Читать книгу The Ashtons: Walker, Ford & Mercedes: Betrayed Birthright / Mistaken for a Mistress / Condition of Marriage - Emilie Rose, Sheri WhiteFeather - Страница 17

Tamra stepped out of the bathroom with a thick, fluffy towel wrapped around her. Everything at the Ashton Estate was luxurious.

Too luxurious, she thought, as she walked over to Walker’s dresser to get some fresh undergarments.

He lounged on the bed with a towel wrapped around him, too. After they’d made love, they’d taken a shower together, but she’d remained in the bathroom to apply her makeup and blow-dry her hair.

His hair, she noticed, was still a little damp, combed away from his face and styled with a dollop of gel.

He smiled at her, and she slipped on her bra and panties and put her towel in a nearby hamper. Once she found the courage to return his smile, she looked through her side of the closet. She didn’t want him to know how nervous she was about having dinner with his family.

“Do the Ashtons dress for their meals?” she asked.

“Nope.” He drew his knees up, nearly flashing her. “We eat naked.”

She sighed, almost laughed, wished he wasn’t so damn charming. “You know what I mean.”

“Lilah always dresses for dinner, but you don’t have to worry about that. Just wear whatever feels right.”

She scanned her modest selection and decided on a white skirt, a white blouse and a beaded belt she’d bought from a Lakota craftswoman. She added a noticeable array of silver and turquoise jewelry she’d acquired over the years.

“Now you really look Indian,” Walker said.

She turned to face him, preparing for a fight. “Is that a problem for you?”

“No. I like it.”

She let out the breath she was holding. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He frowned a little. “I’m not ashamed of your heritage, Tamra. Of my heritage,” he added. “I’m comfortable with who we are.”

“Are you?” she asked, hating how temporary their affair was, how throwaway it suddenly seemed.

A fire ignited in his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You would never relocate to Pine Ridge.”

“Is there a reason I’m supposed to?”

Caught in an argument of her own making, she fussed with a wide silver bracelet, tightening it around her wrist, squeezing the edges of the metal. “No, of course not.”

He didn’t drop the subject. “It’s a bit late for me to start my life over, to move in with my mom and pretend that we haven’t been separated for twenty-two years. Besides, how would I survive on the rez? I’m the interim CEO of an investment-banking firm.”

“Interim? You took over Ashton-Lattimer when Spencer died?”

“I was the executive vice president before he was killed. I’m the logical choice.”

“So you think the board is going to vote you in permanently?”

He nodded. “I’m on a leave of absence right now. But as soon as you and Mary return to Pine Ridge, I’m going back to work. I imagine it will happen then.”

She gave her bracelet another tight squeeze. “And you’re going to accept the position?”

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I?”

She shrugged off his question, as well as the intensity in his eyes. She had no right to challenge his choices. He’d already warned her that happily-everafter wasn’t in the cards.

Then why did she feel so dejected? So fearful of losing him?

“I’m going to check on your mom,” she said.

“Dinner isn’t for another hour.”

“I know, but I want to see how she’s settling in.”

Tamra put on her shoes and ventured down the hall, leaving Walker alone in his apartment. She didn’t worry about getting lost since Mary’s room was located in the west wing, near the upper foyer. She knocked on the door and received an instant welcome.

The older woman smiled, admiring Tamra’s ensemble. “You look pretty.”

“Thank you.” She noticed Mary was dressed in her ratty bathrobe, with hot curlers in her hair, looking as nervous as Tamra felt. “What are you going to wear?”

“I don’t know. This place is so doggone fancy.” Walker’s mother pursed her lips. “What do you think of my wake dress?”

“I didn’t know you brought it.”

“I figured I should.”

“In case someone died?”

“Goodness, no.” Mary looked at her, and they both laughed. “In case I needed a simple black dress.”

“I think it’s perfect.”

Mary breathed a sigh of relief, and Tamra helped her get ready, hoping the Ashton dinner didn’t feel like a wake.

An hour later they were seated in the formal dining room. The table was graced with fresh-cut flowers, elegant china and pristine linens.

Walker and Trace, the cousin he’d complained about, had acknowledged each other brusquely, but Trace had greeted Tamra and Mary in a muchwarmer tone. Tamra thought he was handsome with his athletic build and stunning green eyes. She also sensed that his passions ran deep, that there was more to him than Walker was willing to admit.

Paige, the other cousin who lived at the estate, seemed like a peacemaker, quiet and unassuming yet keenly aware of her surroundings. Her almond-shaped eyes darted between the two men. Was she hoping they would quit giving each other the cold shoulder? Come to their senses and behave like family?

Lilah, on the other hand, pretended not to notice. She dined on the first course, a silver fork in her hand and a row of pearls looped around her neck.

