Trust Fund Fiance - Naima Simone Page 0,59

its postage-stamp-size patio couldn’t be more different than the rolling, green hills of the ranch where he’d lived for so many years.

I would be cutting back on my volunteer time since I would be looking for employment.

I bought tickets for us, by the way.

He lifted an arm, pressed a palm to the wall and bowed his head. But that did nothing but amplify the words ricocheting in his head. Dammit. Straightening, he tipped his glass back and downed the rest of the alcohol. As it blazed a path down his throat, he welcomed the burn when it hit his chest. Anything was better than the dread and hated sense of inevitability that usually resided there these days.

God knows, he wasn’t one of those men who preferred that their women not work. They needed to feel fulfilled and purposeful, too. But that wasn’t why Reagan was seeking a job. He was the reason. The scandal and the resulting fallout that threatened his family’s company and reputation and his own investments. They were living off his savings right now, and they weren’t anywhere near the poorhouse, but to Reagan...

He huffed out a hard, ragged breath.

Her father had been right. Ezekiel might be able to provide for her, but he couldn’t protect her from the whispers, the condemnation, the scorn. He’d married her so she could have freedom and all he’d given her was a prison sentence to a man and family scarred by scandal. He’d failed her in every way that counted. At least to him as a man, a husband. Hell, he’d had to call another man and ask him for help to solve his wife’s problem. Because he couldn’t do it himself.

Just today, they’d had to lay off more employees from Wingate. Employees who depended on him, on his family, for their livelihoods. And all he could do was sit in his office with his thumb up his ass futilely trying to figure out a way to help. To do fucking something.

If he couldn’t save his family’s company, how could he possibly help Reagan save her inheritance, help her achieve her dream of a home for unwed, pregnant teens here in Royal? Help her have the life, the future she wanted?

The answer was simple.

He couldn’t.

He’d failed Melissa so many years ago. He’d failed the Wingates.

He’d failed Reagan.

And with her beautiful, wounded heart, her indomitable spirit and strength, she deserved better. So much better.

Better was a man who could protect her from the ugliness of life and follow through on his promises.

Better was a man who was brave enough to love her without fear.

Better was not him.

“Zeke?”

Lowering his arm, he pivoted to find Reagan standing in the hall entrance, a black nightgown molding to her sensual curves. The sucker punch of desire to his gut wasn’t a surprise. By now, he accepted that he wouldn’t be able to look at her, to be in the same damn state as her, and not want her.

He turned back to the window.

“What’re you doing up, Reagan?” He’d waited until she’d fallen asleep, their skin still damp from sex, before he’d left their bed.

“I should ask you that same question. And I am. What’s wrong, Zeke?” Moments later, her fingers curled around the hand still holding the empty tumbler. She gently took it from him, setting it on the table behind them. “And don’t tell me nothing again. I can see how stressed you are. How tired. It’s Wingate, isn’t it?”

He didn’t immediately reply, mentally corralling and organizing his words. But when he parted his lips, nothing of the pat, simple reply emerged.

“When I told Luke about our engagement, he accused me of trying to save you. Because I failed with Melissa.”

“Failed with Melissa?” she repeated. “Zeke, she died in a car accident.”

“Yes.” He nodded, images of that night so long ago flashing across the screen of his mind. “But what you don’t know is I was supposed to be in the car that night. I was supposed to be driving. If I had been, maybe...” He didn’t finish the thought, but he didn’t need to. He’d repeated the words so often over the years, they were engraved on his soul.

“Then maybe you would both be dead,” Reagan said, grasping his upper arm and tugging until he turned from the window and looked down at her.

Dammit. He hadn’t wanted to do that. Would’ve avoided staring down into her beautiful face if he had his way. Because those espresso eyes, elegant cheekbones and lush mouth unraveled