Trust Fund Fiancé

by Naima Simone

  Fuck it. He took that step back.

  “Why do you think she didn’t trust you?” he asked, focusing on Reagan and not the fear that scratched at his breastbone.

  She released a short, brittle huff. “Think? I know.”

  Shifting, she gave him her profile, but he caught the slight firming of her lips, the drag of her fingertips across the left side of her collarbone. He narrowed his eyes on the small movement. She’d done that the night of the party. Was it a subconscious tell on her part? He catalogued the detail to take out and analyze later.

  “Well, tell me why she didn’t trust you, then,” he pushed. Gently, but it was still a push. Something inside him—something ephemeral but insatiable—hungered to know more about this woman who had grown up right under his nose but remained this familiar, sexy-as-hell stranger.

  “Did you know that I’m a millionaire?” she asked, dodging his question—no, his demand.

  Ezekiel nodded. “I’m not surprised. Your father is a very successful—”

  “No.” She waved a hand, cutting him off. “Not through my father. In my own right, I’m a millionaire. When my grandmother died, she left each of her three grandchildren enough money to never have to worry about being taken care of. But that’s the thing. She did worry. About me anyway.” No breeze kicked up over the quiet cemetery, yet she crossed her arms, clutching her elbows. “She added a stipulation to her will. I can only receive my inheritance when I turn thirty—or marry. And not just any man. A suitable man.”

  Her lips twisted on suitable, and he resisted the urge to smooth his thumb over the curve, needing to eradicate the bitterness encapsulated in it. That emotion didn’t belong on her—didn’t sit right with him.

  “The condition doesn’t mean she didn’t trust you. Maybe she just wanted to make sure you were fully mature before taking on the responsibility and burden that comes with money.”

  Not that he believed that bullshit. Age didn’t matter as much as experience. Hell, there were days he looked in the mirror and expected to glimpse a bent, wizened old man instead of his thirty-year-old self.

  “I could accept that if I weren’t the only grandchild hit with that proviso. Doug and Christina might both be married, but neither of them had that particular restriction on their inheritance. Just me.”

  “Why?” he demanded.

  Confusion and anger sparked inside him. He was familiar with Reagan’s older brother and younger sister, and both were normal, nice people. Maybe a little too nice and, well, boring. But Reagan? She was the perfect image of a Royal socialite—composed, well-mannered and well-spoken, serving on several committees, free of the taint of scandal, reputation beyond reproach. So what the hell?

  She didn’t immediately reply but stared at him for several long moments. “Most people would’ve asked what I did to earn that censure.”

  “I’m not most people, Ray,” he growled.

  “No, you’re not,” she murmured, scanning his face, and then, she shook her head. “The why doesn’t really matter, does it? What does matter is that at twenty-six, I’m in this holding pattern. Where I can see everyone else enjoying the lives they’ve carved out for themselves—and I can’t move. Either I chain myself to a man I barely know and don’t love to access my inheritance. Or I stay here, static for another four years while my own dreams, my own needs and wants wither and die on the vine.”

  Once more, she’d adopted that placid tone, but this time, Ezekiel caught the bright slashes of hurt, the red tinge of anger underneath it.

  “I’m more than just the daughter of Douglas Sinclair. I’m more than just the member of this and that charity committee. Not that I’m denigrating their work. It’s just... I want to...be free,” she whispered, and he sensed that she hadn’t meant for that to slip. For him to hear it.

  What did she mean by free? Not for the first time, he sensed Reagan’s easygoing, friendly mask hid deeper waters. Secrets. He didn’t trust secrets. They had a way of turning around and biting a person in the ass. Or knocking a person on it.

  “Surely your father can find a way around the will. Especially if it seems to penalize you but not your brother or sister,” he argued, his mind already contemplating obtaining a copy of the document and submitting it to Wingate Enterprises’s legal department to determine what, if anything, could be done. Some loophole.

