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

“It’s just been a couple of days, Zeke. They’ll find out who planted the drugs, and Wingate will be cleared.”

He shot her a sharp glance. “Planted?” he demanded. He shook his head. “You would be the first person who suggested they were, and that we’re not responsible for smuggling or trafficking.”

She sliced a hand through the air. “That’s nonsense. Your family would never be involved in something like that. There’s an explanation, but you being a drug kingpin isn’t it.” She snorted. Because yes, the idea of it was just that ridiculous.

“God, Ray,” he said. And for the first time, his chuckle wasn’t a humorless, jagged thing that scraped her raw. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for the first real laugh I’ve had in days.” He lifted his arm, and it hovered between them for a couple of seconds before he brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “Thank you for not turning and hightailing it at my bark and braving my bite.”

“Yes, well, I don’t appreciate being snapped at. But for that apology, I’ll make an exception and like it,” she mumbled, echoing the same thing she’d said to him at her parents’ home.

He obviously remembered because he smiled. But then his hand dropped away, and he sobered. “Ray,” he said, his voice lowering. “If you’re having second thoughts about marrying me, I understand. You don’t have to be afraid to tell me.”

“What?” Surprise rocked through her, and she frowned. “Why would I have second thoughts?”

He sighed, and the exhaustion crept back into his face. “The terms of your grandmother’s will state you need to marry a suitable man. And when your father gave us his blessing, he didn’t know that my family would soon be accused of being a criminal enterprise. There’s no way he can be pleased with this turn of events. Or with his daughter becoming involved with it merely by association.”

“I’m not tainted by you, Zeke,” she snapped, offended. And yes, her father could be old-fashioned and stuck in his ways, but even he drew the line at convicting a man until he’d been proven guilty. “And I resent the implication that my being connected to you would. I’ll handle my father. I’m not calling off the engagement. Are you?”

He hesitated, that springtime gaze roaming her face as if searching for the truth behind her words. Finally, he said, “No, I’m not calling it off.”

“Good,” she 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.”