Hard to Handle (Caine Cousins #2)(49)

The woman was going to push him past the brink any second now. He had actually managed to keep his distance, even come up with a plan to ride this out for a while until she was ready. That plan hadn’t taken into consideration what would happen if she approached him.

Between the softness of her lips and the warmth of her hands still clutching his abdomen through his T-shirt, Lynx was damn near ready to combust.

The second she’d walked into the shop, he’d been expecting her to let loose on him.

Only, this wasn’t how he’d envisioned it going down. Knowing how independent the woman was, he’d been waiting for the shit to hit the fan. After all, the text he’d received from Ed a few minutes ago had been a warning. She’d stopped by the bar to find the charred remains being hauled into the dumpster, and evidently she hadn’t been happy about it.

Not that you could tell it by the way she was acting now.

“Can you take a break for a while?” she asked, pulling back and staring up into his face.

“For…?”

She shrugged. “Thought we’d go … somewhere.”

“Where?”

Reagan shrugged and a small smile pulled at her lips. “Maybe out to the lake.”

Lynx knew this was a bad idea, but again, bad ideas were his calling. He tended to gravitate toward them every chance he got. Didn’t matter if the repercussions were jail or, in this case, something a hell of a lot more promising, he couldn’t seem to resist.

“Yeah. Give me a couple minutes to clean shit up and we’ll head out.”

Reagan seemed to be eyeing him hard, and he briefly wondered what was going on in that pretty little head of hers. Whatever it was, he got the feeling it had a lot to do with the two of them naked, translating to: the bad decision he was referring to earlier.

Every man had his breaking point, and apparently, Reagan Trevino was his.

Thirty minutes later, Lynx was steering his truck down the dirt path to the lake, Reagan riding shotgun. He had taken his time cleaning things up, fully expecting Reagan to back out on him. Hell, he might’ve been hoping she would. This thing between them had been building for years. It was a pressure cooker ready to blow the lid off, and Lynx wasn’t sure Reagan was ready for what came next. In fact, Lynx wasn’t sure he was ready. He wanted it, absolutely, but trying to wrangle a wild stallion was easier than convincing Reagan to take a chance on them.

“Thanks for having those guys clear the lot,” she said, her tone soft, her attention out the window.

“They volunteered,” he told her. “Actually, a lot of people did.”

Reagan’s gaze shifted his way. “So, they just called you up and said … what?”

Lynx grinned as he turned the truck around and backed it toward the lake, stopping beneath the shade of one of the big oak trees. “Okay, fine. I called them, but then they volunteered.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you doin’ this?”

He cut his eyes over to her quickly, processing her disbelieving tone. He wasn’t sure what he’d ever done to her to make her keep him at arm’s length, to have her thinking the worst of him, but clearly she did.

Reagan appeared to be waiting for an answer.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have one, so he led with, “Do you really think I’m a dick, or what?”

Without waiting for a response, he got out of the truck, trying to rein in his temper. Why did it always seem that the woman wanted to jump up and down on his fucking nerves? It was as though she wanted to piss him off and he didn’t get it.

“Lynx!” Reagan hollered, the passenger door slamming shut.

She rounded the truck, coming to stand a few feet away.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

No, actually, he didn’t.

Reagan put her hands on her hips. “With all the shit I’ve done, I—”

“We’ve got a new rule,” Lynx interrupted, glaring down at her. “From now on, we don’t talk about the shit in the past. Not Billy. Not Tammy. Not any of it.”

“But I need to apologize,” she declared.

“No, you don’t. You need to stop dwellin’ on that shit and let’s move forward.”

“Is that how it is for you?” Reagan’s tone was hard. “You forget everything in the past and just look at the future?”

“In a way, sure.”

Reagan chuckled, but he could tell it was strained. “Explains all the women.”

Lynx yanked his ball cap off his head, thrust his hand through his hair, and groaned, spinning on his boot heel and walking away. “You don’t fuckin’ get it do you, Reagan?” he called back.

“Get what?”

Pivoting to face her, he locked his eyes with hers, the three feet between them not nearly enough to keep him from wanting to put his hands all over her.

“It’s always been you, Reagan. Always.”

“What’s been me?” she snapped.

“Do you remember when you started datin’ Billy?”

She frowned. “What the fuck does he have to do with anything?”

“He’s got every goddamn thing to do with it,” Lynx yelled. “Since before you were eighteen, you’ve been with that fuckup.”