  “My father doesn’t want to find a way around it,” she admitted softly, but the confession damn near rocked him back on his heels. “My grandmother did add a codicil. She left it up to my father’s discretion to enforce the stipulation. He could release the money to me now or respect her wishes. He’s decided he’d rather see me married and settled. Taken care of, are his words. As if I’m a child to be passed from one guardian to another like luggage. Or a very fragile package.” She chuckled, and the heaviness of it, the sadness of it, was a fist pressed against Ezekiel’s chest. “That’s not far off, actually.”

  Understanding dawned, and with it came the longing to grab Douglas Sinclair by his throat.

  “So that’s what the introductions to man after man were about?” he asked.

  “The night of James Harris’s party?” She nodded. “Yes. And the not-so-subtle invites to our home for dinner. In the last week, there have been three. I feel like a prized car on an auction block. God, it’s humiliating.” For the first time, fire flashed under that calm, and he didn’t know whether he wanted to applaud the emotion or draw her into his arms to bank it. He did neither, retaining that careful distance away from her. “I just want to yell screw it all and walk away completely. No money, no husband I don’t want. But...”

  “But family loyalty is a bitch.”

  A smile ghosted over her lips. “God, yes. And a mean, greedy one to boot.”

  “Ray.” That smile. The awful resignation in it... He couldn’t not touch her any longer. Crossing the small distance he’d placed between them, he cupped the back of her neck, drawing her close. Placing a kiss to the side of her head, he murmured, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Family can be our biggest blessing and our heaviest burden.”

  Brushing his lips over her hair one last time, he dropped his arm and shifted backward again. Ignoring how soft her hair had been against his mouth. Or how his palm itched with the need to reshape itself around her nape again. How he resisted the urge to rub his hand against his leg to somehow erase the feel of her against his skin. “Whatever you decide, make sure it’s the best decision for you. This life is entirely too short to deal with regrets.”

  Her lashes lowered, but not before he caught a glint of emotion in her eyes.

  Oh yes. Secrets definitely dwelled there.

  “Regrets,” she repeated in her low, husky tone. “Yes. Wouldn’t want those.” Shaking her head, she smiled, but it didn’t reach the gaze he stared down into. “I need to go. A meeting. Take care of yourself, Zeke,” she said.

  With a small wave, she turned and strode down the cemented path, her hips a gentle sway beneath the flowing material of her dress. Tearing his regard from her slender, curvaceous form, he returned it to the grave in front of him. But his mind remained with the woman who’d just walked away from him and not the one lying in the ground at his feet.

  I chain myself to a man I barely know and don’t love to access my inheritance.

  I stay here, static for another four years while my own dreams, my own needs and wants wither and die on the vine.

  Her words whirled in his head like a raging storm, its winds refusing to die down. And in the midst of it was his own advice.

  This life is entirely too short to deal with regrets.

  He should know; he had so many of them. Not calling his parents and telling them he loved them more often. Not being more insistent that Melissa spend the night at his house instead of driving home that night. Not letting his uncle Trent know how much he appreciated all that he’d done for Luke a
nd Ezekiel before he died.

  Not being able to turn this WinJet disaster around for the company.

  Yeah, he had many regrets.

  But... The thoughts in his head spun harder, faster.

  Reagan didn’t want to shackle herself to a man she barely knew and didn’t love.

  Well, she knew him. Love wasn’t an option. The only woman to own his heart had been taken from him. Now, he didn’t have one to give. Love... He’d been down that road before and it was pitted with heartbreak, pain and loss. But Reagan wouldn’t expect that from him. They had a friendship. And that was a solid foundation that a good many marriages lacked.

  The idea—it was crazy. It bordered on rash. And his family would probably call it another one of his harebrained adventures.

  None of them understood why he pursued those exploits. He’d been in control of precious little in his life. Not his parents’ untimely demise. Not where he and Luke landed afterward. Not Melissa’s death. And even though he enjoyed his job at Wingate Enterprises, that family loyalty, the debt he felt he owed Ava and Trent, had compelled him to enter into the family business.

