Trust Fund Fiance - Naima Simone Page 0,15

“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?”

Harley? Her parents? Something else with Wingate Enterprises? She, like everyone else in Royal—hell, the nation—had heard of the trouble at their jet manufacturing plant. Unlike the gossip swirling around the Wingates proclaimed, she didn’t believe the allegations of corruption. They didn’t coincide with the people she’d known for years. And she absolutely didn’t believe that Ezekiel would’ve gone along with something so nefarious. They might not have been close, but the boy and man she’d called a friend had a core of integrity and honesty in him that wouldn’t have abided any fraudulence or deception. Especially any that could potentially cost people their lives.

“Reagan,” he said, pausing for a long moment. A moment during which she braced herself. “Marry me.”

The breath she’d been holding whooshed out of her. She blinked. Blinked again. Surely, he... No, he couldn’t have possibly...

“E-excuse me?” she stuttered, shock slowing her mind and tongue.

“Marry me,” he repeated, his jade gaze steady, his expression solemn. Determined. “Be my wife.”

Oh God. His determination slowly thawed the ice that surprise had encased her in, permitting panic to creep through. He’d lost it. He’d finally cracked under the pressure from the trouble at Wingate. What other explanation could there be?

“Ezekiel...”

“I’m not crazy,” he assured her, apparently having developed the talent of reading minds. Or maybe he’d interpreted her half rising from the couch as a sign of her need to escape. He held out a hand, stalling the motion. “Reagan, hear me out. Please.”

He sounded sane. Calm, even. But that meant nothing. The man had just proposed to her—if she could actually call his demand a proposal. Who just commanded a woman to marry him? As if she were chattel—hold up. Now she was the one losing her mind. Demand, ask, send a freaking telegram... Nothing could change the fact that she’d suddenly plummeted into an alternate universe where Ezekiel damn Wingate had ordered her to become his wife.

All manners flew out the window in extreme circumstances like this.

“What the hell, Zeke?” she breathed.

The man nodded, still cool. Still composed. “I understand your reaction. I do. But just let me explain. And if you say no and want to leave, I won’t try to stop you. And no hard feelings, okay?” She couldn’t force her lips to move, and he evidently took her silence as acquiescence. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation at the cemetery for the last couple of days. Your situation with the will and not wanting to give in to your father’s matchmaking campaign.”

“Siege is more like it,” she grumbled.

A corner of Ezekiel’s mouth quirked. “Yes, we’ll go with that. Siege.” Once more, his face grew serious, and she barely smothered the urge to wrap her arms around herself. To protect herself from the words to come out of his mouth. “The stipulation in your grandmother’s will is you have to marry a suitable man in order to receive your inheritance. You also said you didn’t want to marry a man you didn’t know. A man who would try to control you.” He released a rough, ragged breath. “We’ve been acquainted, been friends for years. And I have no interest in overseeing you or your money. As a matter of fact, I’m willing to sign a contract stating that your inheritance would remain in your name alone, without any interference from me.”

“Wait, wait.” She held up a hand, palm out, silently asking him to stop. To let his words sink in. To allow her the time to make sense of them. “Are you telling me you want to marry me just so I can access my grandmother’s money?”

“Yes.”

“But why?” she blurted out.

Unable to sit any longer, she shot to her feet and paced away from him. Away from the intensity he radiated that further scrambled her thoughts. Striding to the huge picture windows on one wall, she stared out, not really seeing the large