Читать книгу The Ashtons: Walker, Ford & Mercedes - Emilie Rose - Страница 17

The weather in Northern California was perfect, a warm summer day bursting with color. The wine country, with its fertile land and prospering grapes, was surrounded by mountain ranges that rose to the sky.

Tamra sat next to Walker in his car, a silver Jaguar he’d retrieved from a long-term parking lot at the airport. Mary settled in the backseat, but she’d been relatively quiet since they’d arrived in Napa Valley.

Walker stopped at a gate at the entrance of the estate, pressing a keypad with a security code. As they continued, moving closer to their final destination, Tamra drew a shaky breath.

The mansion itself, an enormous cream-colored structure accented with marble, presided from a hill overlooking the vineyards below. A large circular drive boasted an elegant reflecting pool. The water shimmered in the sun, catching the light like magic.

“Oh, my,” Mary said, a statement that seemed to convey exactly what Tamra was thinking.

Oh, my.

“The humble abode,” Walker joked, pulling into the driveway with ease.

He was glad to be home, Tamra thought. To the familiarity of his youth. But his comfort zone only made her more nervous.

To her, the estate seemed like a rich-and-powerful fortress. It had Spencer Ashton written all over it. The dead man still reigned.

“Long live the king,” she mumbled.

Walker shot her a quick glance. “What?”

“It looks like a castle,” she amended.

He shrugged and killed the engine of his sixty-thousand-dollar car. They climbed out of the Jag, and he gestured to the trunk, where he’d already popped open the lid. “Don’t worry about our luggage. Someone will take care of it soon enough.”

Someone? The hired help? “You’re spoiled,” Tamra said.

He frowned at her. “I don’t have servants in San Francisco. I prefer my privacy. But things are different here.”

She held her tongue, and he opened the door to an expansive foyer. A magnificent library was on the left and a lavish dining room on the right. A double staircase, leading to each wing of the house, made a sweeping impression. Walker escorted her and Mary into a majestic room he called the grand parlor.

Grand indeed: creamy fabrics and ornate antiques, a terrace that presented a breathtaking view of a flourishing garden and the vineyards below.

Tamra didn’t want to sit, although Walker offered her and his mother a seat. The furniture, she noticed, was polished to perfection. Tables gleamed and mirrors reflected every carefully decorated angle. There wasn’t a thread out of place. Even the tassels on pillows displayed themselves in a don’t-touch-us manner.

A woman wearing a black uniform draped with a white apron entered the parlor. She looked about Mary’s age, her long dark-brown hair pinned up.

“Mr. Walker,” she said, her tone soft and respectful. “It’s good to have you home. And with your new family.”

“Irena.” He greeted her in a detached voice. But even so, he introduced her to Tamra and Mary, letting them know she was the head housekeeper.

If his attitude hurt Irena’s feelings, she didn’t let it show. Her blue eyes sparkled, especially when she spoke to Mary. Tamra liked her immediately, which made Walker’s disposition even more baffling.

Had the housekeeper done something to displease him? Or did he treat all of the employees with mild disdain?

Tamra shifted in her seat. Was it a learned response he’d picked up from Spencer?

“Miss Charlotte and Mr. Alexandre left a message for you,” Irena informed him. “Their flight was delayed. They won’t be arriving until tomorrow morning.”

He frowned. “That’s fine. Is Lilah here?”

“Yes, Mr. Walker. She’ll be with you shortly.”

“Thank you. Will you send in some refreshments?”

“Yes, of course. I’d be glad to.” She excused herself and gave Walker’s mother a gentle smile on her way out the door.

Mary seemed disappointed about Charlotte’s delay, but Irena’s kindness had prompted her to relax, helping Tamra relax, too.

Five minutes later, when Lilah Spencer breezed into the parlor, their discomfort returned.

The lady of the manor, a reed-thin redhead, approached Walker with a Hollywood-style kiss, brushing her lips past his cheek. Impeccably dressed, she donned a cream-colored suit that matched the decor. Her makeup was flawless, her skin unnaturally taut.

Botox injections? Tamra wondered.

“I see the Indian people are here,” Lilah said.

“Mind your manners,” Walker told her, scolding his forty-nine-year-old aunt as if she was a child.