  And now he had to bear witness to the slow crumbling of that business.

  He didn’t need a psychologist to explain to him why he had control issues. He got it.

  When he climbed a mountain or dived from a plane, his safety and success were in his own hands. It all depended on his skill, his preparation and will. He determined his fate.

  And while his chaotic and uncertain life was beyond his power, he could help Reagan wrest control of hers. As he remembered the girl who had stood with him during one of his loneliest and most desolate moments, it was the least he could do to repay her kindness.

  Yes, it could work.

  He just had to get Reagan to agree with him first.

  Four

  It’d been some years since Reagan had been to the Wingate estate.

  Five to be exact.

  The gorgeous rolling hills and the large mansion sitting on the highest point brought back so many memories of a happier, much less complicated time.

  Though Reagan was a couple of years older, she’d been good friends with Harley Wingate when they’d been younger. Some would say the best of friends, who stayed in each other’s homes, wrote in diaries and then shared their secrets and gossiped about boys. Reagan smiled, wistful. Those had definitely been simpler times.

  Before her miscarriage and Harley leaving the United States for Thailand. Reagan had never revealed her pregnancy to her friend, and then Harley had left with her own secrets—including who had fathered her own baby.

  Sadness whispered through Reagan as she drove past the home where she’d spent so many hours. A mix of Southwestern and California ranch architectural style, it boasted cream stone and stucco with a clay tile roof and a wraparound porch that reached across the entire second story. Memory filled in the rest. Wide spacious rooms, a library and dining areas, an outdoor kitchen that was a throwback to the ranch it resembled. Several porches and patios stretched out from the main structure and a gorgeous pool that she and Harley used to while away hours beside. Expensive, tasteful and luxurious. That summed up the home and, in many ways, the family.

  Reagan’s father had been proud his daughter was friends with a Wingate daughter.

  She’d ruined that pride.

  Not going there today. Not when she’d received a mysterious and, she freely admitted, enticing voice mail from Ezekiel Holloway asking her to meet him at the guesthouse on the estate. What could he possibly have to discuss with her? Why couldn’t they have met at his office in the Wingate Enterprises building just outside of Royal?

  And why had her belly performed a triple-double that would’ve had Simone Biles envious just hearing that deep, silk-over-gravel voice?

  She shook her head, as if the action could somehow mitigate the utter foolishness of any part of her flipping and tumbling over Ezekiel. If the other reasons why he was off-limits—playboy, friend-zoned, he’d seen her with braces and acne—didn’t exist, there remained the fact that he clearly still pined over his dead fiancée.

  Eight years.

  God, what must it be like to love someone like that? In her teenage folly, she’d believed she and Gavin had shared that kind of commitment and depth of feeling. Since he’d ghosted her right after the miscarriage, obviously not. And her heart had been broken, but she’d recovered. The scarred-over wound of losing her unborn child ached more than the one for Gavin.

  Unlike Ezekiel.

  It’d been a couple of days since she’d walked out of the cemetery leaving him behind, but she could still recall the solemn, grim slash of his full mouth. The darkness in his eyes. The stark lines of his face. No, he’d loved Melissa. And Reagan pitied the woman who would one day come along and try to compete for a heart that had been buried in a sun-dappled grave almost a decade ago.

  Pulling up behind a sleek, black Jaguar XJ, Reagan shut off the engine and climbed from her own dark gray Lexus. Like a magnet, she glided toward the beautiful machine. Her fingers hovered above the gleaming aluminum and chrome, hesitant to touch and leave prints. Still those same fingertips itched to stroke and more. Grip the steering wheel and command the power under the hood.

  “Am I going to need to get you and my car a room?”

  So busted. Reagan winced, glancing toward the porch where Ezekiel leaned a shoulder against one of the columns. Unless he lounged around the house in business clothes, he must’ve left the office to meet her here. A white dress shirt lovingly slid over his broad shoulders, muscular chest and flat abdomen, while dark gray slacks emphasized his trim waist and long, powerful legs.

