Page 22 of Trouble
Maddox brushed his lips against the side of my neck. I swear, my spine turned to liquid, knees trembling. His erection pressed into the small of my back and I was desperate to reach around and touch it, but he held me immobile. Maddox reached for the zip on the coveralls, drawing it down slowly inch by inch. I held my breath, wondering what he was going to do next. His fingers crept underneath the wife beater, beneath the lace of my bra and latched onto my nipple, squeezing sharply. I gasped, my crotch tightening and pressing against him.
“Hmm, interesting,” he whispered in my ear, his breath tickling the sweet spot just behind it. He spun me around, so my ass rested against the edge of the desk and pinned my wrists on either side of my hips. His lips crashed against mine, claiming them for himself—claiming me as his. My insides contracted and I kissed him back, struggling to extricate myself from his grasp so I could feel him.
So engrossed in what we were doing, neither of us heard the side door open or the heavy footsteps crossing the floor to the office.
“Maddox, who the hell do you have working with you on a Sunday?” Andre’s voice boomed out of the silence and echoed in the small room.
We both froze. Maddox’s hand was pressed against my bare breast. He pulled away as if I were toxic.
“What. The. Actual. Fuck!” Andre roared. “You, asshole! What the fuck are you doing with my sister?”
Not giving Maddox chance to answer, Andre raced into the office, hauled him off me and punched him in the face, once, then twice, then again. Maddox staggered backwards, landing with a thud against the filing cabinet.
I screamed, pulling the coveralls around my body and tried to get between them, but to no avail. I’d never seen Dre this angry and had only imagined what might happen should he ever find out about me and Maddox. Unfortunately, imagination had collided with reality and it looked like a whole fucking mess.
Andre loomed towards Maddox, his fists clenched, shoulders tense. I threw myself at his back. “Dre, stop it! You don’t have to do this!”
He shook me off. I’d never seen Maddox look so scared, almost terrified of his best friend—my brother.
This was all my fault.
“Go home, Lyla.” Andre turned to me, his face like thunder. “You shouldn’t even be here.”
I looked to Maddox for support, but he shook his head almost imperceptibly.
“Dre’s right, Lyla. Go home.”
“But…” Tears started to stream down my cheeks.
Maddox avoided looking at me. “It was a mistake, the car, us, this. It should never have happened. You need to leave.”
I ended up doing a decent impression of a fish as my mouth opened and closed without any words coming out.He thought we were a mistake? I told him I loved him.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to end, my brother beating my first love to a pulp while my first love blanked me. “Can’t we talk about this like adults?” I tried to push my way past Andre to get to Maddox, but my brother blocked the way, holding my forearms.
“Seriously, get the hell out of here. I don’t even know what you were doing here in the first place.” He swung me around and gave me a gentle push in the direction of the door.
“We were working on a car!” I protested.
Andre snorted. “Working on a car? Is that what the kids are calling it these days? He had his hands all over you!”
I bit my tongue against the retort I wanted to make, that Maddox had had more than his hands all over me—and I’d loved every minute of it. It wouldn’t help Maddox’s cause right now.
“Please, Lyla. Just go,” Maddox pleaded calmly. “I’ll deal with this.”
It was as if he were talking about a problem customer, not dealing with my livid brother about to do God only knew what.
“Yourboyfriendis right. I’ll talk to you when I get home later.”
“Like hell you will!” I grabbed my purse and ran out of the garage, stumbling slightly as the legs of the stupid jumpsuit started to roll down.
Only when I was a safe distance away did I come to a standstill. Blood rushed in my ears, and my breath came in short, fast gasps as my chest tightened. I flapped my hands around my face, trying to stop from overheating, or crying. I didn’t want to think about what was happening at the garage. I grabbed for my phone, hands shaking, and dialed Ianthe’s number.
“What’s up?” she asked as I gulped hard; unable to hold onto the overwhelming bubble of emotion that clawed up my throat instead of my words. I swiped at my wet cheeks as I swallowed again and tried to force some out sensible words. “Can you come over to my house? I need to talk to you?”
“You got it. Shall I bring wine?”
I snorted a wet sob/laugh.
It was going to take more than wine to get over what had just happened.
