by Naima Simone
Harley? Her parents? Something else with Wingate Enterprises? She, like everyone else in Royal—hell, the nation—had heard of the trouble at their jet manufacturing plant. Unlike the gossip swirling around the Wingates proclaimed, she didn’t believe the allegations of corruption. They didn’t coincide with the people she’d known for years. And she absolutely didn’t believe that Ezekiel would’ve gone along with something so nefarious. They might not have been close, but the boy and man she’d called a friend had a core of integrity and honesty in him that wouldn’t have abided any fraudulence or deception. Especially any that could potentially cost people their lives.
“Reagan,” he said, pausing for a long moment. A moment during which she braced herself. “Marry me.”
The breath she’d been holding whooshed out of her. She blinked. Blinked again. Surely, he... No, he couldn’t have possibly...
“E-excuse me?” she stuttered, shock slowing her mind and tongue.
“Marry me,” he repeated, his jade gaze steady, his expression solemn. Determined. “Be my wife.”
Oh God. His determination slowly thawed the ice that surprise had encased her in, permitting panic to creep through. He’d lost it. He’d finally cracked under the pressure from the trouble at Wingate. What other explanation could there be?
“Ezekiel...”
“I’m not crazy,” he assured her, apparently having developed the talent of reading minds. Or maybe he’d interpreted her half rising from the couch as a sign of her need to escape. He held out a hand, stalling the motion. “Reagan, hear me out. Please.”
He sounded sane. Calm, even. But that meant nothing. The man had just proposed to her—if she could actually call his demand a proposal. Who just commanded a woman to marry him? As if she were chattel—hold up. Now she was the one losing her mind. Demand, ask, send a freaking telegram... Nothing could change the fact that she’d suddenly plummeted into an alternate universe where Ezekiel damn Wingate had ordered her to become his wife.
All manners flew out the window in extreme circumstances like this.
“What the hell, Zeke?” she breathed.
The man nodded, still cool. Still composed. “I understand your reaction. I do. But just let me explain. And if you say no and want to leave, I won’t try to stop you. And no hard feelings, okay?” She couldn’t force her lips to move, and he evidently took her silence as acquiescence. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation at the cemetery for the last couple of days. Your situation with the will and not wanting to give in to your father’s matchmaking campaign.”
“Siege is more like it,” she grumbled.
A corner of Ezekiel’s mouth quirked. “Yes, we’ll go with that. Siege.” Once more, his face grew serious, and she barely smothered the urge to wrap her arms around herself. To protect herself from the words to come out of his mouth. “The stipulation in your grandmother’s will is you have to marry a suitable man in order to receive your inheritance. You also said you didn’t want to marry a man you didn’t know. A man who would try to control you.” He released a rough, ragged breath. “We’ve been acquainted, been friends for years. And I have no interest in overseeing you or your money. As a matter of fact, I’m willing to sign a contract stating that your inheritance would remain in your name alone, without any interference from me.”
“Wait, wait.” She held up a hand, palm out, silently asking him to stop. To let his words sink in. To allow her the time to make sense of them. “Are you telling me you want to marry me just so I can access my grandmother’s money?”
“Yes.”
“But why?” she blurted out.
Unable to sit any longer, she shot to her feet and paced away from him. Away from the intensity he radiated that further scrambled her thoughts. Striding to the huge picture windows on one wall, she stared out, not really seeing the large stables or the horses in the corral in the distance. This time, she surrendered to the need to cross her arms over her chest. Not caring if the gesture betrayed her vulnerability, her confusion.
“Why?” she repeated, softer but no less bemused. In her experience, no one in this world did something for nothing. What did Ezekiel want from her? How did he benefit from this seemingly altruistic offer? “I’ve had no indication you were even interested in marriage.” Only forty-eight hours earlier he’d been holding a vigil over the woman he’d wanted to pledge himself to for life. “Why would you voluntarily tie yourself to a woman you don’t love?”
