Why not?
Curtains billowed outward from the windows, catching my attention. The slider to the balcony was open. I walked outside and found Natalya wrapped in a throw, lying on a lounge chair. The air had cooled. She stared off toward the ocean. Water lapped the shore, the sound out of sync with my erratically beating heart. Aside from Raquel, Natalya meant more to me than anyone I’d met in the past few years. She was my only friend, the one person I trusted. She was self-assured, compassionate, and as independent as she was beautiful, I adored everything about her.
I loved her.
But for reasons I couldn’t figure out, she felt guilty about the one time she’d shared herself with me. She thought she’d taken advantage of me. She thought she’d seduced me.
Riiiight. I snorted.
I wiped damp palms on the back of my jeans and eased into the neighboring lounger, facing her. A lone tear leaked down her cheek. I brushed my thumb across the smooth plane of her face and she grasped my wrist, placing a kiss in the center of my palm. She let go and I made a fist.
Her chest rose with a deep inhale. “I have siblings in different countries, thanks to my globe-trotting, can’t-keep-his-dick-in-his-pants father. I love my brother in South Africa and sister in Australia, but Raquel was my favorite. We were the closest.”
“She felt the same about you.”
Natalya tightened the blanket around her shoulders. “Julian’s birth father was an asshole. Best thing he did was give up his rights so you could adopt him. I wanted to hate you when we met.” She gave me an apologetic look. “Raquel fell so hard and so fast for you. I thought she’d gotten herself knocked up by another jerk. It was too quick and you were . . .”
“Damaged.”
“No!” she exclaimed. “How could you think that?”
“I was pretty messed up.”
Her mouth curved downward. “Yes, but it was obvious you loved her as much as she loved you. That’s why I hated myself for being attracted to you. During those weeks after Raquel died, I fell in love with you, and then I practically forced myself on you. What kind of sister does that?” She shook her head in disgust and I wanted to fold her in my arms, kiss away the guilt.
“Nat,” I said. She wiped her tears. “Nat, look at me.” She did and her beautiful green eyes glittered in the moonlight. “You didn’t force me to have sex with you.”
“I went into your shower knowing you were hurting. I took advantage of that pain.”
“We were both hurting. We both wanted to soothe that ache. I loved Raquel, and I’ll treasure the short time we had together. But something happened between us in that shower. Something I don’t think we can ignore any longer.” I didn’t think we should ignore it.
Her breath caught.
“I feel the same, Nat. I love you,” I whispered, tugging the edge of the throw blanket. I wanted her in my lap where I could kiss her freckle-patterned skin and bury my face in the crook of her shoulder, breathe her in. I wanted to bury everything that could take me away from her and my sons, and just be me.
Without taking her eyes off me, she stood. The blanket slipped off her shoulders and pooled at her feet.
Holy shit.
“You’re naked.” