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. But he’d known it would come, just not so soon.
Losing a young woman who not only had her whole future ahead of her, but he’d imagined would be part of his future, had, in ways, been more tragic. More shattering. Because she shouldn’t have died. According to statistics, she should’ve outlived him. But she hadn’t. And part of her legacy had been a deeply embedded fear that nothing lasted forever. Anything important, anything he held onto too tightly could be ripped from him. Oh, there existed the possibility that it might not. But he’d played those odds once and his heart had been ripped out of his chest, and he didn’t believe he would survive the pain. Not again.
Melissa had taught him that he was no longer a betting man.
So while Reagan might claim to understand why she shouldn’t expect love and some happily-ever-after with him, sex would potentially change that. Women like her... She wouldn’t be able to separate satisfying a base, raw need from a more emotional connection. And he loathed to hurt her, even unintentionally. Though he’d never caught wind of her being seriously involved with anyone, something in those soft brown eyes hinted that she’d experienced pain before. And he didn’t want to add to it.
So for the length of their “marriage,” his dick would remain on hiatus.
“And what do you get out of it?” Luke asked, dragging him from his thoughts and back into the present. “Other than canonization for sainthood?”
Ezekiel shrugged. “Companionship. The knowledge that I’m helping a woman I respect and like achieve her goals. Plus, you can’t deny that news of a Wingate family engagement and wedding would definitely detract from the gossip and bad publicity surrounding us and the company at the moment. Who doesn’t love a whirlwind romance, right?” He sighed, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his thighs. “I know this doesn’t make sense—”
“No, to the contrary, it makes perfect sense,” Luke cut him off. “At least to me. I’m just wondering if it isn’t as clear to you.”
Ezekiel frowned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Luke leaned forward, mimicking his pose. “It means you couldn’t save Melissa, so you’re trying to rescue Reagan.”
“That’s bullshit,” Ezekiel snapped, anger sparking hot and furious in his chest. “One has absolutely nothing to do with the other.” He shot to his feet, agitated. Too fucking...exposed.
He paced away from his brother, stalking across the office to the windows that looked out over Royal. Seconds later, he retraced his path, halting in front of Luke, the coffee table separating them like a tumbleweed blowing across a dirt street. “You accuse me of having a savior complex, but I’m not the one who’s basically moved into his office, assuming the responsibility of saving this company all on his own. Analyze yourself before you decide to play armchair psychiatrist with me.”
The silence between them vibrated with tension and anger. His anger. Because instead of getting in Ezekiel’s face and firing a response back at him, Luke reclined back against the couch and stretched an arm across the top of it.
“Hit a nerve, did I?” he murmured, arching an eyebrow.
“Shut the hell up,” Ezekiel snapped.
That shit his brother had spouted wasn’t true. After Melissa, Ezekiel went out of his way to avoid becoming deeply involved with people outside of his family. He wasn’t arrogant enough to think he could rescue people like a superhero in a suit instead of in a cape and tights.
“Zeke.” Luke’s sigh reached him moments before he stood and circled the coffee table. “What you’re doing for Reagan? It’s a good thing. I didn’t mean to imply it wasn’t or that you shouldn’t do it. I’m just...concerned.” He set a hand on Ezekiel’s shoulder, forcing him to look into the face that was as familiar to him as his own. “I need you to be careful, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt again.”
Ezekiel shook his head. “This is more of a business arrangement than a relationship. We both understand that. You don’t have to worry about me. Everything is going to be fine.”
Luke nodded, but the skepticism darkening his eyes didn’t dissipate. And for the moment, Ezekiel chose to ignore it. Just as he’d chosen to disregard the unexpected urge to protect Reagan from her father’s censure tonight. To put her happiness before his own preferences when he’d agreed with her mother’s wishes to extend their engagement from two weeks to s