“I’m not looking for love, Reagan.” She sensed his presence behind her at the same time his words reached her.
The quiet finality in that statement shouldn’t have rocked through her like a quake, but it did. She wasn’t looking either; that often deceptive emotion required too much from a person and gave too little back. But hearing him say it...
“I don’t want it,” he went on. “Love isn’t included in the bargain, and you should know that upfront. Because if you need that from me, then I’ll rescind the offer. I can’t lie or mislead you. And I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I don’t need it,” she whispered. “But that still doesn’t answer my question. Why?”
His sigh ruffled her hair, and as he shifted behind her, his chest brushed her shoulder blade. But rather than feel cornered or smothered, she had to battle the impulse to press back into him, to bask in the warmth and strength he emanated.
So she stiffened and leaned forward.
“Would it be advantageous for the world to believe that you, a member of the upright Sinclair family, are in my corner during this WinJet shit storm? Yes. Do I find the thought of companionship appealing? Yes. Is it hard admitting that not only am I sometimes lonely, but that it’s an ache? Yes. They’re all true, but not the biggest reasons for my proposition,” he said.
Proposition, she noted, not proposal. Yet, she didn’t latch onto that as much as him being lonely. God, she knew about the hole loneliness could carve. And how you might be willing to do anything to alleviate it.
“Freedom,” he said. “That’s what you whispered. Maybe you didn’t mean for me to hear it, but I did. You long to be free. I don’t know of what, and I won’t pry and ask if you don’t want to enlighten me. But it doesn’t matter. I can give it to you. If you accept me, you’ll have access to your inheritance and all those dreams and goals you mentioned won’t remain stagnant for four more years.”
She closed her eyes, a tremble working its way through her body before she could prevent it. He’d listened to her. That was a bit of a lark. Having someone pay attention, consider and not dismiss her needs, her desires. Her.
“I still don’t think it’s fair to expect you to legally commit yourself to me. Marriage isn’t something to be taken lightly,” she maintained, although, dammit, her arguments against this idea were weaker.
“It won’t be forever,” he countered. “A year, eighteen months at the most. Just long enough for you to receive the money. Then we can obtain an amicable divorce and go our separate ways, back to being friends. Ray.” He cupped her shoulders and gently but firmly turned her around to face him. He waited until she tipped her head back and met his unwavering but shadowed gaze. “Besides the obvious reasons, I understand why you might be hesitant to agree. I might be related to the Wingates, but with the fire and the bad press, our reputation isn’t as clean as it used to be. And you might very well be dirtied by association—”
She cut him off with a slice of her hand between them. “As if I care about that,” she scoffed. “No, my concern stems from this smacking of something out of an over-the-top TV drama. And that no one will believe it since we’ve never even been seen together as a couple. Or that all of this will seem like a stunt and only have more aspersions thrown your way.”
“You let me worry about appearances and spinning this. I’m a VP of marketing, after all,” he said, a vein of steel threading through his voice. “The only person we
need to convince and impress is your father since he holds the reins to your inheritance. If he approves, we can have a quick wedding ceremony and start the ball rolling toward him releasing your money.”
Reagan studied his beard-covered jaw. Jesus, she was really considering this propo—no, proposition. This was more akin to a business arrangement. Complete with a contract. Except with a ring. And a wedding.
And a commitment. A commitment without...
She lifted her gaze to his and found herself locked in his almost too intense stare. Which was going to make this all the more difficult to vocalize.
“I know you, uh...” Fire blazed up her neck and poured into her face, and she briefly squeezed her eyes shut. “I know you enjoy female company. Won’t marrying me, um, interfere with...” She trailed off.
“Are you trying to ask me if I’m going to be able to endure going without sex?” he asked bluntly.
