by Naima Simone
“Because we’re friends and you don’t want me like that, right?” he asked, that dark gaze boring into her. As if he could see the truth behind her careful lies.
“Yes, we’re friends,” she agreed, raising a hand to her collarbone and rubbing the scar there through her thin blouse.
“And you don’t think of me like that. Do you?” he pressed in that same deep, silken voice.
“No,” she lied. Even as her subconscious shamed her for breaking a commandment.
He didn’t say anything to that, but something inside her made her suspect he agreed with her subconscious. Did he want her to desire him? Or was he just making sure she understood where their boundary lines were drawn?
The latter. Definitely the latter.
“What’s next for you? For Wingate Enterprises?” she asked, desperately turning the conversation back to the reason she’d come here.
He shifted his gaze from her and back to the window. “I don’t know,” he admitted on a gruff whisper. Again, he rubbed the nape of his neck. “Once the DEA gets involved that could mean anything. They could freeze our assets. Confiscate anything they believe is related to the accusations. Lock the doors of the building. Arrest anyone they consider involved... Fuck,” he snarled. “How did we get here?”
“It’s just been a couple of days, Zeke. They’ll find out who planted the drugs, and Wingate will be cleared.”
He shot her a sharp glance. “Planted?” he demanded. He shook his head. “You would be the first person who suggested they were, and that we’re not responsible for smuggling or trafficking.”
She sliced a hand through the air. “That’s nonsense. Your family would never be involved in something like that. There’s an explanation, but you being a drug kingpin isn’t it.” She snorted. Because yes, the idea of it was just that ridiculous.
“God, Ray,” he said. And for the first time, his chuckle wasn’t a humorless, jagged thing that scraped her raw. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for the first real laugh I’ve had in days.” He lifted his arm, and it hovered between them for a couple of seconds before he brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “Thank you for not turning and hightailing it at my bark and braving my bite.”
“Yes, well, I don’t appreciate being snapped at. But for that apology, I’ll make an exception and like it,” she mumbled, echoing the same thing she’d said to him at her parents’ home.
He obviously remembered because he smiled. But then his hand dropped away, and he sobered. “Ray,” he said, his voice lowering. “If you’re having second thoughts about marrying me, I understand. You don’t have to be afraid to tell me.”
“What?” Surprise rocked through her, and she frowned. “Why would I have second thoughts?”
He sighed, and the exhaustion crept back into his face. “The terms of your grandmother’s will state you need to marry a suitable man. And when your father gave us his blessing, he didn’t know that my family would soon be accused of being a criminal enterprise. There’s no way he can be pleased with this turn of events. Or with his daughter becoming involved with it merely by association.”
“I’m not tainted by you, Zeke,” she snapped, offended. And yes, her father could be old-fashioned and stuck in his ways, but even he drew the line at convicting a man until he’d been proven guilty. “And I resent the implication that my being connected to you would. I’ll handle my father. I’m not calling off the engagement. Are you?”
He hesitated, that springtime gaze roaming her face as if searching for the truth behind her words. Finally, he said, “No, I’m not calling it off.”
“Good,” she said, tone brisk. “Now, I need you to do something for me.” She didn’t wait for his acquiescence but strode across the room and settled down on the chocolate leather couch in his sitting area. “Come here. Please,” she belatedly tacked on.
He slowly walked toward her, his forehead creased in a frown. “What’s going on? Why?”
She patted the cushion next to her. “I meant what I said,” she said, plucking up one of the brown-and-red-patterned throw pillows and placing it on her lap. “You look terrible. Like you haven’t slept. Or eaten. I can’t do anything about the food part, but I can make you take a nap. Here.” She tapped the pillow. “Just for a little while.”
