had his shades on so I couldn’t see his eyes, but by the set of his jaw I could tell he was pissed. He was leaning against his bike, seemingly casual, but I could tell by the way he held his body he had figured Ian was the guy I was talking about yesterday. What a clusterfuck.
Ian must have caught the stare off and made a connection of his own because he moved from behind me to stand in front of me, shielding me from the field of vision, and for all intents and purposes laying his masculine claim.
I narrowed my eyes. Gwen got in before I could unleash my feelings for that gesture.
“This is not the time to discuss any of this, okay? Go back inside and put some clothes on, Amy, the neighbor’s boys will be snapping photos of you with their phones.”
I looked down, remembering my lack of attire. Luckily I
hadn’t slipped a nip.
“Ace, we’ll talk inside, okay? Just calm yourself first—we don’t want any more brawls in the living room.” Ian stepped in, his voice level and calm like always.
He directed me into the house with his hand on the small of my back. I reluctantly let him, hating the intimacy of the gesture at this point in time. Hating that I couldn’t go to my friend and pour everything out to her. And also hating the look Brock had directed at me.
“Why didn’t you just pee in a circle around me, Ian? Then everyone in the neighborhood would know to stay away,” I bit at him sarcastically as the door closed behind us.
Ian turned to me with a hard expression. “That was him, wasn’t it? Brock.” He spat out his name like it tasted bad. He didn’t give me time to answer. “Do you love him?”
“That’s none of your business. He is none of your business,” I said, crossing my arms.
“It is my fucking business. You’re my fuckin’ business because I love you!” he yelled.
I stood silently, taken aback at the sudden slip in his usual iron clad temper. He ran his hand through his short hair; it was a gesture I saw a lot when he was frustrated or stressed. He stepped towards me to lightly put his hands on my hips. His green eyes met mine. “I love you, Amy. You’re all I think about when I’m over there. I tried to let you go. To forget you. So you could move on. I can’t. I want you. You want me too,” he said gently.
“I used to,” I admitted quietly. “You can’t expect me to jump into your arms after saying something like that. You left. You left me.”
The person saying that wasn’t the independent, strong Amy Abrams. This was the vulnerable little girl who had been neglected and left behind too many times.
Ian’s face hardened. “It’s because of him, the biker.”
I shook my head. “It’s because you broke my heart and now you’re acting like I should be ready to jump back into things with you. I can’t.” I pulled out of his grasp.
“Amy,” he said.
“I need to think. I need time,” I declared.
His face softened. “Take all the time you need. I’ll wait for you. Forever if I have to.” It hardened into a grim look of determination. “And I’ll fight for you. I’m not going to do the polite thing and stand down. I’ll fight tooth and fuckin’ nail to make you mine. For good.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I did need time. I needed space. I needed to breathe, away from all of the stifling emotions that cropped up from being in the same room as Ian…and from being in the same zip code as Brock. I swear I could feel the heat of his fury. So I took a drive. I drove down the coast and tried to clear my head. It didn’t work. My thoughts bounced around the interior of my car.
The way it felt with Ian when we were together was easy, right. Then there was the way I felt when he left me. How excruciating the pain of a broken heart was. How debilitating the sting of his rejection was. Then it was back to Brock. He was the fire to Ian’s ice. Ian was cool, calm, never lost his temper. Brock ran wild and hot and his emotions simmered on the surface.
When I got back home hours later I still didn’t know what to feel, but I did know I wasn’t going to run back into Ian’s arms. Too much had happened. Ian was drinking beer in the kitchen when I arrived home, he stood, eyes on me.
“You’re back.”
“You’re perceptive. Bet that’s why they’ve got you in the army, huh, soldier?” I remarked dryly.
He grinned. It was his cheeky grin with the side of his mouth and it made his hard army façade crumble and remind me of the playful guy underneath. He tapped his head “I’ve got it going on up here.” After an expectant look he asked, “So, you’ve thought?”
Irritation bloomed. “Really? You think after I go for a drive I’ll have it all wrapped in a tidy bow and ready to give you what you want, after you’ve decided you want it?” I snapped.
Ian’s brows furrowed. “Well, I know it’s what you want too. The way you kissed me this morning, babe, you still want me. I sure as shit still want you.” His eyes darkened and I ignored the flutter between my legs.
“You’re a hot guy. Of course I want you. That doesn’t mean I’m going to forgive you and decide to wait on the sidelines patiently for you to finish playing war,” I snapped.
“I’m not playing war, Amy. It’s my job, it’s my duty! It’s been my life for ten years—it’s not something I can just walk away from,” he argued. He stepped forward and his gaze turned feral. “This is about the lowlife biker. He’s in your head,” he growled.