Tamra wished someone would say something. That a conversation would flow. She glanced at Paige, who gave her a comforting smile. Blond highlights dazzled her light-brown hair, framing her face in soft layers. She was, Tamra thought, a breath of fresh air in an otherwise tense situation.

Lilah finally broke the silence. “Do you like your room?” she asked Mary.

“Oh, yes. It’s lovely,” Walker’s mother responded.

“It’s been redecorated since Charlotte was a child.” Lilah took a bite of her watercress salad, chewed, swallowed, then continued speaking. “I had no idea that you were alive. Spencer told everyone, including me, that you’d died with your husband.”

Mary looked at her son, then returned her gaze to Lilah. “I appreciate you taking care of my children.”

“Well, yes, of course.” The redhead almost fumbled with her fork, proving that she hadn’t been happy about Spencer bringing home two half-breed kids. “Charlotte was so shy. I never knew what she was thinking. Now Walker—” she paused to nod her head at him “—he’s a bit more predictable.”

“Stubborn?” Mary asked.

“Precisely.” Lilah sighed. “At least with me. He behaved wonderfully for Spencer.”

“Hey.” The man in question shifted in his seat, then winked at Mary, teasing her with his “stubborn” charm. “That’s not fair. You two can’t gang up on me.”

His mother smiled at him. “I think we just did.”

When Lilah agreed, everyone at the table relaxed. A moment later Irena entered the dining room, informing Lilah that there was an important phone call for her.

Lilah thanked the head housekeeper and excused herself. But when she returned after a short absence, she gripped the back of her chair.

“It was Stephen Cassidy,” she announced.

Walker looked up. “Spencer’s attorney? Is there news about the will?”

She shook her head. “Stephen heard some rumors about the murder investigation.”

Spencer’s murder, Tamra thought, as Lilah’s knuckles turned white.

“The police are building a case against Grant.” She all but spat the suspect’s name. “They’re going to put that traitor behind bars.”

“Are you sure?” This came from Paige, who blew out an anxious breath. Trace was on edge, as well, waiting to hear what else his mother had to say.

She continued in a tight voice. “Supposedly the authorities uncovered something that could be highly damaging, something that goes beyond circumstantial evidence.”

“What is it?” Trace asked. “What did they find out?”

“Stephen wasn’t able to secure the details.” Lilah resumed her seat and reached for her wine, downing the contents much too quickly. “I just wish this nightmare would end. That I could stop envisioning my husband with a bullet in his heart.”

“Who’s Grant?” Tamra asked.

“Spencer’s son by his first wife,” Walker responded.

“The one in Nebraska?”

“Yes, but she’s been gone a long time. She died when Grant and his twin sister were about twelve.” Walker picked up his knife and stabbed his roll. “Grant doesn’t have an alibi for the night Spencer was shot, and he was at my uncle’s office earlier that day, arguing with Spencer. If what Stephen heard is true, then it’s only a matter of time before the police arrest him.” He cut the roll into several jagged pieces. “I hope that bastard goes to hell for what he did to my uncle.”

Tamra studied the darkness in her lover’s eyes, the pain of losing his mentor.

Dinner had, indeed, turned into a wake.

Even if no one eulogized Spencer, he was there.

The murder victim. The man someone, possibly Grant Ashton, hated enough to kill.

As the morning sun shone in the sky, Walker sat beneath a veranda located behind the house. Lost in thought, he scanned the gardens, the plants and flowers that flourished in the dew-misted air.

Tamra sat next to him at a glass-topped table. Charlotte, Alexandre and Mary were there, too. Walker had watched his mother and his sister embrace. He’d seen Charlotte cry in Mary’s arms.

Even Alexandre had hugged Mary with ease. And he’d called her Maman, French for Mother. It had flowed from his lips naturally, and he was only the prospective son-in-law.

Walker had never seen Mary so happy. She and Charlotte paged through the photo albums Mary had brought, the family pictures that had yet to jar Walker’s memories.

Why couldn’t he remember his parents?

“Look how handsome Daddy was,” Charlotte said. She leaned toward Mary, studying David’s image.

“And look how beautiful you are.” Mary touched her daughter’s cheek, clearly awed by the young woman she’d become.

Walker had to admit that his sister was beautiful, with her long streaming hair and petite yet willowy figure. She wore a flowing summer dress, as bright as the garden that surrounded them.

“Charlotte runs Ashton Estate Botanicals,” Walker said, gesturing in the distance. “The greenhouse is that way.” More flowers, he thought. More plants.

“I plan to set up an independent nursery,” his sister added. “But for now, I’ll remain at Ashton Botanicals, training someone to take over for me.”

“An independent nursery?” Mary asked. “Away from the estate?”

