Trust Fund Fiancé

by Naima Simone

  Slowly, she nodded and as he loosened his hold on her hair, she stepped back. The smile she flashed him trembled before firming. An apology for crossing boundaries lurched to his tongue.

  But then he caught the heat swirling beneath the shadows in her eyes seconds before her lashes lowered.

  That unintended glimpse arrowed straight to his dick.

  Now it was his control that he clenched instead of her hair.

  And when she reached back and entwined his fingers with hers as they headed across the room, he clung to the reasons why he couldn’t escort her out of this party to the nearest dark room and fuck her senseless.

  “Can you believe their arrogance? Being investigated by the DEA and throwing this party as if nothing is happening. Their gall is astounding. Even for Wingates.”

  Ezekiel’s steps faltered and he nearly stumbled as the not-nearly-so-low whispers reached his ears. In front of him, Reagan stopped, her slim shoulders stiffening.

  But another ugly voice piped up just behind them.

  A disgusted snort. “I wonder if drug money is paying for all of this. Or blood money, as I like to call it.”

  “Goddammit,” Luke quietly spat beside him.

  Rage, pain, powerlessness and shame. They eddied and churned inside him, whipping and stinging. A howl scraped at his throat, but he trapped it, unwilling to give anyone more to gossip and cackle over.

  “If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” Reagan said, her voice hard in a way he’d never heard from her. Not until she firmly disentangled her hand from his did he realize how tightly he gripped her.

  Unmoving, he and Luke watched as she turned and crossed the short distance to the two older women who had been maligning them. Reagan smiled at them, and as if they hadn’t just been ripping his family apart with their tongues, they returned the warm gesture. Hooking her arms through theirs, she led them through the crowd and toward the great room exit. She tipped her head to the club’s security who unobtrusively stood vigil at the door, and in moments, the two men escorted the women out.

  Ezekiel gaped at her as she retraced her path toward him and Luke.

  “Holy shit,” Luke marveled. “That might’ve been the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life.”

  “Watch your mouth,” Ezekiel muttered. “That’s my future wife you’re talking about.” But damn if Luke wasn’t right. That take-no-shit act had been hot.

  “Now,” Reagan said, returning to his side, “we were headed into dinner.” She clasped his hand again and moved forward as if nothing had interrupted them.

  “I need to know, darlin’,” Luke said, falling into step on her other side. Whether Reagan was his fake fiancée or not, she’d won his brother’s admiration and probably his loyalty with her actions tonight. “What did you say to them?”

  “Oh, I just thanked them for coming to celebrate our upcoming nuptials. But that I refused to feed mouths that could congratulate us out of one side and denigrate us from the other. Then I wished them a good night and asked security to escort them out.”

  Luke threw back his head on a loud bark of laughter that drew several curious glances. “Remind me never to cross you, Reagan Sinclair.”

  Pride, fierce and bright, glowed within Ezekiel, and even if their relationship was only pretense, he was delighted he could claim this woman as his.

  And that scared the hell out of him.

  Nine

  “Reagan, I need a word with you, please.”

  Reagan paused midstep as she crossed her home’s foyer toward the staircase, glancing at her father, who stood in the entrance to the living room.

  Checking her thin, gold watch, she frowned. Just five fifteen. Douglas Sinclair routinely didn’t arrive home until almost six o’clock from his law office. Had he been waiting on her?

  “Sure, Dad. But will this take long? I have plans for this evening.”

  She’d agreed to accompany Ezekiel to a dinner at his family’s estate at six tonight. But she’d lost track of time at the girls’ home and was now running late. That had been happening more and more lately as her responsibilities at the home had expanded from administrative to more interaction with the girls.

  Ezekiel didn’t seem to mind when she called to apologize or reschedule dates. She should’ve told him by now where she spent the majority of her time, because after the engagement party three weeks ago, they’d grown even more comfortable with each other. Yet that kernel of fear that he would dismiss her efforts—or maybe worse, ask why she volunteered there—prevented her from confiding in him. As it did from admitting the truth to her parents.

  But he wasn’t her father. So maybe she would tell him tonight after dinner. Not...everything. Still, she could share this. Maybe.

  Her father didn’t reply to her but turned and entered the living room, leaving her to follow. Her frown deepened. What was going on? Douglas’s grim expression and the tensing of her stomach didn’t bode well for this conversation.

  “Sit, please,” he said, waving toward the couch as he lowered to the adjacent chair.

  Though she would’ve preferred to stand—easier to make a quick exit—she sank to the furniture. “What’s wrong, Dad?”

  He crossed one leg over the other and propped his elbows on the chair’s arms, templing his fingers under his chin. That sense of foreboding increased. She and her siblings deemed this position his Thinking Man pose. Which usually meant he was about to lecture one of them or deliver an edict they probably wouldn’t like.

  “Reagan, I initially went along with this sudden relationship with Ezekiel Holloway and gave you my blessing for the engagement, but now I have concerns,” her father said.

  “About?” she pressed when he didn’t immediately continue.

  Her heart thudded against her chest, and she forced herself to remain composed. Douglas Sinclair despised theatrics. And the last thing she could afford was for him to accuse her of being too emotional to make an informed decision.

