Page 40 of Property of Max
And it makes me smile. I have people on my side.
When we reach my van, I show Skip how to raise the seats and stifle a giggle as he wrestles with one of them.
“Need some help, brother?” the voice haunting my dreams asks.
“Fucking thing’s stuck,” Skip grunts. “Grab the other end.”
Max gives me a quick wink before leaning down to help, his hands efficient and sure as they work the mechanism loose.
“I think he likes you,” Abby whispers.
“He definitely does,” Riley agrees, smiling at me.
“Nonsense,” I tell them, looking away as Max’s broad back moves in and out of view while he tugs. “He just feels sorry for me. He’s met me three times, and every time I’ve been in some kind of mess. I’m nothing more than a charity case.”
“Hate to break it to you,” Riley says, “but Max’s life has been a mess, too.”
“That’s not nice,” I protest automatically.
“She’s not wrong,” comes the low rumble from the man himself. “Give us a minute?”
I assume he wants to talk to his friends, so I nod and take a step toward the van. But before I can move more than a few inches, a large hand closes firmly around my hip and tugs me back.
Straight into a wall of hard muscle.
“Not you,” Max murmurs, his breath brushing my ear.
“Ooo,” Sunny sing-songs with a grin. “We’ll be in the van, waiting to hear all the juicy details. Remember, Lila, we’re pissed off at the men, but they’re still good men. They just made a bad decision. So, don’t be mad at Max.”
My eyes widen as everyone, even Skip, piles inside and slams the doors, leaving me alone outside with Max.
“Make some new friends?” he asks softly, his chest still pressed against my back.
“Looks like it,” I manage, fighting to keep my breathing steady.
“They’re good friends to have,” he says, his hands gentle but firm as he turns me to face him.
And just like that, it’s worse. So much worse.
Because looking at him straight on is like staring into the sun. Blinding, overwhelming, dangerous. Can I go back to not meeting his eyes? Please?
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“For what?” My pulse spikes at how close he is.
“For not being there to protect you.” His face goes hard with something that looks a lot like regret.
“It’s not your job to protect me,” I tell him.
“It is now.” He steps closer until there’s almost no space between us. “Lila, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the first time I saw you. You’re driving me fucking crazy.”
My mouth goes dry. I stare at him, trying to catch up.
“I’ve done some bad shit,” he says, cupping my face like I’m fragile glass. “I can’t promise I won’t do more in the future. But I’ll fight for what I want…my club. You. If you’ll have me.”
If I’ll have him? The question hangs there, huge and impossible.
“I’m so confused,” I admit, voice small.