“Was that politically incorrect?” She divided her gaze between Tamra and Mary. “Would you prefer Native American?”

So much for the welcome Walker had promised, Tamra thought. “Indian is fine.”

“Well, then. See?” Lilah smoothed her lapel, where a simple gold broach had the audacity to shine, to look as chic as the woman wearing it. “No harm done.”

Walker introduced his mother first, and Mary was gracious enough to extend her hand. Lilah extended hers, too, and Tamra wondered if Spencer’s widow was mimicking what she saw, like a Stepford wife who kept switching gears, not quite sure how to treat Mary—the Indian her dead husband had wronged.

Irena arrived with a silver tray bearing iced tea, fresh mint, lemon wedges and sugar. Another maid carried a platter of finger sandwiches and a delicate assortment of fine china.

Lilah made a face at the tea, as though she craved something stronger. The head housekeeper offered the first glass to Mary, who accepted it gratefully. After the drinks were distributed and the sandwiches left in a buffet-style setting, the hired help disappeared.

“Now, then.” Lilah sat in a Victorian settee and crossed her legs, her posture as graceful as an aging fashion model. “We need to decide what rooms Mary and Tamra should occupy.”

Walker made the decision in two seconds flat. “My mother can take Charlotte’s old room, and Tamra can stay in my apartment.”

“Your apartment?” Lilah arched her lightly penciled bows.

“That’s right,” he countered, daring her to challenge him.

She didn’t. She backed down easily, but not without a socially acceptable response. “His apartment is in the west wing,” she announced to no one in particular. “And it has two bedrooms.”

Walker gazed at Tamra from the across the room, and her heart bumped her chest. Fat chance that she would be sleeping in the second bedroom. She and Walker hadn’t made love since that night on the plains. They’d decided to wait rather than take liberties at Mary’s house. Of course, Walker was going full throttle now, demanding Tamra’s attention.

“Will you and your guests be joining us for dinner?” Lilah asked her nephew.

“Yes, we will.”

“Then I’ll see to the menu.” She stood, tall and slim and regal. “If you’re weary from your flight, don’t hesitate to retire to your room,” she said to Mary. “I understand how taxing jet lag can be.” She turned to Tamra. “You, too.” Then to Walker, “I trust you’ll show them to their quarters.”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll make sure the luggage is taken right up,” Lilah concluded. She bade everyone a courtly farewell and left the parlor to tend to her duties.

A queen who was lost without her king.

Walker’s apartment was as exceptional as the rest of the mansion, although the decor was quite a bit bolder, with more use of color. It contained a stylish living room, two bedrooms, two bathrooms and a comfortably equipped kitchen. The paintings on the walls exhibited desire, rage, even sadness. They were, Tamra thought, a reflection of Walker’s personality.

Their luggage had arrived in no time, and she decided to unpack while Walker sat on the edge of his bed and watched her.

“Is there an another apartment on the other side of us?” she asked.

He nodded. “It belongs to my cousin Trace. He got the balcony.”

She looked up, shook her head. “God forbid he should get something you don’t have.”

Walker rolled his eyes. “Trace irks me.”

She reached for a hanger. “Really? How so?”

“He just does. We’ve always been at odds with each other.”

Masculine rivalry? she wondered. Or did it go deeper than that? “Have you ever tried to work things out with him? Talk about your differences?”

He barked out a cynical laugh. “Yeah, right. He’s impossible to communicate with.”

“What does he do?”

“He manages the Ashton Estate Winery.”

“How come you didn’t get into that business?”

“Because Spencer wanted me to work with him at Ashton-Lattimer Corporation. The investment banking firm.” He removed his shoes and socks and tossed them on the floor. Today he wore a charcoal suit that darkened the color of his eyes.

“Trace is Spencer’s son, right?”

“Yep. His only son with Lilah.”

“How many daughters do they have?”

“Two. Paige and Megan. Paige still lives here, and Meagan is married now.” He took off his jacket. “Can we quit yapping about my family and get cozy?” He roamed his gaze over her, lowered his voice. “I’ve missed you.”