  “The Wingate name used to be spotless and above reproach in not just Royal, but Texas. But now, with this scandal about dirty dealings at the jet plants, employee lawsuits and now drugs, for God’s sake, I believe it’s been dirtied beyond repair.”

  “Miles Wingate proved that the family wasn’t responsible for the falsified inspection reports. Which makes me doubt everything else about the drugs,” she argued. “You’ve known the Wingate family longer than I have, Dad. You have to know they couldn’t be capable of trafficking or anything as reprehensible as that.”

  “I don’t know anything of the sort,” he disagreed. “People are not always who they appear to be. And while Trent Wingate might’ve been a trustworthy man, I cannot vouch for his family. Not personally.” He lowered his arms and leaned forward, pinning her with a steady stare. “Besides, in the eyes of the public, they are guilty. Their reputation sullied. I don’t believe it is wise to connect your name—or this family’s name—with theirs at this time.”

  Her stomach bottomed out. She’d suspected this was where he’d been heading. But hearing him state it...

  “James Harris, the president of the Cattleman’s Club, as well as other TCC members all support the Wingates. They’re not worried about their reputations being ‘sullied,’” she said, imbuing her tone with her dislike over his elitist word choice. Hadn’t she assured Ezekiel weeks ago that her father might be conservative but not arrogant or self-important? She shook her head.

  “Maybe you’re too blinded by your...affection for Ezekiel,” Douglas continued. “But I think the right decision for not just you, but this family would be to break off this engagement. After all, how would it look if my firm was associated with people being investigated by the DEA for criminal behavior?” His mouth curled in distaste, eyes narrowing on her. “This doesn’t only affect you. Your mother is also receiving the cold shoulder from some members of this commun
ity because her daughter is marrying into that family.”

  “That family?” she repeated, giving a short, harsh chuckle. Although she found nothing humorous about this conversation. “God, Dad, that family has been here in Royal for generations. They’ve done an immense amount of good for not just this community but outside the city with their philanthropic efforts. They’re good people. And because of an accusation, of a rough period they’re suffering through, you would abandon them?”

  She huffed out a breath. “Before Ezekiel was my fiancé, he was my friend. Harley was my best friend. I refuse to just throw them away because people who indulge in rampant speculation rather than fact have nothing better to do than sit in judgment. I won’t be one of them.”

  “You have no choice,” he announced, tone flat and brooking no argument. “Your grandmother’s will stipulates that you will receive your inheritance if you marry a suitable man. I determine the definition of suitable. And Ezekiel Holloway is not it. If you go through with this marriage, I won’t release one penny to you until you’re thirty. And don’t try to convince me that the inheritance isn’t the reason for this shotgun marriage. I went along with it at first, but no longer.”

  Fury blazed through her, and as she rose, her body trembled with it. Only respect bridled her tongue when she wanted to lash out at the father she loved. Since she didn’t trust herself to speak, she pivoted and strode out of the room.

  “You will end the engagement, Reagan,” her father declared from behind her.

  She didn’t bother to turn around or glance over her shoulder at him as she pulled the front door open and walked out of her home.

  Ezekiel buttoned the cuff of his shirt, frowning as he crossed the foyer of his guesthouse to answer the knock at the door. That had to be Reagan. He’d received her terse text about being on her way, but not only was she fifteen minutes early, they’d agreed yesterday that he was supposed to pick her up from her house. He hadn’t needed to hear her voice to guess that something was wrong.

  In seconds, he opened the door and his suspicions were confirmed. Though she was as lovely as ever in a pair of light green, wide-legged trousers and a white camisole, her customary smile didn’t light up her face. Instead, her lush mouth formed a straight, serious line and shadows dimmed her pretty eyes. Unease slicked a path through him, and he stepped back, silently inviting her inside.

  “What’s wrong, Reagan?” he asked, closing the door behind her.

  She whirled around, facing him, and thankfully didn’t make him wait. “My father ambushed me when I arrived home.” Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. “He’s rescinded his approval of our marriage. Apparently, it wouldn’t be good for his reputation or business. God.” She thrust her fingers through her dark waves and paced across the foyer, her strides fairly vibrating with her anger. Pausing in front of a painting depicting the Wingate estate, she stared at it for several long moments. But he doubted she was really seeing it. “I’m sorry, Zeke,” she whispered. “I’m so angry. And ashamed.”

  “Ray, look at me,” he quietly ordered. When she slowly spun around, he studied her gorgeous features, noting the conflict in her eyes, the sad downturn of her mouth. The slight slump of her shoulders. “Your father’s not wrong.”

  Fire flashed in her gaze, replacing the distress. The breath snagged in his chest at the sight. Dammit, she was beautiful, and that passion only enhanced it.

  Still... He couldn’t blame Douglas. In the weeks since he’d visited the older man’s home asking for his blessing, Wingate Enterprises had started to free-fall. In the wake of this latest scandal, stocks had plummeted, most of their jet contracts had been canceled and there had even been some boycotting of their hotels. They’d had to start laying off staff. With company assets frozen by the DEA, they couldn’t even liquidate their holdings to plug up the worst of the bleeding.