“Ray...” he protested, halting at the foot of the couch. “I’m not a kindergartner. I can’t just take a time-out. I—”
“Will fall down in exhaustion if you don’t take care of yourself. This situation is only going to get worse before it’s cleared up. If you’re not going to watch out for yourself, as your friend, I will. So get over here. Now.” She injected a steely firmness into her tone that she didn’t quite feel. And part of her burned with pent-up desire. But God, she couldn’t touch him. Definitely couldn’t sex the worry away. But she had to do something. Had to give him...something.
“Seriously, Ray. I have a ton of work to do and fires to put out. And, dammit, I feel ridiculous,” he grumbled.
“Can you just shut up and humor me? I did abandon a beautification committee meeting and poked the wrath of Henrietta Sinclair to drive all the way over here and see you. The very least you can do is give me a couple of minutes,” she insisted, throwing a glare in just for good measure so he knew she meant business.
“For God’s sake...” he muttered, lowering to the couch and reclining back, setting his head on the pillow across her lap. “One day you’re going to make an excellent mother, seeing how well you have the guilt trip down.”
His words punched her in the chest, and she couldn’t control the spasm that crossed her face. With his eyes closed and his arms crossed over his chest, he didn’t glimpse it, and for that, she was grateful.
Reagan pushed through the hollowness his innocent words left behind and pressed her fingertips to his temples. Slowly, she massaged the tender areas, applying just enough pressure to soothe. Over the years, when her father had come home tense from a hard day at work, her mother had sat him down and done the same. And he would release a rumble of pleasure just as Ezekiel did.
Gradually, his big body relaxed, and his arms loosened, dropping to his sides. His beautiful lips parted on a heavy sigh, and he turned his head toward her. It didn’t skip her attention, that if not for the pillow, his face would hover dangerously close to the part of her that harbored no confusion about what it wanted from this man.
Even now, tenderness mixed with longing. With a languorous desire that wound its way through her like her veins were tributaries for this need. His wind-and-earth scent drifted up to her, and she just gave up and soaked in it. Here, under the guise of friendship and offering the little bit of comfort she could allow and he would take, she could lower her self-imposed barriers and just...bask in him. Soon enough she would have to raise them again.
For both of their sakes.
“Ray?” came his drowsy mumble.
“Yes?”
His thick, black lashes lifted, and she stared down into his eyes.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“You already said that,” she reminded him.
“I haven’t thanked you for being my friend.”
“Oh,” she said. “You’re welcome, Zeke.”
And damn if that reality check didn’t sting.
Eight
“I’d have to say your engagement party is a success,” Luke observed.
Ezekiel had to agree. Tuxedoed and gowned guests crowded into the great room of the Texas Cattleman’s Clubhouse. Their chatter and laughter filled the air, and yes, by all appearances, his and Reagan’s engagement party was going off without a hitch.
When he’d asked his cousin Beth to help him organize the party three weeks ago, she’d taken over, arranging to have it in the clubhouse where several people in the family were members. Several years ago, the club had undergone a major renovation, and now it was li
ghter and airier with brighter colors, bigger windows and higher ceilings. Tonight, floor-to-ceiling French doors had been thrown open to the July night, and the warm, flower-scented air filtered into the room, making the already cavernous area seem larger.
Flowers, white, tiny fairy lights and even a beautiful arch decorated the space, and the dark wood floors seemed to gleam. Tall lamps had been placed on the patio beyond the French doors and more of the lights had been entwined around the columns and balustrades. Linen-covered tables, with elegant hurricane lamps and more flowers adorning them, dotted the room and bordered a wide area for dancing.
Everything was sophisticated, luxurious and gorgeous. His cousin had managed to pull off the impossible in a matter of weeks.
Yet, Ezekiel hadn’t taken a single easy breath all evening. Like that other shoe just hovered above his head, ready to plunge into the room at any moment.
“Even Aunt Ava seems to be pleased with your choice of fiancée,” Luke continued. “Considering her higher-than-God standards, that’s a minor miracle.”
