Hard to Handle (Caine Cousins #2)(36)

She sighed again and he waited for her rebuttal.

Thankfully, it never came.

Lynx’s entire body had gone rock hard the instant she touched him. He should’ve stayed in the living room or gone to sleep in the guest room like he’d originally told her he would when he insisted that she take his king bed.

Instead, he was lying here with Reagan beside him, her body so fucking soft against him, her hair teasing his chin where it caught in the stubble on his jaw. And his dick was throbbing, making his damn jeans ridiculously uncomfortable.

Yet this was enough for him. Having Reagan here, knowing she was safe.

It was enough.

A few minutes passed before her breathing evened out. Lynx knew sleep would be a long time coming for him. He’d been asleep when Rhys called, so he was good to go for a while. Plus, he was too fucking scared to close his eyes. He didn’t want to drift off, to dream about what had happened, for his stupid subconscious to come up with an alternate ending.

So, for now, he would hold Reagan, pretend that this was his life, that he had the pleasure of holding her every night when they went to sleep, to wake up to her beside him every morning.

After all, it wasn’t a far cry from the fantasies he’d had for the past decade.

In fact, it was the exact fantasy he’d had for the past decade.



Rhys stood in the parking lot of his sister’s bar. Well, what used to be her bar. Now it was nothing more than charred remains in the middle of the parking lot. Every single thing was gone, nothing salvageable with the exception of the fire-proof safe that had been in the wall in her office. Sure, it had melted somewhat, but it was still intact.

“We need to bring Billy Watson in for questioning,” Dean said from beside him. “And this guy she said hit on her tonight.”

Rhys knew that neither of those men were responsible for this. Sure, Billy Watson was an asshole, but he wasn’t so much of one that he would try to kill three people. As for the other guy … Rhys didn’t know him, but he seriously doubted being turned down by a woman would have him rigging the propane tank to blow.

However, it wasn’t like he could tell Dean that the top suspect was the fucking Houston police chief. Kelly Jackson. A goddamn psychopath who was hell-bent on destroying Amy and anyone else who got in his way.

Turning to Dean, Rhys nodded. “Do that. Bring them in first thing in the morning.”

While Dean questioned them, Rhys would be checking in with Ryan Trexler and Zachariah Tavoularis. They’d be able to get him some real answers.

And if they were all lucky, they’d soon have Kelly Jackson’s head on a fucking platter.



“Where’s Rhys?” Amy asked as soon as Wolfe stepped into the bedroom.

“He’ll be here in a bit,” Wolfe told her. “I’ll wait up for him, I promise. But you need to sleep.”

Wolfe was pretty sure he’d said that at least a dozen times since they got back to the house.

“I can’t sleep,” she said, her tone soft.

She sounded exhausted and Wolfe imagined she was. It had been a rather eventful night. His entire world had come crashing down when the bar exploded. His only thought had been keeping Amy safe. And he’d thought his world had ended when he found Amy crumpled on the floor unconscious. Thank God Reagan had some sense to get that damn shotgun, because Wolfe’s brain had gone offline, a blinding rage having taken over, making it impossible to think when the only thing he wanted to do was kill that bastard with his bare fucking hands.

Knowing Amy wasn’t going to give in to sleep until Rhys was back, Wolfe shot him a quick text, stripped his clothes off, and crawled into bed with the woman he loved.

“Come here, darlin’,” he whispered, pulling her to him.

When she settled against his side, her head on his chest, Wolfe wrapped his arms tightly around her.

“I love you,” he whispered in the dark.

“I love you, too. So much. I’m so sorry th—”

“Shh, baby.” Pressing his lips to her forehead, he tightened his hold. “Don’t apologize for anything. We’ll stop him, I promise you that.”

“How?”

“Trust me.” Wolfe didn’t have a plan yet, but he’d already put in a call to his cousin. Travis told him to give him until morning and he’d have something set up. It was time to put a stop to this bullshit once and for all. And if Travis couldn’t help, then Wolfe would get Lynx and they’d come up with something.

“Do you think Reagan’s all right?” Amy asked.

“I texted Lynx earlier. He said she was sleepin’. I’m sure she’s fine.”

“But her bar…” Amy’s arm tightened across his chest.

“We’ll rebuild it,” he assured her. “That’s what we do.”

“I just can’t believe he would do that.” The pain in her voice was so powerful Wolfe wanted to erase it completely.

“He’s crazy,” Wolfe told her. That was the understatement of the fucking century.

“I want to talk to that reporter tomorrow,” she whispered, her words slurring with her exhaustion.

“We’ll talk about it in the mornin’.” He kissed her forehead again. “But right now I want you to sleep.”