Tamra’s skin turned warm, but she refused to give in so easily. “You’ve missed touching me. That’s not the same as missing someone. And I’m not through asking questions.”

He made a goofy expression, then pretended to hang himself with his tie. She bit her lip to keep from laughing. “That’s not going to charm me into bed,” she told him, even though she wanted to tackle him, to kiss him, to let his sexual frustration consume her.

“Then hurry up and finish this interview. I’ve got a woman to seduce.”

“Fair enough.” She hung her best dress, black cotton with satin trim, in his closet. “What’s the deal with Irena?”

“She’s the head housekeeper. I already told you that.”

“Why were you so rude to her?”

“I wasn’t rude.”

“The hell you weren’t.”

“Okay. Fine. Irena is a traitor. She’s been with us since I was a kid and she let her daughter—who also used to work here, I might add—get engaged to the enemy.”

“The enemy?” The Ashton Estate was beginning to sound like the setting for a soap opera. Days of Our Disgruntled Lives. “Who on earth are you talking about?”

“Eli Ashton. The SOB who threw a fit about Spencer’s will and the Ashton-Lattimer stocks I inherited.”

Money, she thought. The root of all evil. Only in this case, she didn’t know if Eli was the evil party or if Walker fit the bill. “How is Eli related to your uncle?”

“He’s one of Spencer’s kids with Caroline Lattimer, a former wife. The other Ashton family.” He walked over to a mini bar in the corner and poured himself a shot of tequila, the first time Tamra had seen him drink. “They have a boutique winery about twenty-five miles from here. But that’s not enough for Eli. He’ll probably try to steal the Ashton-Lattimer stocks away from me.”

“Did Spencer leave Caroline’s children anything in the will?”

“Nope.”

“And you don’t think that’s wrong?”

“It’s not my place to judge my uncle’s decision. Besides, Eli is only making a fuss because his grandfather on his mother’s side founded the investment banking business.”

“But Spencer ended up with it?”

“Caroline’s father left it to him. Of course that was before Spencer divorced her. Then again, it doesn’t really matter because their marriage was never legal. Spencer had a wife in Nebraska a long time ago, but he never divorced her.”

Tamra could only stare. Her head was twirling like a top. “And what was her name?”

“Sally. He has grown kids with her, too. Oh, and there’s a little boy Spencer fathered two years ago.”

“He cheated on Lilah?”

“As far as I know, he cheated on all of his wives. Lilah was one of his mistresses before he married her. She was his secretary. The old make-out-in-the-office routine.”

“And this is the man you admired?”

Walker gave her a disturbed stare. “He treated me better than he treated everyone else. What am supposed to do? Hate him for that?”

“No, but you shouldn’t be rude to Irena because her daughter is engaged to Eli.”

“We’re back to that?”

“That’s right, we are. Did you really expect Irena to stop her daughter from falling in love?” She paused, looked at him, felt her heart pick up speed. “Love isn’t something a person can control. Not a parent, not a child, not a man or a woman.”

He frowned, squinted, left his empty shot glass on the bar. “What if Eli contests the will?”

“Then he contests it. That doesn’t have anything to do with Irena. You owe her an apology, Walker.”

“Listen to you. The voice of compassion.” He sat on the edge of the bed again. “But you’re right, I do. I’ll apologize to her tonight, sometime before dinner. After all, she can’t help it if her daughter fell for a selfish jerk.”

Tamra doubted that Eli was the money grubber Walker was making him out to be. She suspected there was more to the story, and Irena had supported her daughter’s decision for all the right reasons. “Good parents try to make their children happy.”

“You’re talking about Irena, right?”

She gave him a solemn nod. She certainly wasn’t referring to Spencer.

Walker gazed out a second-story window, and she followed his line of sight. She couldn’t see the view from her perspective, but she suspected he was gazing at his family’s vineyards, the way he’d studied Mary’s land allotment while he’d been on the rez.

Was he comparing the Napa Valley wine country to the South Dakota plains?

“My mom wants me to be happy,” he said.

“Yes, she does. Mary loves you very much.”

“I know. I can feel her affection.” He turned away from the window. “But I don’t understand it. She barely knows me.”