  So no, Douglas had the right to be concerned about his daughter marrying a man who might not even be able to provide for her. Whose name could bring her more harm than good.

  “Of course he’s wrong,” she snapped. “And I would never abandon you just because of gossip and innuendo. What kind of person would that make me? What kind of friend would that make me?”

  A smart one. Instead of voicing that opinion, he slid his hands into the front pockets of his pants and murmured, “You never did tell me what you needed your inheritance for, Ray. To go to such extreme measures like agreeing to marry me, you must have a reason, a purpose for the money.”

  Her expression smoothed, becoming the loveliest of masks. “I already told you. I want my freedom.”

  “I remember,” he agreed, moving closer to her and not stopping until they stood only bare inches apart. “But over the course of the weeks we’ve spent together, I’ve also come to know a woman who wouldn’t allow something like money to keep her from grabbing that freedom. No, there’s something else.”

  He paused, cocking his head to the side. “Do you think I haven’t noticed that you disappear during the day several times a week? As much as I remember the girl you used to be, the woman is still sometimes a mystery. You’re keeping secrets, Ray. And your reason for needing this money is one of them.” He slid a hand free and pinched a lock of her hair between his thumb and finger, rubbing the rough silk of it. “You can trust me with your secrets, sweetheart.”

  Indecision flared in her eyes before her lashes lowered, hiding her emotion from him. But he caught the slight quiver of her lips before they firmed.

  “Trust me,” he damn near pleaded. His desperation for her to do just that shook him. But he didn’t rescind the words.

  The thick fringe of lashes lifted, and she stared at him. Weighing him. And relief flowed through Ezekiel when her lips parted because she’d obviously found him worthy.

  “I plan to open a fully staffed and independent home for pregnant teen mothers here in Royal.”

  Shock quaked through him, pleasure rippling in its wake. Jesus. Of all the things he’d expected her to say, a haven for unwed mothers hadn’t even been in the top ten. Admiration for her lit him up from within. Outside of his family, most of the socialites he knew served on boards or committees for charities, but very few desired to get their hands dirty.

  Why this cause? Did she know someone who’d been pregnant, abandoned and homeless? The questions crowded onto his tongue, but rather than ask them, he cupped her face between his hands, stepping closer to her. “This is important to you, isn’t it?”

  Reagan nodded, and her lips parted as if to offer him an explanation, but after a hesitation, she closed them again, shifting her gaze over his shoulder.

  “No, sweetheart, please don’t look away from me.” When she returned her regard to him, he swept his thumb over her cheek, and for a moment, he wished it was his mouth tracing the curve, tasting that soft, beautiful skin. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” she breathed.

  “For trusting me with that information. I’m assuming your parents don’t know about your plans?”

  She shook her head, her hair caressing the backs of his hands and wrists. “No. They...wouldn’t approve.”

  “Your secret is safe with me. And, Ray?” He settled a thumb under her chin, tilting her head back so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. His heart thumped against his sternum, and he viciously cursed himself for what he had to do. “Your project is also safe with me. Which is why I’m breaking off this engagement.”

  Hurt and anger flashed across her face. Her brows drew down into a frown as she settled her palms on his chest. She pushed at him, but he braced himself, refusing to be budged. Instead, he tightened his hold on her.

  “Let me go, Ezekiel,” she demanded. “If you don’t want—”

  “Want what, Ray?” he snarled. “Want you to have your freedom, your dreams sooner rather than four years from now? Want you to not damage your relationship with your family over me?
Want you to have everything you deserve?” Want you? He ground his teeth together, trapping that last question. “I want all of that for you. And whether you admit it or not, your father, your mother—they’re important to you. And I’m not going to let you risk that.”

  Not for me.

  She sighed and the soft gust of air brushed over his skin. Like a kiss.

  “It’s not right. None of it,” she whispered, the fingers that were trying to push him away seconds ago curling into his shirt. “I wish...”

  Her voice trailed off, and he was grateful. Because a part of him hungered to know what she wished, what she desired. Maybe it was for the best—for both of them—that they were making a clean break. Before they crossed a line that neither of them could come back from.

  That they would ultimately regret.

  Giving in to a need that he refused to acknowledge, he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to her forehead. He inhaled her honeysuckle-and-cream scent, capturing it like a photograph. Her breath tickled his neck, and he stood still for a long moment, enjoying the sensation on his skin.

  Lifting his head, he met her gaze. His gut tightened to the point of pain. Sadness swirled in those chicory depths. But so did a touch of heat, of desire. Fuck. It wouldn’t require more than the barest of movements to take her mouth. To possess it. To find out if his dirtiest midnight fantasies about her texture, her taste came close to reality. With one tiny shift, he could satisfy his curiosity and just know...

  He stepped back, dropping his arms to his sides. “You’d better go before your family starts to wonder where you are,” he said, forcing a neutrality into his voice that didn’t exist.

  “Right,” she agreed softly. “Take care of yourself, Zeke.”

  “You, too, Ray.”

  He turned to watch her leave, and though she paused on the threshold of the front entrance after opening the door, she didn’t turn around or glance over her shoulder at him.