by Naima Simone
Only when she left and he stared at a closed door did he exhale and shut his eyes.
He should be grateful. Relieved. And he was. But damn if he could decide if he’d dodged a bullet or lost the one thing that had given him purpose these last few weeks.
Given him peace.
He shook his head and pivoted on his heel, heading for the staircase.
It didn’t matter. She was gone.
And in the end, it was for the best.
For both of them.
Ten
Reagan stepped into the cool interior of the restaurant with a sigh, thankful to be out of the early September heat. It was only about three weeks from the official start of fall, but Texas didn’t know it. Fixing a polite smile on her face, she strode to the maître d’s stand.
“Hello,” she greeted. “I’m meeting Douglas Sinclair. He should have already arrived.”
“Of course,” the young man said, nodding. “Please follow me.”
She was ten minutes late for lunch with her father, but considering he’d sprung the “invitation” on her an hour ago, it couldn’t be helped. He should be thankful she’d rearranged her plans to meet him anyway.
The only reason she had acquiesced to this impromptu lunch date was because he’d made it seem important, urgent even. It’d been two weeks since her father had demanded she end her engagement with Ezekiel, and a part of her still resented him for that. But maybe this lunch could be the start of healing that rift. Her father loved her; in her heart, she acknowledged he only wanted the best for her. Even if he could be overbearing and stubborn, she’d never doubted that...
“Reagan.” Douglas stood from a table next to the large picture window that looked over downtown Royal. “We’ve been waiting on you. You look lovely.”
She barely registered the kiss he pressed to her hair, focusing on the we. This was supposed to be a lunch for just the two of them. But as her attention snagged on the man also rising from his chair, a cold sliver of hurt and anger settled between her ribs.
Of course her father hadn’t just wanted to spend quality time with her. He had his own agenda, and that trumped everything.
“Reagan, I’d like to introduce you to Justin McCoy. Justin...” he smiled broadly at the other man “...my beautiful daughter Reagan Sinclair.”
Justin McCoy. The tall, handsome man with light blond hair smiled at her, his blue eyes quickly roaming over her before meeting her gaze again.
God, she needed a shower. She cut her father a sharp side glance.
“It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, Reagan,” Justin said, grasping her hand although she hadn’t offered it. He lifted it toward his lips, and her stomach lurched. If not for her father’s eagle-eyed gaze, she would’ve snatched her arm back. Especially since she hadn’t given Justin permission to touch her.
On second thought...
She tugged her hand back before Justin could touch her, ignoring her father’s frown and Justin’s shock. She didn’t believe in the ask forgiveness rather than permission school of thought. And if neither this man nor her father respected her boundaries, then she didn’t have to allow a man who was at best a gold digger to put his hands or mouth on her to spare their egos.
That simmering anger stirred to a boil, and she dragged in a breath before forcing a politeness to her tone that required Herculean effort on her part.
“Mr. McCoy, if you would excuse us for a moment. I need to have a quick, private word with my father.”
Not waiting for either man’s agreement, she whirled on the heel of her nude stiletto and stalked toward the exit. She pushed through the door and waited for her father on the sidewalk outside the restaurant.
She didn’t have long to wait before he appeared.
“How dare you embarrass me like that, Reagan,” he fumed, fury glittering in his narrowed glare. “You go back in there right now and apologize for your rude behavior.”
“I will not.”
His chin jerked up as if her words had delivered a physical slap, and his lips slackened. She’d shocked him. Hell, she’d shocked herself. Her heart drummed against her rib cage, and the tiniest sliver of fear slid through her veins. Since she’d returned to Royal and her family from that home without her baby, empty and ashamed, she hadn’t once defied either of her parents. Especially her father. And she would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit it scared her now. But no.
Just. No. Apparently, she had her limits, and she’d reached them.
“Reagan—”
“I’m not an idiot, Dad,” she interrupted, slicing her hand through the air for emphasis. “I clearly see what this is. An ambush. Another setup. Well, I refuse to go along with it. Not this time. And definitely not with him.”