Charlotte nodded. “I haven’t decided if I’ll establish it in Napa Valley or in France. But either way, it will be my own company.”

“That’s wonderful. Your father had a green thumb. He could make anything grow.”

Yes, Walker thought, their dad had been a farmer. A man who’d lived off the land. Sometimes he wondered why he himself hadn’t been born to Spencer and Lilah instead of David and Mary.

A moment later the thought shamed him, making him feel like the worst kind of bastard. He moved his chair closer to the table. “May I have that?” He motioned to a photograph of David, Mary, Charlotte and him. The last picture of all of them together, taken on New Year’s Day in 1983. The year their lives had changed forever.

Mary glanced up and snared his gaze. “Of course you can.” She removed the faded snapshot and handed it to him.

“Thank you.” He pressed it to his chest, just a smidgen away from his heart. “I won’t lose it. I’m going to scan it into my computer so I can make a copy.”

His mother smiled. “I trust you.”

Charlotte and Alexandre smiled at him, too. Selfconscious, Walker cleared his throat. Tamra put her hand on his knee, and he turned to look at her, wishing he could kiss her, hold her, let her absorb his tangled emotions.

“Oh, Mama,” Charlotte said, breaking the silence. “It’s so wonderful to have you here. To be with you. When I was a little girl, I would dream of you. Imagine a day like today.” She paused, and her voice hitched. “Somewhere deep down, I never believed that you were dead.”

Alexandre touched his fiancée’s shoulder. “Ma petite,” he whispered, lending his support.

The women turned teary-eyed, and Walker wished he could love as deeply as his sister, that he could be more like her. But he wasn’t a dreamer. He’d never questioned the tale Spencer had told him. He’d trusted his uncle.

“Will you give me a tour of the greenhouse?” Mary asked her daughter.

“Yes. And you must stay with Alexandre and me, at our new home.” Charlotte turned to Walker. “Would that be all right with you?”

“Sure,” he said, knowing he couldn’t interfere with the precious time his mom and his sister had. “Tamra and I will go to San Francisco while Mom stays with you. Then we can all get together before they go back to Pine Ridge.”

“That sounds perfect.” Charlotte reached for Mary’s hand. “Alexandre and I are going to visit your home, too. As soon as we can arrange a trip.”

“Maybe you can come for the powwow at the end of the month,” the older woman said.

“A Sioux gathering?” Charlotte beamed. “I’ve always wanted to be close to my heritage. To know more about it.”

“Then I’ll teach you.” Mary squeezed her hand. “Your father always told me that I should be proud of my culture. That I should encourage you and your brother to be proud. But I kept losing sight of that.”

“Is that why he wanted me to have a shield?” Walker asked.

His mother nodded. “A shield reflects a warrior’s medicine, everything in his life. Protection in combat, success in the hunt, being a good lover, finding the right mate. Even visions and dreams are represented.”

He wished he had visions and dreams. Something beyond Ashton-Lattimer. “That’s a nice sentiment.”

“It’s more than sentiment. It projects who you are.” Mary scooted closer to him. “I can make you a shield, the way I’d originally intended to. Or I can teach you how to make one. You can put your own symbols on it. Animals, colors, anything you want.”

Would a shield bind him to the Oglala Lakota Sioux Nation? Or would it be a forgery? He’d told Tamra that he was comfortable with his heritage, but was that a lie? Would he stop being Lakota when he returned to Ashton-Lattimer? When he started behaving like a corporate wasicu again? Or a brash, citified iyeska?

“Walker?” his mother pressed.

“What?”

“Do you want me to make it? Or would like to create it yourself?”

“You can do it.” He glanced at the picture of his family. “But will you put something on it that represents us?” He lifted the photograph. “You, Dad, Charlotte and me?” He released a ragged breath. “And Tamra, too?”

Tamra looked up at him, and he wondered if he should have kept quiet instead of mentioning her name. Although she smiled, she seemed surprised, maybe even a little shy, about what he’d said.

Mary glanced at his lover, then back at him. “She’s good for you. You’re good for each other.”

“I think so, too,” Charlotte said.

“Oui,” Alexandre offered his opinion, as well. “I agree.”

Okay, great. Now that everyone had just embarrassed the hell out of him, Walker didn’t know how to respond. His relationship with Tamra wasn’t meant to last. He wanted her to be represented on his shield because he was going to lose her.

And lose a piece of himself after she was gone.

Several hours later Walker sat at the oak desk in his extra bedroom. He scanned the picture on his computer, created a “family photos” file and printed it. Next he saved it on a disc and packed it for the San Francisco trip.

He was used to switching computers. He had a PC at both home locations, as well as a laptop he carried for airports, hotel rooms and places in between.