Damn. “Yes,” she pushed forward. Because although she threatened to be consumed in mortification, she needed this point to be clear. “If I agree to this—and that’s a big if—we have to appear as if we’re in love even though it’s not true. And that includes not going out on,” she paused, “dates with other women while we’re married.”
She didn’t even consider suggesting sex as part of their bargain. Ezekiel saw her as his cousin’s best friend, not a desirable woman. Offering him the option would only embarrass both of them, and she’d tasted rejection and humiliation enough to last her a lifetime. There were only so many times a woman could be told she was unwanted in words and action before she sympathized with the turtle, afraid to stick out her head from her shell in fear of it being lobbed off.
“Ray, look at me.” She did as he demanded, a little surprised to realize her gaze had dipped to his chin again. “I control my dick, not the other way around.”
Oookay. Hearing him utter that shouldn’t have been sexy. It should’ve offended her. But it was, and it didn’t. If the flesh between her legs had a vote, she should have a mix tape made with him saying dick over and over again.
Proposition. Platonic. Friend. No sex.
She wasn’t sure, but her vagina might have whispered, Spoilsport.
“I’m taking that as a yes, that other women would be out of the picture for the duration of our...arrangement,” she said, arching an eyebrow.
“Yes, Ray.” A smile curved his mouth, and she cursed herself for again wondering how he would feel, taste. Good thing sex was off the table. She probably wouldn’t survive it with this man. “Now, your answer. Or do you need more time to consider it? Will you be my trust fund fiancée?”
In spite of the thoughts whirling through her head, she almost smiled at his phrasing. Did she need more time? His arguments were solid. His reasons for sacrificing himself to her cause still remained nebulous, but if he was willing...
She allowed herself to imagine a future where she was independent. Where her work at the girls’ home in Colonial County would no longer have to be a secret she kept to herself out of fear of hurting her parents. A future where she could build a similar home here in Royal that supported teenage pregnant mothers who didn’t have the family support, health care or resources they so desperately needed.
She should know. She had been one.
And this would solve her dilemma with honoring her grandmother’s request even if the stipulation continued to hurt Reagan. She feared estrangement from her father, her family, and marrying Ezekiel would prevent that as well. Once, her father had been delighted about her friendship with a Wingate. Now she had the opportunity to marry into the family. Maybe he might even be...proud of her again?
Blowing out a breath, she pinched the bridge of her nose. Then lowered her arm and opened her eyes to meet the pale green scrutiny that managed to see too much and conceal even more.
“Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Five
“Are you sure about this?” Reagan questioned Ezekiel for, oh, probably the seventeenth time since she’d agreed to his...bargain. “It’s not too late to back out,” she said as he cut the engine in his car. Even riding in the Jaguar hadn’t been able to banish the nerves tightening inside her. Which was a shame. The car rode and handled like a dream.
Long, elegant fingers wrapped around the fist she clenched in her lap, gently squeezing. He didn’t speak until she tugged her scrutiny from their joined hands to his face.
“I’m sure, Reagan. Just like I was sure the last time you asked. And the time before that. And the time before that.” Chuckling, he gave her hand one last squeeze before releasing her and popping open his car door. In seconds, he’d rounded the hood and had her own door open. He extended a hand toward her, and with a resigned sigh, she covered his palm with hers.
And ignored the sizzle that crackled from their clasped hands, up her arm and traveled down to tingle in her breasts. She’d better get used to doing nothing about her reaction to him. It was inconvenient and irritating.
Not to mention unwelcome.
He kept their hands clasped together as they walked up the steps to her home. Ezekiel had advised that they shouldn’t waste any time getting the ball rolling on their plan. So she’d called the administrator of the girls’ home and let them know she wouldn’t be in today. Though she hated missing even one shift, Reagan agreed with Ezekiel. The sooner the hard part of telling her family was over with, the better.
Next, she’d called her parents to ensure they would both be home this evening for an announcement. Forcing a cheer she didn’t feel into her voice as she talked to her mother had careened too close to lying for Reagan’s comfort, and even now, her belly dipped, hollowed out by the upcoming deception. Necessary, but still, a deception all the same.
“Sweetheart, look at me.”
Reagan halted on the top step, her chest rising and falling on abrupt, serrated breaths. But she tipped her head back, obeying Ezekiel’s soft demand.
She didn’t flinch as he cupped her jaw. And she forced herself not to lean into his touch like a frostbite victim seeking warmth. His thumb swept over her cheek, and she locked down the sigh that crept up her throat.
“Everything’s going to be fine, Reagan,” he assured her, that thumb grazing the corner of her mouth. “I’ll be right by your side, and I promise not to leave you hanging.”
She just managed not to snap, Don’t make promises you can’t keep, trapping the sharp words behind her clenched teeth. Of course he would leave. Whether it was at the end of this evening if it didn’t go well or at the termination of their “marriage.” All men left, at some point. Gavin had. The affectionate, warm father she remembered from her childhood had, replaced by a colder, less forgiving and intolerant version.
As long as she remembered that and shielded herself against it, she wouldn’t be hurt when Ezekiel eventually disappeared from her life.
“We should go in. They’re expecting us.” Stepping back and away from his touch, she strode toward the front door of her family home. A moment later, the solid, heated pressure of his big hand settled on the small of her back. “So it begins.”
“Did you just quote Lord of the Rings?” he asked, arching a dark brow. Amusement glinted in pale green eyes.
“The fact that you know I did means we might actually be able to pull this ‘soul mate’ thing off,” she shot back.
He gave an exaggerated gasp. “What kind of animal doesn’t know Tolkien?”
“Exactly.”
They were grinning at each other when the front door opened, and her father appeared in the entrance.
“Reagan.” He paused, studying Ezekiel, his scrutiny inscrutable. “Ezekiel.” He stretched a hand toward him. “This is a nice surprise.”
As the two men shook hands and greeted one another, Reagan inhaled a slow, deep breath. I can do this. I have to do this.
Because the alternatives—a parade of m
en, more disappointment as she turned them down, trapping her in this half life—were hard for her to stomach.
“Well, come on in. We’ve held up dinner to wait on you.” Her father shifted backward and waved them inside. “I’ll have Marina add an extra setting for our guest.”
“Thank you, Douglas. I appreciate you accommodating me on such short notice,” Ezekiel said, his hand never leaving Reagan’s back, his big frame a reassuring presence at her side.
“Of course.”
Douglas led the way to the smaller living room where her mother waited. As soon as they entered, she rose from the chair flanking the large fireplace. At fifty-five, Henrietta Sinclair possessed an elegance and beauty that defied time. Short, dark hair that held a sweep of gray down the side framed her lovely face in a classic bob. Petite and slender, she might appear on the fragile side, but to play mediator and peacemaker between Reagan and her father for all these years, she contained a quiet strength that was often underrated. Admittedly, by Reagan herself.
“Well, you said you had a surprise, and this is definitely one,” Henrietta said, crossing the room toward them. “Welcome, Ezekiel.” She held both her arms out toward him, clasping his hands in hers. He lowered his head and kissed each cheek. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You, too, Ms. Henrietta,” Ezekiel said. “Thank you for having me here.” He gently extricated his hands from hers and returned one back to the base of Reagan’s spine.
And her mother’s shrewd gaze didn’t miss it.
“None of this ‘Ms. Henrietta’ stuff. Please, just Henrietta,” she admonished with a smile. “And you look beautiful this evening, Reagan.” She scanned her daughter’s purple sheath dress and the nude heels. “Any special reason?”
“Very subtle, Mom,” Reagan drawled, shaking her head. Relief tiptoed inside her chest, easing some of the anxiety that had resided there since she and Ezekiel had left his home. Maybe this wouldn’t be as difficult as she’d imagined. “Actually, Zeke and I would like to talk with you and Dad before dinner.”