“Yes, you will, Reagan,” he hissed, his attention shooting over her shoulder. Most likely ensuring no one stood witness to her insolence, as he no doubt saw it. “I won’t stand for this blatant disrespect. And I don’t know what you think you know about Justin McCoy—”
“It isn’t what I think I know,” she shot back. “That man in there intentionally seduced an innocent girl and got her pregnant just so he could worm his way into a wealthy family. Considering our family history, you would think impregnating a girl would be at the top of your unworthy traits list,” she sneered.
“Lower your voice this instant,” he ordered, once more glancing around them. And that tore through her like a red-hot sword. Of course. They couldn’t chance anyone overhearing about their shameful family secret. “Wasn’t it you who told me I shouldn’t listen to rumors and conjecture?”
“Rumors?” She released a jagged bark of laughter. “It’s not an opinion that he used Julie Wheeler only to abandon her. It’s not opinion that he tried to do the exact same thing with Beth Wingate. Ask Camden Guthrie or Bruce Wheeler. I promise you they will confirm that Justin McCoy’s complete lack of a moral compass is a fact. After all, it was Cam’s dead wife and Bruce’s daughter he betrayed.”
“It is my job as your father to decide what is best for you, Reagan. And I might have failed once but never again,” he ground out.
Had she thought he’d hurt her before? No, this...this was pain. Having him affirm that he believed he’d failed—that she’d been a failure.
Her breath shuddered out of her, and she blinked back the sting of hot tears.
She loved her father, but at this moment, he disappointed her just as she surely disappointed him. Douglas thought the purse strings controlled her, had kept her obedient and quiet for all these years. But he couldn’t have been more wrong. Longing for his approval had. For her mother’s, too, but more so his. There was no turning back the hands of time to that innocent period when she’d been a daddy’s girl. She might never have what she desperately craved from him. The only difference between now and an hour ago was that she no longer cared.
“And the fact that you would believe he is a better man, a more suitable man than Ezekiel Holloway stuns and disheartens me.” She shook her head. “I love you, Dad, but I’m not going along with this anymore. I know you want what’s best for me, but you’ve never asked me what that is. You don’t care. And that saddens me even more.”
She turned and walked away from him. And even when he called her name, she didn’t stop.
She was through answering to him.
From now on, she would only answer to herself.
“Mr. Holloway, Reagan Sinclair is here to see you.”
Ezekiel jerked his head up from studying a report at his executive assistant’s announcement through the telephone’s intercom. Alarm blared inside him, and he shot up from his chair, already rounding the desk and stalking toward the office door. There had been no communication between them since he and Reagan had broken off their engagement. What had happened to make her end the radio silence now?
Before he reached the doo
r, it swung open and Reagan stepped in. The impact of her after weeks of not seeing her halted him midstride. Jesus, had he really somehow forgotten how beautiful she was? Or had he just tried to convince himself she wasn’t so he could stop thinking about her? Either way, the attempt had been an epic fail.
He’d missed everything about her—her laugh, her quiet way of listening, the cultured yet sensual husky tone of her voice, her scent...her friendship. And hell yes, he’d missed just looking at her. Today, her sleeveless wrap dress molded to her slim but curvaceous figure like a secret admirer, and damn him, but he was jealous of the material that cupped her lovely breasts, slid over the flare of her hips and glided down those slender, perfect thighs. His fingers itched to follow the same paths, to explore that uncharted territory for himself. And to stake his claim.
But she wasn’t his anymore. Not even for pretend.
What had been unattainable before had become even more of an impossibility.
Forcing his unruly thoughts and wayward body under control, he demanded, “Reagan, what’re you doing here?” The worry at the obvious distress in her eyes and the slightly jerky movement in her normally smooth gait roughened his voice. “What’s wrong?”
“Marry me.”
He stared at her, struck speechless. Dozens of questions bombarded him, and he mentally waded through them, finally settling on the most important one. “What?”
