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. Self-conscious, 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 self-sticking 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 sin
ce 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.
Nine
W alker’s condominium in San Francisco was in the same upscale district as Edward’s. Yet Tamra hadn’t realized it before now. But why would she? She’d only seen Walker’s driver’s license once, on the first day they’d met, and she hadn’t paid attention to his address, to the zip code that would have revealed the location.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, as they stood on his deck, overlooking a view of the city.
“Nothing. Your home is beautiful.”
“Come on, Tamra. I can tell something is bothering you. You’re acting strange.”
She took a deep breath, then shifted to look at him. They’d arrived about ten minutes ago and he’d given her the grand tour: spacious rooms, ultramodern furniture, a hot tub. Luxurious, bachelor-style living, she thought. “Edward lives about six blocks from here.”
“Jade’s father? The sperm donor?” Walker frowned, his dark eyes turning even darker. “Are you going to be thinking about him the whole time you’re here with me?”
“Of course not. It’s just a coincidence. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“The hell it doesn’t.” He turned away and scowled at the city. “Edward still upsets you. He still matters.”
“Losing my baby still matters. And this was a shock, that’s all. I hadn’t expected you to live near him.” She moved closer, trying to shed her anxiety, to control the situation, to lighten her lover’s mood. “His place isn’t as nice as yours. It’s not as high up. His view sucks.”
Walker managed a smile. “Are you trying to stroke my ego?”
“Did it work?”
“A little, yeah.” His smile turned a bit too sexy. “But stroking something else would work even better.”
She smacked his shoulder, and they both laughed. She suspected they would be tearing off each other’s clothes before the sun went down. A second later she glanced at the gazebo-framed hot tub. “I’ve never done it in one of those.”
“Really?”
“No. Have you?”
“Yes, but I’m not giving you any details. No kiss and tell.”
“That’s fine.” She didn’t want to envision other women at his condo, to create their faces, to hear their names. For now she wanted to pretend that Walker Ashton belonged to her. That he would always be her exclusive lover. Hers and hers alone.
When he gazed into her eyes, her heart jumped, playing leapfrog in her chest.
“Maybe Edward doesn’t even live around here anymore,” Walker said.
“It’s only been three years,” she responded, her voice quavering.
“A lot can happen in that amount of time.” He continued to look in her eyes. “We’ve only known each other for a few weeks.”
Sixteen days, she thought, but who’s counting?
He touched her cheek and her knees went weak. In an ordinary world, they would be little more than strangers. But their world was far from ordinary. They’d become lovers almost instantly. And now she was pretending that he belonged to her, that it was okay to make up stories, to fool her mind.
“Do you miss this city?” he asked. “Do you miss it at all?”
She shook her head, recalling the flavor of the place she’d left behind: cable cars, China Town and the Golden Gate Bridge, the roller-coaster landscape and Victorian houses, the early-morning fog.
To
o many memories, she thought. The place where Jade rested in a tiny grave.
“Do you miss the reservation?” she asked him.
“I wasn’t there long enough.” He lowered his hand, skimming the ends of her hair, letting it slip through his fingers.
Already she could feel herself losing him.
Tamra nearly panicked, nearly gasped for the air that refused to fill her lungs. Was she falling in love? Only deeper this time?
Walker wasn’t Edward. He wasn’t the father of her lost child. But she wished he was. She wished they’d made a baby together.
He watched her, much too closely. “You’re upset again.”
“I don’t mean to be.”
“But you are.”
“Just hold me.” She reached for him, and he put his arms around her.
Eyes closed, she nuzzled his neck. He brought her closer, and she inhaled his scent, the aftershave that lingered on his skin.
Had she fallen in love? After only sixteen days? Was she losing her mind? “I can’t think clearly.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.” She clung to him yet she knew she should let go. “Maybe it’s your fault.”
“Don’t blame me. You wanted to come to San Francisco.”
“To visit Jade.” Not to lose her heart. Not to let Walker strip the layers of her soul.
He rocked her in his arms. “Then we’ll visit her.”
“Not right now,” she heard herself say. She needed time to compose herself, to change the direction of her thoughts. “Let’s do something else.”
“You could come to the office with me.”
She blinked, stepped back. “You’re going to work?”
“I’d like to check in, let my assistant know that I’ll be in town for a few days. Besides, I want you to see Ashton-Lattimer.”
“Then that’s where we’ll go.” And maybe, she thought, just maybe, the corporate environment would bring her back to reality.
And keep her from dwelling on love.
Thirty minutes later, Tamra and Walker arrived in the Financial District. Ashton-Lattimer Corporation was located in an eighteen-story structure on California Street.
Once they were inside, Tamra looked around the lobby and noticed the turn-of-the-century architecture. Walker had told her that the building had been constructed in 1906, after the great fire. He seemed fascinated by the history connected to it.
Betrayed Birthright Page 10