Trust Fund Fiance - Naima Simone Page 0,28
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 lighter and airier with brighter colors, bigger windows and higher ceilings. Tonight, floor-to-ceiling French doors had been thrown open to the July night,