Tamra knocked on the open door, and he turned to look at her.

“I noticed some ice cream in your freezer,” she said. “Is it okay if I dig into it?”

“Sure.” He roamed his gaze over her and saw that she’d changed into a pair of sweats, preparing to relax in his apartment. “Will you get me a bowl, too?”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

He watched her leave, then put the original picture in an envelope and left it on his desk with a selfsticking note, reminding himself to return it to his mother.

Tamra came back, balancing two glass bowls. She’d scooped a mound of Neapolitan into each, with spoons readily available. She handed him one of the frozen treats and sat on the edge of the bed. He remained in the swivel chair.

She started eating the vanilla ice cream first, and he wondered if it was her favorite flavor. He continued to analyze every bite she took. Finally she finished the vanilla and started in on the strawberry. He changed his mind, deciding she liked chocolate the best since she was saving it for last.

Walker had mixed all three flavors up in his bowl, stirring the concoction like pudding.

“Your sister is amazing,” she said. “Sweet, bright, beautiful. I really like her.”

“She appeared to like you, too.”

“Alexandre is amazing, as well.”

“Really? You think so?”

“Oh, yes. He’s gorgeous. So—” she stalled when Walker raised his eyebrows at her “—attentive to Charlotte.”

Envy nipped at his heels, but he let it go. He knew Alexandre was one of those guys women noticed. All those fancy French words. Even his mom had swooned a little. “He loves my sister.”

“I can tell.” She toyed with her spoon. “It was weird…what Mary, Charlotte and Alexandre said about us.”

“Yeah, weird.” He shifted his gaze. “They think we’re good for each other.”

When silence pulled like taffy between them, he stirred his dessert again. He hated these magnified moments. He wasn’t good at easing the tension.

But she got past it quick enough.

“Does anyone ever stay in this room?” she asked.

“No. I never invite guests here.”

“Then why do you have an extra bed?”

“I don’t know. To fill up space, I guess.”

She took her first bite of the chocolate ice cream. “What about your bedroom?”

He nearly cursed beneath his breath. Silence had been safer than the conversation she’d hatched. “No one stays there, either.”

“I am,” she said.

“Yes, but you’re—” he paused, afraid he would say something too revealing “—different.”

“Different?” she parroted.

Crafty girl, he thought. Prodding him to spill his guts. “I already told you that you’re the most compatible lover I’ve ever had. I wanted to take advantage of that.”

She sucked on her spoon, and he wondered if she was trying to seduce him. If she was, her ploy was working. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her mouth.

He dropped his gaze and noticed her nipples through her T-shirt. “Are you cold, Tamra?”

She almost smiled. “I’m eating ice cream.”

“Want to christen the bed?”

She gave him an innocent look, then shook her head and laughed. “You’re easy, Walker.”

So she had been playing a game.

He left the desk, came closer, took away her bowl and nudged her down. “You drive me crazy.” He unzipped his jeans and slipped her hand inside. “More than crazy.”

She closed her fingers around him, and they kissed, deep and wet and slow. She tasted like chocolate, and the flavor, the sweetness, aroused him even more.

They dragged off each other’s clothes, tossing articles onto the floor, leaving cotton and denim in their wake.

She lowered her head, then used her mouth between his legs. He tugged his hands through her hair and felt his blood soar. Oh, yeah, he thought. She drove him crazy.

She paused, looked up at him and made his world spin.

Mind-blowing foreplay. Sexual surrender. He wanted it all. And he wanted it with her.

He lifted her up and kissed her, tongue to tongue, flesh to flesh. He needed to get her out of his system, to drink her in, to drain her of every last drop.

Desperate, he guzzled her like the wine he’d been reared on, getting drunk, forcing the intoxication through his veins.

But he wanted to make her drunk, too, so he went down on her, giving her the oral pleasure she’d given him.

She arched, rubbed against him and fisted the quilt.

He kept doing it, teasing her, urging her to completion.

When she stopped shuddering, he rose above her. And with one powerful thrust, he entered her. She gasped, and he went deeper, submerging himself in wetness, in warmth, in everything he craved.

Sunlight spilled into the room, making summer hues dance across the bed. They clasped hands, their fingers locking.

A bond. A connection. A feral need.

Walker wasn’t about to let go.

And neither was she. She wrapped her legs around him, holding him hostage, keeping him unbearably close.

Every cell in his body screamed for a release, but he wanted to make it last. To keep making love to her. Yet he couldn’t.

Heaven help him. He couldn’t.

Her lotion rose like a mist, filling his nostrils. The scent of seduction. Of heat, he thought. Of a life-altering orgasm.

He looked into her eyes, then let himself fall.

Hard and fast.

As hard and fast as a man could endure.