Trust Fund Fiancé

by Naima Simone

  He didn’t even know how to begin to articulate the request—but simply grasped her hands and drew them forward, clasping them behind his neck. Then he buried his face in the crook between her throat and shoulder, inhaling her scent, opening his mouth over that sensitive spot, savoring the crush of her chest to his.

  Yes, he’d been with more women than he could place names and faces to, but none had held him. He hadn’t allowed it. And now, with Reagan, he craved it as much as he needed to be buried balls-deep inside her. And that need had him backing away from her mentally and physically, his ingrained self-protective instinct kicking him in the chest.

  “Zeke?” she murmured, but he stopped the question with his mouth, and anything she would’ve asked translated into a groan.

  As their mouths engaged in a hot, dirty battle, she gripped the front of his shirt and tackled his buttons. Within seconds, she tossed his shirt onto the hood behind him and raked her nails down his bare chest. Over his nipples. Down his abs. To the waistband of his pants.

  The air in his lungs sawed in and out as she tugged at his leather belt, loosening it, then opened the closure tab. He didn’t stop her—could barely drag in a damn full breath, much less move—when she lowered his zipper and dipped her hand inside his black boxer briefs.

  He hissed as her fingers closed around his length, bowing his head so his cheek pressed to hers and he fisted the skirt of her dress. Pleasure spiked up his spine, locking his body. Gritting his teeth, he dipped his head lower, staring at the erotic sight of her slender, elegant fingers curled around his dick. The tips nearly-but-not-quite met around his width, and the brutish, swollen head peeked above her hand. As both of them watched, his seed pearled, and he damn near choked as she spread the drop over his flesh.

  Ezekiel almost came on the spot when she lifted her thumb and slid it between her lips.

  “What are you trying to do to me, Reagan?” he grunted, taking her mouth and licking deep. “You want this to end before I even get inside you?” He nipped her full bottom lip in punishment. “You want to see me lose it?”

  The question sounded close to an accusation, and a small, utterly wicked smile teased her lips. “Yes. I want you to come undone for me.”

  And then she took him in her hand again, stroking him from tip to base. Squeezing. Up and down, her fist rode him, dragging him to the edge. Undoing him just as she’d claimed.

  His stomach caved with each tight caress, each twist of her fist. Bolt after hot bolt of lust attacked him, sizzling through his veins and gathered in his sac. So close. So fucking close.

  But he didn’t want to spill on her hand. When that happened, there was only one place he wanted to be.

  Deep inside her.

  Grabbing his wallet from his back pocket, he removed a condom and, in record time, sheathed himself, gritting his teeth against the pressure rapidly building inside him. With hands that should’ve been rough and hurried but were instead reverent and gentle, he swept higher and higher up her thighs until he reached her lace-covered sex.

  For a moment, the lust almost overwhelmed him, drove him to grab, tug and claim. Possess. But his affection for her tempered the urge, and he eased her underwear from her with exquisite care. His concern for her had him slip his discarded shirt under her back to protect her skin from the warm metal of the car. His longing for her had him palming her thighs, holding her wide for his ravenous gaze and hard flesh as he pushed inside her. Watching her open for him, welcome him.

  He glanced up her torso, over her trembling breasts to her face. And had to grab ahold of his frayed control with a desperate grip when he found her gaze trained on them joined between her legs, too.

  “You see how you’re taking me, sweetheart?” he whispered. Her eyes flicked to his and the heat there set a match to the already blazing conflagration in his body. “Perfect. You were made to do it. And I was created to fill you.”

  He didn’t speak anymore...couldn’t. Everything in him—every muscle, tendon, cell—focused on burying himself in the tightest, sweetest flesh. Tremors quivered through him, and he fought the need to thrust like a wild animal.

  “Don’t hold back from me, Zeke,” she breathed, lying back on the hood and smoothing her palms down her body to cover his hands over her toned thighs. “Come. Undone.”

  Her wish, her order snapped the cord tethering his control. He fell over her, pulling a taut nipple into his mouth as he thrust inside her over and over. Her legs and arms cradled him, her hips rising and bucking to meet each stroke. And her hoarse, primal cries for more spurred him on as he rode her.

  Thank God.

  He hoped if she’d asked him to stop, he would be able to. He prayed he would’ve managed it. But with her nails digging into his bare shoulders, the heels of her shoes pressed into his ass, he was so goddamn glad that fortitude wouldn’t be tested. Not when sweat dotted his skin, lust strung him tighter than a drum, and pleasure barreled down on him like a train with greased tracks and no brakes.

  “Let go, sweetheart,” he rumbled, levering off her to reach between them and rub the swollen little nub at the top of her clenching sex.

  She bowed hard, and seconds later, her core clamped down on him, nearly bruising him in her erotic embrace. She milked him, coaxing his release, and with several short, hard thrusts, he gave it to her.

  Gave it to them.

  A bone-deep lethargy swept through him, and right under it hummed a satisfaction that burrowed even deeper. Easing off Reagan, he took care of the condom, helped her dress and then righted himself. They didn’t speak, but they did communicate. She clasped his hands in hers, brushing her lips over his chin and jaw. And he took her mouth, relaying how beautiful and desirable he found her.

  Long moments later, he held the car door open and guided her inside before closing it behind her and rounding the hood. Jesus, he would never be able to drive the Jaguar again and not think of what happened on top of it today. And the fact that a smile eased onto his face at the thought should’ve alarmed him. Maybe when his body wasn’t loose and relaxed after the best sex he ever had, it would.

  His cell phone rang as he slid behind the steering wheel. Silently groaning, he reached for it. Damn. He’d forgotten that he’d powered his phone back on a couple of hours ago for the first time since leaving for Vegas. Yes, he’d been out of the office and unavailable for longer than, well, ever, but he wasn’t ready to face everything head-on yet. He glanced at the screen, intending to note the caller ID and then send the call to voice mail. But when his brother’s name popped up, he hesitated.

  It was Luke. And he was most likely worried.

  Shit.

  Swiping the answer bar, Ezekiel lifted the phone to his ear. “Hey, Luke.”

  “Where the hell have you been?” his brother roared.

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he glanced over at Reagan to find her studying him, eyebrows arched.

  “Vegas. I instructed Laura to let everyone know I would be out of town and to reschedule anything that came up,” he said calmly. “I’m a married man, by the way.”

  “Congratulations,” Luke said, even if it seemed to emerge through gritted teeth. “But Laura said a couple of days, not four.”

  “Yes, I took two more days,” Ezekiel ground out, trying not to snap. “What’s the big damn deal, Luke? Yes, we’re in trouble, but the company isn’t going to collapse while I take some vacation time.”

  Silence greeted his outburst.

  An ominous silence that sent dread crawling down his spine. “Luke?” His grip on his cell tightened until the case bit into his palm. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

  A heavy sigh echoed down the line. “I’m sorry, Zeke. Sorry for coming at you like I did.” Luke paused, and because they were so in tune with each other, Ezekiel could easily imagine his brother scrubbing a hand over his head in frustration. “And wish I could�
�ve called you with better news when you just returned from your honeymoon, but... Zeke, the shit has hit the fan.”

  “What?” Ezekiel snarled, his heart pounding so loud against his chest he could barely hear his brother above the din. “Dammit, tell me, Luke.”

  “With our assets frozen, the company hasn’t been able to cover debts. One of them being the estate.” Luke’s voice thickened, and Ezekiel’s throat closed in response. “Zeke, the bank foreclosed on our home. Everyone’s been forced to move out. Harley is living with Grant until their move back to Thailand. Beth’s gone to live with Camden. Sebastian and Sutton are renting a house together, and I’m crashing with a friend for now. But Aunt Ava...” Again Luke paused, and his dark rumble of anger reverberated in Ezekiel’s ear. “She’s moved in with Keith.”