“Marry me,” she repeated, closing the short distance between them, not stopping until her hands fisted the lapels of his suit jacket, her thighs braced against his and that honeysuckle scent embraced him like a long-lost lover.
He swallowed a groan at her nearness, at the feel of her body pressed to his. Lust, hot and hungry, punched him in the gut, then streamed through him in a swollen flood. Desperate to place distance between them so he could fucking think, he gripped her hips to set her away from him. But touching her backfired. Instead of pushing her back, he held her close, his body rebelling and taking control. Two weeks. It’d been two long weeks.
“Reagan,” he rumbled.
“No, Zeke. Don’t give me all the reasons why we shouldn’t. I don’t care. Do you know where I just came from?” she asked, switching topics with a lightning speed that left him floundering. Between that and his dick finding cushion against her stomach, he couldn’t keep up. “I just left a restaurant where my father arranged for me to have lunch with Justin McCoy.”
“The hell?” His grip on her tightened. Douglas had set her up with that asshole?
“Yes.” Reagan nodded as if reading his mind. “Apparently my father considered him a more suitable match than you. A man who uses and throws away women for his own gain rather than you, a man who has been nothing but honorable and unfailingly kind and respectful. I had enough. I walked away from him and his machinations. I’m through allowing him to run my life, to make choices for me out of guilt and loyalty.”
Guilt? What the hell did that mean?
Shoving the questions aside for the moment, he refocused on her. “I understand your anger, believe me, I do, but take a moment and think this through before you make a mistake you can’t take back. This decision will cost you your inheritance. It could damage your relationship with your parents. Is this rebellion worth that? Because you’re not in...” He couldn’t finish that sentence. Couldn’t fathom it.
“No, Zeke, I’m not in love with you,” she assured him, and he exhaled a heavy breath. Even as an unidentifiable emotion twisted in his chest. “And maybe this is a little bit of rebellion on my part, but it’s so much more. I’m taking control—of my choices, my mind, my life. I respect you, Zeke. But this isn’t about you. It’s about me. About finally becoming the woman I’ve been too afraid to own. So, from now on, I’m making my own decisions,” she continued. “And that includes you. I choose you, Zeke. And I want you to marry me.”
Jesus, did she know what a delicious temptation she was? How he’d fought following after her that evening he’d let her walk out of his house? That had required strength he hadn’t realized he possessed. Doing it a second time...
No, she might feel certain here in this office, but she was still upset. Could feel very differently in the morning, hell, hours from now. Maybe after they talked this out, she would see—
She rose on her toes and crushed her mouth to his.
Oh fuck.
His control snapped.
Like a flash fire, the press of her lips to his poured gasoline over the lust that had been steadily simmering. He took possession of that sweet siren’s mouth, claiming it with a thrust of his tongue. Possessing it with a long, wet lick. Corrupting it with an erotic tangle and suck that left little to the imagination about what he wanted from her.
And he wanted it all. In this moment where the lines between platonic friendship and desire incinerated beneath his greedy mouth and her needy whimpers, he wanted everything she had to give him.
With an almost feral growl, he reached between them and grasped her wrists, tugging her arms behind her. He cuffed them with one hand and thrust the other into her hair, fisting the strands and jerking her head back for a deeper, dirtier kiss even as he pressed her curves flush against him. Her breasts, so soft, so full, pillowed against his chest and her belly welcomed his erection. His legs bracketed hers, and he shamelessly used the position to grind against her, letting her know without any question how much she affected him. How hard she made him.
Though he dominated her body, she wasn’t submissive to him. God no. Her mouth moved over his as if he were her first or last meal. Her teeth nipped at his lips, and he knew when this feasting ended, his lips would be as swollen as hers. She met him thrust for thrust, lick for lick, sweep for sweep. She was his equal.
No. He shuddered as she drew on his tongue, sucking. He was her supplicant. And he would do any goddamn thing for her as long as she didn’t stop.
