The Ashtons: Walker, Ford & Mercedes: Betrayed Birthright / Mistaken for a Mistress / Condition of Marriage. Sheri WhiteFeatherЧитать онлайн книгу.
given him her room, offering him a private place to sleep. But picturing him in her bed was making her skin warm. When she touched her lips, intent on reliving his kiss, she knew she was in trouble.
She couldn’t fantasize about Walker, not here, not now, not like this. Guilty, she climbed out of bed, cautious not to wake Mary.
What she needed was a drink of water. A tall glass, full of ice. Something to douse her emotions, to cool her skin.
As she padded down the hall, the floorboards creaked beneath her feet. Once she reached the kitchen, she stalled. Walker stood at the counter, drinking a glass of water, doing exactly what she had come to do.
He hadn’t noticed her yet. He faced the tiny window above the sink, gazing out at the night. His chest was bare and a pair of shorts rode low on his hips. His hair, those dark, sexy strands, fell across his forehead in sleepless disarray.
Suddenly he turned and caught sight of her. The glass in his hand nearly slipped. She could almost hear it crashing to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay. I was just—”
He roamed his gaze over her, and she became acutely aware of her short summer nightgown, of the soft cotton material.
“Just what?”
“Thirsty,” he told her.
“Me, too.”
“Then you can have this.”
He handed her his water, and she put her mouth on the rim of the glass, sipping the liquid, wishing she were tasting him. The ice crackled, jarring the stillness.
He continued to watch her, taking in every inch of her body. He seemed to like what he saw, the slight cleavage between her breasts, the flare of her hips, the length of her bare legs.
She took another sip of his drink and noticed that his nipples were erect. She wanted to drop her gaze, but she didn’t have the nerve to glance at his fly, to be that bold in the middle of the night.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “Not in your bed.”
Tamra returned his glass, giving him the rest of the water. In the process, her hand touched his. “Why not?” she asked, her heart picking up speed.
“Because I kept imagining your scent on everything. The sheets, the pillowcase.”
Dizzy, she took a deep breath, dragging oxygen into her lungs. “I don’t wear perfume.”
“I know. I can tell. You wear lotion. Whenever we get really close, I can smell it on your skin.”
“It’s just a moisturizer.” She knew that was a dumb thing to say, but she didn’t know how else to respond. He was looking at her with lust in his eyes, with a hunger so deep, she wanted to crawl all over him.
Right here. In his mother’s kitchen.
“It’s soft,” he said. “Airy. Like the plants and flowers in the greenhouse at my family’s estate.” He set his glass on the counter and moved forward.
She swallowed, got thirsty again, envisioned his mouth covering hers. She knew he was seducing her, but she didn’t care. She liked the erotic expression on his face, the deep, husky tone of his voice.
He took another step toward her, his feet silent on the faded linoleum. “I haven’t been with anyone in months.”
A vein fluttered at her neck. She could feel it, skittering beneath her skin. “It’s been longer than that for me.”
“I’m good at controlling my urges,” he told her.
She stood perfectly still. He was only inches away, so close they struggled to breathe the same air. “So am I. But I can’t seem to do that with you.”
“Me, neither.” He cursed, just once, before he dragged her into his arms, before he kissed her so hard, her head spun.
When he pinned her against the counter, she nearly wept. His mouth plundered hers, over and over, giving her what she wanted, making the moment last.
Heat. Intensity. A tongue-to-tongue sensation.
She gripped his shoulders; he cupped her bottom and pulled her flush against his body. Then they broke apart and stared at each other.
“We can’t do this,” he said. “Not here.”
She nodded, fighting the pressure between her legs, the desperation he’d incited. “Then where?”
“I don’t know.” He pulled his hand through his hair. “I can’t think clearly.”
Neither could she. All she wanted was him. Walker Ashton. A boy she’d heard about since she was a child. A man she barely knew.
“We could go for a drive,” he suggested. “In my car.”
The SUV he’d rented, she thought. A vehicle with four-wheel-drive and big backseat. Suddenly she felt like a teenager, a moonstruck girl who should know better. “What if your mom wakes up?”
“We’ll leave her a note.”
“And say what? That we decided to cruise around the rez in the middle of the night? Or drive to Gordon for a piece of pie?”
He made a face. “Do you have a better idea?”
“At least let me get dressed. Grab something from my room. Mary knows I’d never go out like this.”
That made him smile. Apparently, he’d been willing to climb behind the wheel just as he was—half-naked and much too aroused. “My clothes are in your room, too. Will you get me a shirt? A pair of tennis shoes?”
She nodded, but as she turned away, he latched on to her arm. She thought he was going to kiss her again, but he didn’t. He frowned instead.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I don’t have any protection.”
“I’m on the Pill.”
He was still frowning. “I thought you haven’t been with anyone for a while.”
“I haven’t. But I prefer to be prepared.”
He searched her gaze. “Because of the father of your baby?”
She let out the breath she was holding. “Yes.”
“I can’t make any promises, Tamra. No happily-ever-afters. But I wouldn’t do what he did. I wouldn’t hurt you like that.”
“Thank you.” She realized they were whispering, speaking in hushed tones, talking about something far more intimate than sex.
And this time when she turned away to get their clothes, he didn’t stop her.
Walker drove into the night, traveling on a dirt road, thinking this had to be the most strangely erotic moment of his life. Tamra sat beside him with a shopping bag on her lap. He hadn’t asked her what was in it. For now he was trying to decide where to park. The reservation was dark, eerie, beautiful. The land went on forever, with trees swaying to the moonlight. In the distance a coyote howled.
“I don’t know how far to go,” he said.
She turned to look at him. She’d changed into a sundress that sported a row of tiny buttons down the front. On her feet, she wore cowboy boots. He’d never seen a more compelling woman. Her hair was the color of a raven’s wing, sleek and shiny and begging to be touched.
“With me?” she asked.
He blinked, wondered what she meant. Then it dawned on him. She was responding to his statement. The SUV hit a slight bump in the road, and he grinned. He knew how far to go with her. “I was talking about how far I should keep driving, where would be a good place to park.”