  “You might,” she said, heading toward him but jerking her all-too-fascinated gaze away to give the Jaguar one last covetous glance. “V8 engine?”

  He nodded. “And supercharged.” She groaned, and he broke out into a wide grin. “I didn’t know you were into cars,” he remarked, straightening as she approached.

  Reagan climbed the stairs to the porch, shrugging a shoulder. “My brother’s fault. He started my obsession by sharing his Hot Wheels with me when we were kids, and it’s been full-blown since then. We make at least two car shows a year together.”

  “What else are you hiding from me, Reagan?” Ezekiel murmured, those mesmerizing green eyes scanning her face.

  Heat bloomed in her chest, searing a path up her throat, and dammit, into her face. Ducking her head to hide the telltale reaction to his incisive perusal, she huffed out a small laugh. “Hiding? Please. Nothing that dramatic. I’m an open book.”

  He didn’t reply, and unable to help herself, she lifted her head. Only to be ensnared by his gaze. Her breath stuttered, and for a slice of time, they stood there on the edge of his porch, staring. Drowning. At least on her part.

  God. Did the man have to be so damn hot?

  Objectively, she understood why so many women in Royal competed to have him in their arms, their beds. Even if it were just for hours. Oh yes, his reputation as a serial one-night monogamist was well-known. Was the rumor about him never actually sleeping with a woman true as well? Part of her wanted to know.

  And the other?

  Well, the other would rather not picture him tangled, sweaty and naked with another woman, period. Why just the thought had her stomach twisting, she’d rather not examine.

  “C’mon in,” he invited, turning and opening the screen door for her to enter his home.

  Nodding, she slipped past him and stepped into the guesthouse he and his brother shared. Guesthouse. That brought an image of a garage apartment. Not this place. A towering two-story home with a tiled roof, wraparound porch, airy rooms with high ceilings and a rustic feel that managed to be welcoming, relaxing and expensive—it provided more than enough room for two bachelors.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d walked the wood fl
oors here. After Luke and Ezekiel’s parents died, they’d moved here, and she’d visited with Harley. But then, she hadn’t been personally invited by Ezekiel. And they’d never been alone.

  Like now.

  “I have to admit, I’ve been dying to find out what all the cloak-and-dagger mystery is about,” she teased as he closed the front door behind them. “I’ve narrowed it down to plans for world domination or spoilers for the next superhero movie. Either way, I’m in.”

  A smile flashed across his face, elevating him from beautiful to breathtaking. That’s it, she grumbled to herself, following him into the living room. She was only looking at his neck from now on. That face elicited silly and unrealistic thoughts. Like what would that lush, sensual mouth feel like against hers? Did he kiss a woman as if she were a sweet to be savored? Or a full-course meal to be devoured?

  God, she had to stop this. The man might as well be her big brother. No, scratch that. There were moral and legal rules against lusting after your brother like she did Ezekiel. Still, it was all shades of inappropriate and wrong. Mainly because while she didn’t see him as a sibling, he definitely viewed her as one.

  The reminder snuffed out the embers of desire like a dousing of frigid water.

  Ezekiel snorted, gesturing toward the couch. “As if I would ever share spoilers. Now world domination...” He shrugged a shoulder. “I can be persuaded.”

  “I’m not even touching that,” she drawled. “But your questionable values don’t deter my curiosity one bit.” She lowered to one end of the sofa. “So dish.”

  Rather than taking a chair or joining her on the couch, Ezekiel sat on the mahogany coffee table in front of her. His white dress shirt stretched across the width of his broad shoulders as he leaned forward, propping his elbows on his muscular thighs. All the teasing light dimmed in his eyes as he met hers.

  Unease slid inside her, setting beneath her breastbone. Unease and a niggling worry.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered. “What’s happened?”