The Ashtons: Walker, Ford & Mercedes: Betrayed Birthright / Mistaken for a Mistress / Condition of Marriage. Sheri WhiteFeather
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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.
“You’re not my toy, Tamra. It isn’t like that between us.”
“I know.” She pushed away her plate. “God, how I know.”
He noticed her hands were trembling, that she was riddled with anxiety again. He didn’t know what to do, how to respond. He feared their relationship was spinning out of control, like a runaway train, a derailment that would leave them bruised. Battered. Wounded.
“There’s something I need to tell you.” She fidgeted with a bracelet around her wrist. “I wasn’t sure when would be the appropriate time, but—”
She stalled, and he scooted his chair back, scraping the wooden deck. He’d been sitting too close to the table, too close to her. Because somewhere in the seed of his soul, in the cavern of his mind, he knew what she was going to say.
“I love you, Walker.”
The words came, just as he’d expected. And so did the panic that erupted inside him. “No one has ever been in love with me,” he managed. “No one.”
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