Natal threw open the doors. The rising moon was full that night; patterns of light swept in from both the dying sun and that newborn orb, and there seemed nothing as beautiful in the world as the room, the open doors, and Natal—standing out on the balcony, her hands on the rail, caught in the mixture of light.
He walked out to her, aware that Convict followed him. He slipped his arms around her. For a moment, she leaned back against him. He was certain that he physically felt her scent, light and yet sensual, sweet and evocative. He breathed—and it seemed that the very scent of her filled him and touched him.
“We’ll picnic,” she said, spinning away from him.
Deftly and swiftly, she threw the blanket out on the hardwood floor. It was evident that she knew the place and that she had come before. She found a lantern in the closet and set it at the edge of the blanket while she set out the food.
“Convict, for you—sausage!” she said.
Convict stayed beside River on the edge of the blanket, so River grabbed the sausage and fed the dog while Natal made plates for them. “We could come here again—light a fire in the fireplace and cook!” she said.
“We could,” he agreed softly.
He watched her for a moment, then opened the wine he had bought and passed the bottle to her.
“We forgot cups,” he realized.
She laughed. “This is not America; no red Solo cups. You know that.”
He nodded and handed her the bottle; she took the first swig.
They ate. She talked about writing, about Brazil, about the wonder of Carnaval. Her eyes were bright as she described the dancing and the parades and the merriment. “We must go into the city for some of the parades,” she said. “Remember I told you about the natives who danced naked when the first explorers came? Well, maybe that adds something to the sensuality of what happens here now, all the time. You must see some of our Carnaval dancers—they are so beautiful. They dance with scant costumes but move with such fluid grace and skill. Fast. They shake and rotate and move so that everyone who watches is mesmerized. I think perhaps we are so special and so free here because of those early people; they lived in their environment, as part of it. They welcomed the sun.”
“We will,” he said.
Those were the words. Spoken in a whisper. She set the bottle down and crawled to him on the blanket, her eyes filled with mischief as she looked into his. “River … like water. Cool and smooth.” She put a hand on his chest.
He’d been afraid. Afraid that if he touched her, she’d disappear. But he reached out and cupped her chin in his hand, leaned toward her, and kissed her.
It was as if he actually breathed in her essence still; the longing for her filled him and became a physical ache as they kissed, hot, wet kisses, deep and insinuating, sweet and sloppy, and then impassioned.
She wore nothing under the peasant dress. Her flesh was as sweet as her lips. She was as giving and passionate in making love as she was in seeking life. He lay against her trembling, and he felt the silk of her hair and her flesh, felt the fever and fire in her lithe, leanly muscled body. She teased and touched in return and whispered.
And the sound of her whispers drove him further …
She rose over him, leaning down, the mischief in her eyes. And even in the midst of his hunger he reached up and touched her hair.
“You are freedom,” he whispered. “The spirit of love and life … and freedom.”
She grinned and eased against him. “And you are the spirit of a hot volcano,” she teased.
“Volcanoes can be great adventures,” he said.
“So I have discovered,” she said. Then she kissed him. One of those hot, liquid kisses that seemed to awake everything in him, that made him everything she might want him to be.
They made love through the night. And at some point, spent and exhausted, he slept.
CHAPTER 11
When River awoke, he was newly aroused.
She was outside, standing on the balcony, naked and perfect in the rising sunlight, totally indifferent to her nudity and her beauty.
He walked over to her and slipped his arms around her.
“I am a liar,” she said softly.
“A liar?”
She pushed away from the balcony and walked back into the room, finding her peasant dress and her shoes.
“Not so much a liar,” she whispered, pausing for a minute and then meeting his eyes. “A dreamer,” she said at last.
“Natal, what are you talking about?”
“I have to go,” she said.
“Go—go where?”
“Home,” she told him. She looked away from him. “I should not have been with you because … because you are … different. You are somehow … real. When I saw you, when we met, it was so spontaneous and, I don’t mean to turn this into a cliché, but it seemed … right. I’m a free spirit, yes, but I’m usually decent and honest.”
“You are beautifully decent and honest,” he assured her.
She looked at him sadly. “No. Usually, but I wanted … I wanted what I saw in you. At first, it was just fun. But then, I had to keep seeing you. It was like reaching for a star that I couldn’t have, but there you were and … I reached.” She paused. “River, I have deceived you.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“I live with a man,” she said in a broken whisper.
He felt as if he’d been slapped, as if the air had been knocked out of him. As if life had been knocked out of him. “A man?”
“His money is why I can write, why I can go where I please, and why,” she added, “I can say I am a free spirit.”
River just stared at her. He felt frozen. She lived with a man. “Who? Your husband?”
Natal shook her head but looked as miserable as ever. “His name is Reed Amato.”
No. Surely not.
Amato. She lived with Amato.
He wasn’t angry; he was desperate. There had to be a way to get her to leave such a man.
He strode toward her but she put up a hand and said, “I’m so sorry. You have a right to be angry.”
“I’m not angry. I don’t want you to go. I can … help you. I can get you out of there.”
“No. Please, let it be as it is now. If you don’t want to see me again—”
“I will always want to see you again.”
“Even if I’m not as free as … as free as I pretend?” She looked down. “Even if I am a liar?”
“Natal, I swear, I will always want to see you.”
Her eyes searched his; she believed him. She smiled sadly. Her voice was soft, barely a whisper, when she said, “Then I will see you again, but now…”
“Natal—”
“Please … don’t try to stop me. I am going home. There are many reasons. And you are not to follow me there. Reed Amato is … he’s not a nice man. Not to others. You are not to follow me—I will never see you again if you do. Do you understand? It’s dangerous.”