Trust Fund Fiancé (Texas Cattleman's Club: Rags to Riches 4)

Still... God, she wanted to touch him.

Inhaling a deep breath and cursing the madness that had brought her here, she moved forward until reaching the visitor’s chair in front of his desk. She didn’t sit but curled her fingers around the back of it and studied him some more.

“You look terrible,” she said without preamble. Blunt, but preferable to do you need a hug?

A faint smirk tilted the corner of his mouth before it disappeared. “Thank you for that. But I doubt you drove all the way out here just to critique my personal appearance. What’s going on?”

“I—” Damn. Now that she was here, awkwardness coursed through her. She smothered a sigh. “I saw the news this morning. I wanted to make sure you were...okay.”

“Am I okay?” he repeated, loosing a harsh bark of laughter. She tried not to flinch at the sound but didn’t quite succeed. “Drugs were found at the WinJet plant. Now, on top of falsifying inspection reports and causing injury to our employees, we’re being accused of drug trafficking. The DEA has been called in. And we’re the subject of a drug smuggling investigation. No, Reagan, I’m far from okay.”

He shoved his chair back and shot to his feet.

“Dammit.” He cupped the back of his neck, roughly massaging it. He stalked to the floor-to-ceiling window that offered a view of the Wingate Enterprises property and the town of Royal. It was picturesque, but she doubted he saw anything but his own demons. “I’m sorry,” he rasped several seconds later. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s been a rough couple of days.”

“I can only imagine,” she murmured. After a brief hesitation where she silently ordered herself to stay put, she disobeyed her better judgment and crossed the floor to stand next to him. “No, actually, I can’t imagine. And I’m sorry. The last few weeks must have been hell for you and your family.”

“The workers who were injured in the fire sued, and we decided to settle the lawsuit. Just when we believed the worst had started to blow over, this happens. I can’t—” He broke off, his jaw clenching so hard, a muscle ticked along its hewn edge. “It’s like we’re cursed. Like one of those bedtime stories where the family lives this golden, blessed life and then an evil witch decides to strike them with trouble from every turn.” Emitting another of those razor-sharp laughs, he shook his head. “Goddamn, now I’m talking in fairy ta

les.”

Her chest squeezed so hard, she could barely push out a breath. Ezekiel’s big frame nearly vibrated with the strength of his tightly leashed emotions. His frustration, his confusion, his...helplessness reached out to her, and she employed every ounce of self-control to stop herself from reaching back out in return.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, rubbing his palm down his face, the bristle of his trimmed beard scraping in the silence. “Thank you for coming by. That was sweet of you, and though I didn’t act like it, I appreciate it.”

“It’s what friends do,” she replied, reminding herself out loud why she couldn’t touch him.

“And fiancées?” Ezekiel asked, a hint of teasing underneath the weariness in his voice.

“Of course,” she added with a casual shrug of her shoulder. “A real one would offer sex to comfort you, but the way our arrangement is set up...” Oh hell. Had she really said that? She’d been joking, but... Oh. Hell. “I was just kidding...”

She trailed off as he stared at her, the fatigue in his green gaze momentarily replaced by an intensity that vaporized the air in her lungs. The tension in the room switched to a thickness that seemed close to suffocating. She should say something, try to explain again that she was kidding. But was she? If he asked her for it, would she give her body to him? Let him lose himself for just a little while with her?

No.

Yes.

Images crowded into her mind. Images of them. Of him surrounding her, his thick, muscled arms encircling her and grasping her close as his large body surged inside her. Her thighs trembled, and her suddenly aching sex clenched. Hard. She swallowed a gasp at the phantom sensation of being possessed by him, stretched by him. Branded by him.

“But you’re not my real fiancée, are you, Ray?” he finally said, and if his tone sounded rougher, well, she ignored it. She had to.

“No,” she whispered. “I’m not.”

“Because we’re friends and you don’t want me like that, right?” he asked, that dark gaze boring into her. As if he could see the truth behind her careful lies.

“Yes, we’re friends,” she agreed, raising a hand to her collarbone and rubbing the scar there through her thin blouse.

“And you don’t think of me like that. Do you?” he pressed in that same deep, silken voice.

“No,” she lied. Even as her subconscious shamed her for breaking a commandment.

He didn’t say anything to that, but something inside her made her suspect he agreed with her subconscious. Did he want her to desire him? Or was he just making sure she understood where their boundary lines were drawn?

The latter. Definitely the latter.

“What’s next for you? For Wingate Enterprises?” she asked, desperately turning the conversation back to the reason she’d come here.

He shifted his gaze from her and back to the window. “I don’t know,” he admitted on a gruff whisper. Again, he rubbed the nape of his neck. “Once the DEA gets involved that could mean anything. They could freeze our assets. Confiscate anything they believe is related to the accusations. Lock the doors of the building. Arrest anyone they consider involved... Fuck,” he snarled. “How did we get here?”