Tamra walked away from the closet, taking a seat next to him on the bed. “Most mothers have a special bond with their children. I never knew my baby at all. But I loved her.” She placed her hand on his knee, recalling the day she’d buried Jade. “She’ll always be in my heart.”

He touched her face, running his knuckles along her jaw. A masculine caress, a man-to-woman need. “I wish it was that easy for me. That I could love Mary the way she loves me.”

“You will. Someday you will.”

She put her head on his shoulder, and he held her so tight she could hardly breathe. But she didn’t care. She wanted to be as close to him as possible.

He released the top button of her blouse, and she lifted her head, grateful, so incredibly grateful, for his seduction.

As he kissed her neck, as his lips sought her skin, she opened her shirt completely, allowing him access to her bra, to the cleavage between her breasts.

He accepted the offering, putting his mouth all over her, leaving warm, damp marks. Branding her, she thought, taking possession.

They slid onto the bed, lying side by side, caressing, kissing, making each and every sensation count.

Sweet and slow. Dark and sensual.

He removed her bra, then skimmed his hand down her stomach, popping the snap on her jeans, playing with the waistband of her panties. When he moved lower, she caught her breath.

They rolled over the bed, scattering pillows, rumpling the quilt. Wanting more, they took turns undressing each other. And by the time she got to his trousers, he was hard and thick and desperate to straddle her. But she worked his zipper slowly, teasing him, making him wait.

“That’s not fair,” he said.

“Isn’t it?” Tamra found her way into his boxers and skimmed the tip of his arousal, where moisture beaded like an iridescent pearl. She rubbed it onto his skin, and his entire body quaked.

“Not fair at all,” he reiterated.

“You’re impatient,” she whispered in his ear.

“Can’t help it.” He kissed her, swirling his tongue, making love to her mouth.

She finished undressing him, and his breathing accelerated. Finally, when they were flesh to flesh, he braced himself above her.

But he didn’t push her legs apart. He simply gazed at her, taking in every feminine curve. Then he cuffed her wrists with his hands, holding her arms above her head, making her his prisoner.

Tamra could only imagine how she looked, her nipples peaked, her areolae several shades darker than her brown skin.

“You’re the most compatible lover I’ve ever had,” he said.

“Have there been a lot?”

“It depends—” he lowered his head and flicked his tongue over one of her breasts “—on what someone considers a lot.”

She didn’t try to free herself, even though he still held her captive. She liked his game, his decisive maneuvers.

Sexual strategy. Her heart pounded with anticipation.

A strand of hair fell across his eyebrows, making him seem like a rebel. She itched to run her fingers down his spine, to sink her nails into his back.

But he offered her something even better. In the blink of an eye, he rolled over and took her with him, shifting until she was poised above him, with her legs sprawled across his lap.

“Want to go for a ride?” he asked.

Her breath rushed out; her pulse stumbled. She envisioned riding him until the end of time, until the sun disappeared and the moon spun in the sky. “Yes.”

“Then do it.” He gripped her waist. “Do it to both of us.”

She didn’t have a choice. She wanted him so badly, her life could have depended on it. More than ready, Tamra lifted her hips and slid down, taking him inside.

His fingers tightened around her waist, moving her up and down, setting the rhythm.

Deep, wet, intoxicating.

She leaned over to kiss him, to suck on his tongue. Desperate sex, she thought. Suddenly Walker tasted like the tequila he’d drunk.

Or was that the flavor of passion? Of the heat between them? The spiraling sensation of liquid fire?

They made love like animals on the verge of an attack. He lunged forward, so they were face-to-face, so she could look directly in his eyes while they practically tore each other apart.

She clawed his chest, raking her nails over every muscle. He ravaged her shoulders, using his teeth, nearly bruising her.

“This is insane,” she said.

Beautifully crazy.

He didn’t respond. He just encouraged her to keep going, to keep milking his body with hers. Harder, faster, deeper.

The room twirled in a haze of color. Daylight burned bright. She could almost feel the sun melting over her skin, dripping in sweet, sticky rivulets.

A hot, hip-grinding climax shattered inside her, making her shudder, making the wetness between her legs seem like honey.

And then she realized that Walker had spilled into her, that the dampness had come from him.

Her lover.

The man sweeping her away.