Trust Fund Fiance - Naima Simone Page 0,18

Just like I was sure the last time you asked. And the time before that. And the time before that.” Chuckling, he gave her hand one last squeeze before releasing her and popping open his car door. In seconds, he’d rounded the hood and had her own door open. He extended a hand toward her, and with a resigned sigh, she covered his palm with hers.

And ignored the sizzle that crackled from their clasped hands, up her arm and traveled down to tingle in her breasts. She’d better get used to doing nothing about her reaction to him. It was inconvenient and irritating.

Not to mention unwelcome.

He kept their hands clasped together as they walked up the steps to her home. Ezekiel had advised that they shouldn’t waste any time getting the ball rolling on their plan. So she’d called the administrator of the girls’ home and let them know she wouldn’t be in today. Though she hated missing even one shift, Reagan agreed with Ezekiel. The sooner the hard part of telling her family was over with, the better.

Next, she’d called her parents to ensure they would both be home this evening for an announcement. Forcing a cheer she didn’t feel into her voice as she talked to her mother had careened too close to lying for Reagan’s comfort, and even now, her belly dipped, hollowed out by the upcoming deception. Necessary, but still, a deception all the same.

“Sweetheart, look at me.”

Reagan halted on the top step, her chest rising and falling on abrupt, serrated breaths. But she tipped her head back, obeying Ezekiel’s soft demand.

She didn’t flinch as he cupped her jaw. And she forced herself not to lean into his touch like a frostbite victim seeking warmth. His thumb swept over her cheek, and she locked down the sigh that crept up her throat.

“Everything’s going to be fine, Reagan,” he assured her, that thumb grazing the corner of her mouth. “I’ll be right by your side, and I promise not to leave you hanging.”

She just managed not to snap, Don’t make promises you can’t keep, trapping the sharp words behind her clenched teeth. Of course he would leave. Whether it was at the end of this evening if it didn’t go well or at the termination of their “marriage.” All men left, at some point. Gavin had. The affectionate, warm father she remembered from her childhood had, replaced by a colder, less forgiving and intolerant version.

As long as she remembered that and shielded herself against it, she wouldn’t be hurt when Ezekiel eventually disappeared from her life.

“We should go in. They’re expecting us.” Stepping back and away from his touch, she strode toward the front door of her family home. A moment later, the solid, heated pressure of his big hand settled on the small of her back. “So it begins.”

“Did you just quote Lord of the Rings?” he asked, arching a dark brow. Amusement glinted in pale green eyes.

“The fact that you know I did means we might actually be able to pull this ‘soul mate’ thing off,” she shot back.

He gave an exaggerated gasp. “What kind of animal doesn’t know Tolkien?”

“Exactly.”

They were grinning at each other when the front door opened, and her father appeared in the entrance.

“Reagan.” He paused, studying Ezekiel, his scrutiny inscrutable. “Ezekiel.” He stretched a hand toward him. “This is a nice surprise.”

As the two men shook hands and greeted one another, Reagan inhaled a slow, deep breath. I can do this. I have to do this.

Because the alternatives—a parade of men, more disappointment as she turned them down, trapping her in this half life—were hard for her to stomach.

“Well, come on in. We’ve held up dinner to wait on you.” Her father shifted backward and waved them inside. “I’ll have Marina add an extra setting for our guest.”

“Thank you, Douglas. I appreciate you accommodating me on such short notice,” Ezekiel said, his hand never leaving Reagan’s back, his big frame a reassuring presence at her side.

“Of course.”

Douglas led the way to the smaller living room where her mother waited. As soon as they entered, she rose from the chair flanking the large fireplace. At fifty-five, Henrietta Sinclair possessed an elegance and beauty that defied time. Short, dark hair that held a sweep of gray down the side framed her lovely face in a classic bob. Petite and slender, she might appear on the fragile side, but to play mediator and peacemaker between Reagan and her father for all these years, she