  “Goddammit,” Ezekiel snarled. Out of his peripheral vision, he caught Reagan’s head snapping toward him. Her arm stretched across the console and she clasped his free hand in hers. “He’s taking advantage of her, Luke, and using the situation to get her under his thumb. Just when we were starting to get her back to her old self after Uncle Trent’s death. Now she’s...” He trailed off, squeezing his eyes closed. “How is this all happening?” he whispered. “Why is this...”

  “I don’t know, Zeke,” came his brother’s solemn answer. “I really don’t.”

  Fourteen

  “Reagan, can I just say again how much I appreciate you agreeing to help with the masquerade ball?” Her pretty green eyes shining, Beth Wingate reached across the table in the small meeting room in the Texas Cattleman’s Clubhouse and squeezed Reagan’s hand. “Especially since Zeke volunteered you without asking first. I hope you know I warned my cousin against making that a habit in your marriage,” she drawled.

  Reagan laughed, waving away the other woman’s concern. “It’s no problem at all, really. With Dad being a member of the club for so long, I’m no stranger to helping out with the events they’ve sponsored. Honestly, I’m happy to help out in any way I can.”

  “Good, I’m glad.” Beth gave Reagan’s hand one last squeeze. “And since I haven’t yet had the opportunity to congratulate you on your new marriage, congratulations.” Her smile dimmed a little, shadows entering her eyes. “I know this wasn’t the homecoming you were expecting though. And I’m sorry you had to return to this...mess.”

  Reagan didn’t have to ask to what mess Beth referred. Until two weeks ago, the oldest Wingate daughter had been living on the estate with her family. But now she resided with her fiancé, Camden Guthrie, due to the foreclosure on the family properties.

  Beth, lovely and elegant with a slim build and dark blond hair, had always been the epitome of composure and grace. But even she appeared a little tired and strained despite reuniting months ago with her first love. The trials the family faced obviously weighed on her. And having to continue to organize the TCC’s charity masquerade must be one more added pressure.

  “The masquerade ball is next month, in October, and even though a few people have regrettably returned their tickets because of our...association with the event, ticket sales are still steady. At least most folks are more interested in attending the social event of the year than in shunning the Wingates.” Beth’s mouth straightened into a grim line before she shook her head. “Anyway, I really hate that our family issues are overshadowing your marriage, Reagan.”

  “Please don’t apologize, Beth. Our vows included ‘for better or worse.’ We’re just experiencing a bit of the worse right now.” Reagan shrugged a shoulder, the relaxed gesture belying the tangle of knots in her stomach. “Besides, it’s not like we have the most conventional of marriages.”

  “Do any of us?” Harley chimed in from next to her. Her childhood friend tipped her head to the side, her long, straight brown hair falling over her shoulder as she studied Reagan. “I mean, Beth reunited with her long-lost love after a ton of lies and secrets. I had a whole secret baby scandal. But the point is we ended up with the men we love and who love us in return.”

  “Isn’t that just like happy couples? You’re in love so you see it everywhere.” Reagan huffed a chuckle. As delighted as she was to have her old friend back in Royal after five years—even if it was only until after her upcoming wedding—she’d forgotten about Harley’s stubbornness. “I adore you like a sister, Harley, but I don’t want you to start making Zeke and me into the next fairy tale. We married so I could receive my inheritance, that’s all.” Even though that goal didn’t look obtainable at the moment.

  Harley waved away Reagan’s objection. “I know, I know, that’s the party line between you and Zeke. Regardless of the hows and whys, I’m just glad my best friend and my cousin are together. You make a great couple. And I believe you’re good for each other.”

  Before Reagan could reply, Gracie Diaz swept into the meeting room. “Hey, everyone. I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said, the apology slightly breathless.

  Reagan remembered Gracie Diaz from her time spent at the Wingate estate. Only a couple of years older than her, Gracie had been the daughter of a family ranch hand, and later, hired by Beth as an assistant for the various charities she managed. Even though there’d been a difference in their statuses, she and Beth were very good friends. But more recently, Gracie had become a national celebrity for winning the sixty-million-dollar Powerball lottery. She was Royal’s own rags-to-riches story.