Ezekiel snorted, sipping from his tumbler of whiskey. Luke wasn’t wrong. His aunt might be a thin, somewhat fragile-looking woman, with her dark blond hair brushed with the lightest of gray, but one look into those shrewd gray-green eyes, and all thoughts of frailty vanished. She was a strong, driven woman who had been a wife, was a businesswoman and mother. And if you asked her children, they might tell you in that order. The death of Uncle Trent had been a severe blow to her. But she’d begun to return to her old, exacting, often domineering self just before the issues with WinJet hit.
“I’m glad she came tonight,” Ezekiel said, studying his aunt and the man next to her. “I see she brought Keith.”
“Since when is Keith Cooper going to let her go anywhere without him?” Luke muttered, the dislike Ezekiel harbored for the man evident in his brother’s voice. “I swear, it would be almost laughable how obvious he is if it weren’t so pathetic.”
As his uncle’s best friend, Keith Cooper had been in their lives for years. On the surface, the man with the thinning brown hair, dark eyes and athletic build that had softened from one too many bourbons was an affable, laid-back man with an easy laugh. Married and divorced three times and with no children, he’d adopted the Wingates as his family. Or rather he’d inserted himself into their family.
And maybe that was what rubbed Ezekiel the wrong way. Keith was always there. Like a snake. The big, toothy smile didn’t hide how he watched Aunt Ava with an avarice that made Ezekiel’s skin crawl. No, Keith hadn’t done anything overt to earn his dislike, but Ezekiel didn’t trust him.
Not at all.
“So you know, I have my speech prepared,” Luke drawled, tugging Ezekiel’s attention from his aunt.
He frowned. “What speech?”
“The best man’s speech. Beth set aside a time for toasts after dinner. With everything that’s going on, I figured you just hadn’t gotten around to asking me yet.” Luke slid him a sidelong glance. “But I knew you would ask so I came ready.”
“Well, that was subtle as hell.” Ezekiel laughed. “Of course you’re my best man. Besides, Sebastian said no.” At Luke’s scowl, he barked out another laugh. “Kidding. Damn. I’m going to need to ask Kelly to schedule an enema to get that stick out of your ass.”
“Hilarious. You’re so fucking hilarious,” Luke grumbled, but a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “It must be that pretty-boy face that Reagan is enamored with because it sure as hell isn’t your sense of humor.”
“Oh, I disagree. I’m quite fond of both,” Reagan interjected, appearing at Ezekiel’s side and sliding an arm around his waist.
She tipped her head so it rested on his shoulder, and the casual observer would believe this woman, with her radiant beauty and equally bright smile was blissfully in love. Hell, he almost believed it. But apparently one of Reagan’s many talents included acting. She didn’t flinch or stiffen when he stroked her arm or held her close to his side. Instead, she’d flirted with him, gifting him with affectionate glances and warm smiles.
Reagan was an enigma.
A gorgeous, sensual enigma that he wanted to cautiously step away from before the obsession of figuring out her many pieces consumed him.
The same woman who appeared to be the perfect daughter bravely entered into a business arrangement of a marriage so she could quietly defy her family and claim her own future. The same woman who lived her life on the center stage of Royal society, but whose eyes glimmered with sadness when she didn’t think anyone noticed. The same woman who went rigid when he just brushed a tender caress over her cheek but invited him to lay his head in her lap to offer comfort.
Who was the real Reagan Sinclair? And why did desperation to discover the truth rip and claw at him?
This curiosity, this need to... To what? He knew what. And it—she—was forbidden to him.
Yet...when she’d drawn his head to her lap, had rubbed his temples with such care, he’d inhaled her delicious, intoxicating scent. Had locked down every muscle in his body to prevent himself from tearing away that pillow and burying his face between her slim, toned thighs to find out if her delectable perfume would be more condensed there. He’d closed his eyes against staring at the beautiful, firm breasts that had thrust against her blouse, fearful of seeing her nipples bead under the white silk. If he had, he might not have been able to stop until he had them clasped between his teeth, tugging, pinching...
Jesus Christ.