“Don’t talk about him like that! You have no right to act jealous. You gave away that right when you dumped me,” I hissed at him, hurt seeping into my tone.
Ian looked frustrated. “I told you, I thought I was doing the right thing, what was best for you.”
“Oh yeah, keep telling yourself that,” I muttered.
The roar of a Harley interrupted the conversation and I realized Gwen would have questions. And maybe a semiautomatic weapon.
“Gwen,” was all I said.
“I’ll deal with my sister,” he declared.
“You’ll have more luck dealing with whatever war you’re fighting,” I replied. “She’ll either be pissed as hell or come in planning our wedding. I don’t really know how to explain to her that’s not going to happen.”
Ian got a weird look on his face. “Sit. I told you I’ll handle her.”
I frowned at his order but did as he said. We sat in uncomfortable silence to wait for Gwen to come in.
Ian was right, he did handle it. He handled it by distracting his sister with the news he was quitting the army. His little declaration had Gwen squealing and laughing after he told her.
I was a little more conflicted. I still loved Ian. I loved Gwen. Of course I was happy he was leaving a job which endangered his life every day but I was also angry. More like furious. He decided now he would leave the army? Not when I wanted him to, not when I pleaded with him to. Not when his sister had been recovering from a traumatic attack. But now. Now when I had started to move on. Started to recover from the wounds I had sustained with him. Now I had Brock. Or maybe I didn’t have Brock. Fuck, I didn’t even know if Brock wanted me. But I knew the situation was complicated enough without adding Ian to the mix. I wanted him back safe. I also didn’t. I wanted the geographical buffer that I had once cursed. I was a terrible person. I felt all the more terrible when Ian looked at me across the table with a heartbreakingly tender expression on his gruff face.
“Ames?” he said softly.
He expected me to jump for joy. To kiss him. I would have. Two years ago. Heck, even three months ago. Before Brock.
“Fuck you, Ian,” I spat, pushing out of my chair and storming into the house. I made it to my room when Ian grasped my arm.
“What was that, Amy?” he growled, whipping me around. “I expected a different reaction, babe.”
I glared at him. “What were you expecting? Me to scramble over the table and jump into your lap with joy?”
His face was impassive but a small spark of amusement danced in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have complained,” he replied.
I ripped my hand out of his grasp. “Why now?” I asked, the fight gone from my voice.
Ian stood close to me, penetrating my space and letting his large hands span my hips. “Because I realized what I want out of my life. I don’t want to die over in some sandbox. I also don’t want to continue living in one, devoting my life to it then coming back to nothing.” His eyes searched mine. “I want a life where I can see my sister more than once a year. I want to stop my mother from going grey with worry.” His grip tightened on my hips. “And I want a certain beautiful redhead to be mine. To sleep next to her every night. To wake up to her every morning. To laugh at all the funny shit she says. To slide inside her and forget everything else but the two of us exists. To marry her, to grow old with her.”
Holy shit. I stared at Ian, unable to believe he just said that
.
“We were together for two weeks, you’ve been gone for a year and all of a sudden you’re expecting marriage and a white picket fence?” I said, shocked.
Ian stroked my face. “The amount of time we were together doesn’t mean shit. I’ve known you for years.”
I stepped out of his grasp. “You’ve known certain parts of me for years, Ian,” I shouted. “You’ve only been around long enough to see what you want to see, not everything I am. You’ve formed some ideal opinion of me based on things you’ve seen in a short amount of time.” I paced the room. “You don’t know the bad things about me.” I stopped, deciding to enlighten him.
“I don’t hold elevators for people—in fact I purposely close the doors when people run for them. It’s evil and mean but I hate sharing an enclosed space with strangers. I pretend not to notice people waiting at crossings when I’m in a hurry. Heck, I don’t even slow down. I’m lucky I haven’t hit anyone yet. I hate old people. They annoy me, and it irritates the fuck out of me when they act like I should find them adorable. Same thing with kids. They’re dirty and loud and always seem to have sticky hands.” I stopped and stood in front of him.
“There’s plenty more where that came from. You can’t say all that stuff about marriage and forever when you haven’t even spent an entire weekend alone with me,” I declared.
Ian looked amused. “I know enough. All that other shit I find out along the way will just be a bonus.”
I let out a little scream. “You’re acting like we’re a forgone conclusion, like my protests are amusing to you and you’re just waiting for the little female to calm down and then she’ll be wowed by your sexy accent and impressive ass. You said the reason why you dumped me is because you didn’t want me stuck in one place waiting for you when that’s exactly what you’ve expected me to do!”