  As the stunning brunette pulled out one of the chairs and sat—no, collapsed—onto it, Reagan narrowed her eyes, studying her. Nothing could detract from the beauty of Gracie’s thick, dark hair and lovely brown eyes, but Reagan still couldn’t help but notice the faint circles under slightly puffy eyes, as if she’d recently been crying.

  “No problem, Gracie.” Beth frowned, scooting to the edge of her seat and wrapping an arm around her friend’s shoulders. Pulling her close for a quick hug, she said, “Now don’t take this the wrong way, hon, but you look terrible.” Gracie snorted, and Beth grinned at the other woman. “The masquerade plans can wait. What’s going on?”

  Gracie propped her elbows on the table and pressed her palms to her forehead. “I swear, since winning the lottery and all that money, I’ve vacillated between being eternally thankful and cursing the day my numbers pulled up.” She sighed, and the sound contained so much exhaustion, Reagan winced in sympathy. “Growing up, I never did understand the saying more money, more problems, because we never had money. But now...”

  “Gracie, what’s happened?” Harley pressed, leaning forward and clasping her upper arm.

  “You must not have seen the news today,” Gracie said, tunneling her fingers through her hair, then dragging the thick strands away from her face. “Apparently my cousin is claiming he bought the lottery ticket, and I stole it from him. Now he’s insisting I turn more than half the winnings over to him. Which is ridiculous. I haven’t seen my uncle’s son in years, but now suddenly I’m a thief who steals from family.”

  Reagan snatched her phone from her purse, and in moments, brought up the local news’ website and viewed the clip posted at the top of the home page. Apparently Gracie’s family drama had temporarily replaced the Wingates as the newest scandal. Silently, she watched as a reporter interviewed Alberto Diaz outside Royal’s town hall. He claimed that he was devastated and angry that his own cousin could betray him. Convincing sorrow etched his features as he gave his forgiveness to Gracie, but still demanded half of the money.

  The sound bite skipped to the same reporter racing to reach Gracie as she opened her car door. Understandably, Gracie was angry at the accusation and refuted the lie before ducking into her car and driving off.

  “He’s lying,” Reagan declared, dropping her phone onto the table.

  “Of course he is,” Harley agreed fiercely, her eyes blazing. “I can’t believe they even gave him airtime for that. They’re no better than a tabloid spreading that garbage.”

  “Yes, well
, unfortunately, people thrive on that kind of trash. And it’s easier for them to believe the salacious things than the truth.” Gracie lifted her hands, palms up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload this on all of you. There’s nothing I can do about it right now.”

  “You’re going to fight him, aren’t you?” Beth demanded.

  “Oh, you’re damn right,” Gracie seethed. “I don’t mind helping family out. I’m buying Mom a new home in Florida so she can be closer to her sister, and I’m paying for my brother to attend a private school so he can achieve every one of his dreams. So, if Alberto would’ve asked me for help, for money, I would’ve gladly given it to him. But this? Accusing me of a crime and trying to extort half of my winnings? That’s blackmail, and I’m not giving in to it.”

  “Good for you!” Reagan praised, admiring this woman’s grit and backbone. “And if there’s anything we can do, just let us know. You got us in your corner ready to fight.”

  For the first time since she entered the room, Gracie smiled. “Thank you, Reagan. All of you.” She pressed her palms to the tabletop. “Okay, enough about my unscrupulous family woes. Where are we with the masquerade ball?”

  Beth covered her friend’s hand and squeezed before picking up a paper and passing it to Harley. “I was just about to tell Harley and Reagan about the Cinderella Sweepstakes.”

  “Anything with Cinderella in it, I’m for it,” Reagan teased, accepting the sheet Harley held out to her.

  “I know, right?” Beth grinned. “You have the details there, but the gist of it is the local radio station offered a free makeover and ticket to one lucky winner. And considering each ticket is a thousand dollars, this is a wonderful opportunity. The station came up with the name Cinderella Sweepstakes. Isn’t that perfect? The contest should bring more publicity and money to the ball. Fingers crossed. With all of us working together, it’s going to be a wonderful success this year.”