The loud buzz of his intercom blared in the room like the blast of a horn, seconds before his assistant’s voice intruded. “Mr. Holloway, I’m sorry to interrupt. But you asked me to remind you about your two-o’clock meeting with the marketing team.”
Ezekiel stared down at Reagan, his chest heaving, his breath like a chain saw. Equal parts shock and grinding lust tore at him, and fuck, where had this need come from? How had it burned out of control so fast?
Anything that uncontrollable, that hot, that addictive wasn’t good. Not for him. Not when he needed to maintain that careful emotional distance. Not when she would possibly want more from him then he was able to give.
Yet...she’d come to him; she needed him. Maybe he couldn’t help her obtain her inheritance, but he could unconditionally support her, be that person she could finally lean on. Still rescuing her, a voice that sounded suspiciously like his brother whispered through his head. Possibly. Probably. But, she’d assured him she didn’t desire more than he was capable of offering, that she didn’t love him. Obviously, she craved him as much as he did her—that combustible kiss confirmed that. And, as she’d just stormed in here and told him, she made her own decisions, knew her own mind.
If she did, then they could go through with this marriage, maybe, once Douglas calmed down, still have a chance to obtain her inheritance and have scorching-hot sex, too. He could have her and when the time came, walk away.
Because there were no ifs about that. He would walk away. As she would.
Slowly releasing her, he returned to his desk. Planting a hand on the desk, he looked at Reagan again. She hadn’t moved, but gazed at him, mouth wet and puffy from his kisses.
Ezekiel pressed a button on his phone.
“Laura,” he said to his executive assistant, “please cancel the meeting as well as clear and reschedule my calendar for the next week. I’m going to be out of the office. If anyone asks, I’m getting married.”
Eleven
Good God, they’d done it.
As of two hours ago, she was Mrs. Reagan Holloway, Ezekiel Holloway’s wife. She stared out the floor-to-ceiling window of the luxury suite into the bright, dazzling lights of the Las Vegas strip. Ezekiel hadn’t spared any expense for the place they would spend their honeymoon.
Honeymoon. She wrestled with the emotions twisting and tumbling inside her. Jesus. This was unreal. As unreal as the whirlwind trip to Las Vegas after leaving his office twenty-four hours ago. As unreal as the unexpectedly lovely and private ceremony under a candlelit and crystal-encrusted gazebo in the back of a chapel made of glass. As unreal as this elegant and richly appointed penthouse with its Italian marble foyer, sunken living room and lavish master bedroom.
Was it how she’d imagined her wedding and honeymoon to be?
No.
It was better because it was all her choice.
Somehow, it didn’t seem possible that just yesterday she’d rushed into Ezekiel’s office and demanded he marry her. She winced, her fingers tightening around the stem of her wineglass. Thinking back on her uncharacteristically rash act, she still couldn’t believe she’d done it.
Or that she’d kissed him.
Her belly executed a perfect swan dive as she lifted trembling fingers to her lips. A day later, and the imprint of his mouth was still on hers. He’d branded her. Years from now, she would no doubt still feel the pressure, the slight sting, the hungry possession of that kiss. What a sad commentary on her love life that it’d been better than the best sex she’d ever had. Ezekiel Holloway could own a woman’s soul with his mouth. No wonder he’d never lacked for company. No wonder women vied for a chance to spend just hours in his bed. Or out of it, for that matter.
She needed to stop thinking about him and other women.
Or that before this evening ended, she and Ezekiel would be swept up in the throes of passion.
Whispers of nerves and curls of heat tangled together inside her belly, and she exhaled, trying to calm both. If that kiss was any indication, Ezekiel was well versed in sex. She, on the other hand, not so much. There had only been a couple of men she’d been with in the last ten years. And while the experiences had been nice—God, how anemic nice sounded—the encounters hadn’t melted her bones or numbed her brain as just a mating of mouths with Ezekiel had. What would actual sex be like between them? Would he find her lacking? What if she—
