Trust Fund Fiance - Naima Simone Page 0,23

“I hear nothing and know even less. I’m practicing my speech just in case I’m called as a witness for the defense.”

He grinned and forged ahead into the lion’s den.

Luke perched on the couch in the sitting area, papers strewn all over the glass table. A disposable coffee cup teetered too close to the edge, a takeout container next to it. He glanced up from his study of the documents long enough to pin Ezekiel with a glare.

“You have never, nor will you ever be able to take me,” he grumbled.

Ezekiel snorted. They’d both wrestled in high school and college, and though it pained him to admit it, he’d never been able to pin his brother. Of course, Luke had been in the 182 weight class, and Ezekiel had been in 170. But Luke had never let him forget his undefeated status.

Ass.

“What are you doing here?” Luke muttered, his focus returning to the work spread out before him.

Knowing he possessed a short window before he lost his brother’s attention completely, Ezekiel dropped to the armchair flanking the couch.

“Since going home and talking to you wasn’t an option, I had to come here. I mean, telling your big brother you’re getting married isn’t something you should do over the phone.”

Luke froze, his hand stilling over a paper. Slowly, his head lifted, and astonishment darkened his eyes, his usually intense expression blank. He didn’t move except to blink. A couple of times.

Ezekiel should’ve felt even a sliver of satisfaction at shocking his brother—a remnant of the younger sibling syndrome. But only weariness slid through him, and he sank farther into the cushion, his legs sprawled out in front of him.

“What?” Luke finally blurted.

“I said, I’m getting married.” Sighing, Ezekiel laced his fingers over his stomach. “It’s a long story.”

“Start at the beginning,” Luke ordered. “And don’t skip a damn thing.”

Instead of bristling at the curt demand, Ezekiel sighed and filled his brother in on his very brief “courtship” of Reagan Sinclair. When he finished, ending with the tense dinner at his future in-laws’ house, Luke just stared at him.

Jesus, what if he’d broken his brain with this too-unbelievable-for-a-TV-sitcom story?

“So, wait,” Luke said, leaning back against the couch as if Ezekiel’s tale had exhausted him. “You mean to tell me, you’re willingly entering an arranged marriage—arranged by yourself, I might add—so a woman you barely know can receive her inheritance? And that woman happens to be the daughter of Douglas Stick Up His Ass Sinclair? My apologies for offending your future father-in-law, but not really, considering you’re the one who gave him that particular moniker.”

“Reagan is hardly a stranger. She and Harley are best friends—”

“How many years ago?” Luke interrupted.

“And we have always been acquainted,” Ezekiel continued despite his brother’s interruption.

“Right,” Luke drawled, his shock having apparently faded as that familiar intensity entered his gaze again. “But there’s ‘hey, great to see you at this nice soiree’ acquainted, and then there’s ‘hey, be my wife and let’s get biblical’ acquainted.”

“First, soiree? How the fuck old are you? Eighty-three?” Ezekiel snorted. “And second, I don’t plan on getting ‘biblical’ with her. This is a purely platonic arrangement. I’m helping her out.”

Purely platonic arrangement. Even as he uttered the words, liar blared in his head like an indictment. Yes, he didn’t plan on having a sexual relationship with Reagan. But the images of her that had tormented his nights—images of her under him, dark eyes glazed with passion, slim body arching into him, her breasts crushed to his chest, her legs spread wide for him as he sank into her over and over... None of those were platonic.

In his case, not only was the flesh weak, but the spirit was looking kind of shaky, too.

But he hadn’t popped the question to land himself a convenient bed partner. When it came down to it, his dick didn’t rule him. He could keep his hands—and everything-damn-else—to himself. Sex just muddied the already dirty waters.

Reagan had claimed to understand that he wasn’t looking for love, couldn’t give that to anyone else. But she couldn’t. Not really. It wasn’t as if he longed to climb into that grave with Melissa anymore; he didn’t pine for her. But her death—it’d marked him in a way even his parents’ hadn’t. At some point all children have to face the inevitability of losing a parent. And they even think about how that time will be. His mom and dad’s death had been devastating and painful, and to this day he mourned them.