He lifted the whiskey to his mouth once more and took a healthy sip. Even now, with her hip pressed to his thigh, he wanted to hike her in his arms and show her and everyone else in the room how well they would fit together.
In truth, Reagan deserved a man who could give her all of his heart. A man who didn’t view love as a trap with razor-tipped jaws. A man who could offer her security and a name that was above reproach.
He wasn’t that man.
And yet, here he stood beside her, claiming her in front of family, friends and all of Royal.
When had he become so fucking selfish?
Luke cleared his throat, his eyebrows arching high. Laughter lit his brown eyes. And something told Ezekiel that Luke’s humor was at his expense.
“What?” He frowned.
“Your fiancée asked you a question. But you seemed so engrossed in your drink, I think you missed it,” Luke drawled.
A growl rumbled at the back of Ezekiel’s throat, but he swallowed down the curse he itched to throw at his brother. He harbored zero doubts Luke at least had a clue where Ezekiel’s thoughts had been.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Ezekiel apologized, glancing down at her. “What did you say?”
“I asked you to go ahead and confess the truth,” she said, shooting him a chiding glance. “You hired a battalion of party planners to carry all of this off. And they worked all day and through the night like shoemaking elves.”
He smiled, cocking his head to the side. “I help run a hugely successful, national conglomerate. You think I can’t handle the planning and execution of one party?”
She mimicked his gesture, crossing her arms for good measure. His smile widened. Since that day in his office a couple of weeks ago, they’d become a little closer. Friendlier.
And that was both heaven and hell for him.
“Okay, fine. I begged my cousin Beth for help. She and Gracie Diaz attacked it with a competency that frankly scares the hell out of me. And all I had to promise in return was that you’d help with this year’s TCC charity masquerade ball. See? I’m a problem solver.”
“So in other words, you pimped me out for a party. You’re lucky I’m marrying you,” she muttered, but ruined her mock-annoyance with a soft chuckle. “With Dad being a TCC member, I’ve assisted with past charity balls, so I’d be happy to help.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” he d
rawled. “Especially since Beth told me if I don’t learn to ask my future wife for her opinion instead of just arbitrarily volunteering her for things, I might need to start Googling for a large doghouse now.”
“Beth always was brilliant.” Reagan laughed. “Oh, I met your cousins Sebastian and Sutton. And I have no idea how you can tell them apart. They’re identical twins, but wow.”
“Oh I know. I’ve known them all my life, and it’s sometimes still hard for me to tell them apart if I’m not looking close enough.”
Luke snorted. “They used to get into all kinds of shi—I mean, trouble—when they were younger, playing tricks on people.”
“I can only imagine. And it’s okay, Luke.” She grinned. “I’ve heard the word shit before. You won’t offend my sensibilities.”
Luke chuckled, holding his hands up in the age-old sign of surrender. “Yes, but even though my mother is no longer here, I think she would come down and smack the back of my head for saying it in front of you.”
“He’s not wrong,” Ezekiel added with a laugh. Nina Holloway had been a stickler for manners. “As far as telling my cousins apart, Sebastian has a scar on his lower back from when we were kids. Whenever they tried to play jokes on us and switch places, I would always grab one of them and look for the scar. I wouldn’t advise doing that here though.”
“I’ll save that for the wedding reception then,” she promised, and both he and Luke chuckled. God, she was sweet. And in ways, too damn innocent for him. “Are you about ready to head into dinner?”
“Yes.” Because this piece of theater allowed him to, he stroked a hand down her long, lustrous waves. Then because he’d already admitted his selfishness, he tangled his fingers in the thick strands and tipped her head back. He noted the flash of wariness in the chicory depths, but she didn’t turn from him, didn’t playfully admonish him and pull away.
Granting her time to do either, he lowered his head and brushed his lips across her forehead. And because the feel of her under his mouth proved to be more of a temptation than he could resist, he repeated the caress over the gentle slope of her nose. Her soft but swift intake of breath echoed between them. “Lead the way,” he murmured.