The Ashtons: Walker, Ford & Mercedes: Betrayed Birthright / Mistaken for a Mistress / Condition of Marriage. Sheri WhiteFeather

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      Ten

      At dusk Walker and Tamra sat on his deck, sharing takeout Chinese food. A mild breeze blew, awakening the aroma of kung pao chicken, sweet-and-sour pork, egg rolls and fried rice.

      They used paper plates and plastic utensils, something Walker did often. He rarely fussed in the kitchen, cooking or dirtying dishes.

      “I was wrong,” Tamra said.

      “About what?” He stabbed a piece of the kung pao chicken, a spicy Szechuan dish with just enough kick to ignite his taste buds.

      “I thought we’d be tearing off each other’s clothes before the sun went down.”

      He glanced up at the sky and saw a small stream of light drifting through the clouds. “There’s still time.” He watched the golden light shift and fade, then sent her a teasing grin. “But we’ll have to hurry.”

      She managed an appreciative laugh, and he was glad to hear the uplifting sound. He’d been worried about her all day, hoping her anxiety would lessen.

      He knew that Edward’s proximity, the home her ex-lover owned in the area, had triggered her emotions. This town held a lot of sadness for her. A lot of grief. But Walker wanted to change that. He wanted to give her some warm and caring memories.

      He figured that a casual dinner was a good start. His redwood deck offered a romantic ambience, with outdoor lanterns and citronella candles. A wind chime near the back door created a melodious tune, and the hot tub was ready and waiting, steam rising from the water. Plants flowered all around it, vines twisting and twining on the gazebo lattice. He liked the jungle effect, as well as the privacy it afforded him.

      Tamra ate another small helping of the sweet-and-sour pork, and he watched her add extra chunks of pineapple to her plate. They occupied a rustic wood table that complemented her unpretentious beauty, her blue-jean dress, the slightly scuffed boots she favored.

      He shifted his gaze to the hot tub, thinking about the conversation they’d had earlier. “That isn’t the spa I made love in.”

      She looked up from her food. “It isn’t?”

      “No. It happened somewhere else.”

      “Thank goodness.” She reached for her bottled water. “Now I don’t have to envision you and another woman splashing around in there.”

      Her envy, or whatever it was, pleased him.

      He smiled and stole the biggest piece of pineapple from her plate, stuffing it into his mouth before she could stop him. “My spa is safe.”

      She shook her head, but he knew she was enjoying his company, the lazy evening he’d created.

      Should he admit where the hot tub rendezvous happened? Break his kiss-and-tell policy? Give her details about his past? The infrequent wildness? The few-and-far-between times he’d sown his rich-boy oats?

      Oh, what the hell, he thought. “It was at a college party. A drink-until-you-drop sort of thing.”

      Tamra made a face. “You did it at a party? With other people around?”

      Walker frowned, realizing he should have kept his mouth shut. She probably thought he’d participated in an orgy. “It wasn’t like that. The party was over. I was in the hot tub with a blonde who lived there. And my friend, Matt, was in one of the bedrooms with her roommate.”

      She made another face. “Did you switch partners?”

      “I wouldn’t have done that.” He paused, pondering Matt’s sexually abundant lifestyle. “Of course, my friend might have.”

      “He sounds like a great guy.”

      Walker ignored the sarcasm in her voice. “He is. Honestly. He’s a good person. He’s just not the kind of guy I’d let any of the women in my family date.” He glanced at the fortune cookies they’d yet to break open. “Don’t ask me why he ever tried his hand at marriage. I knew he’d end up divorced.”

      “Is he wealthy? Does he come from an Ashton-type environment?”

      “He’s rich. But he earned every cent himself. Matt Camberlane didn’t have a damn thing when he was growing up. He was probably as badly off as some of the people in Pine Ridge.”

      She tilted her head. “And you befriended him?”

      He shrugged off her surprise. “I was poor once, too, remember? Before Spencer took Charlotte and me in. I understood Matt’s shame. As well as his determination to succeed.” He scooped up a forkful of rice. “We’re still friends.”

      “Then I’ll try not to judge him.” Her gaze slammed into his. “But I agree. You should keep him away from the women in your family.”

      “I’m not worried about it. I’m sure Matt has enough lovers to keep him entertained.”

      “And you have me.”

      The air in his lungs whooshed out. The impact of her words, the depth at which they affected him, belied the entertainment aspect of their conversation.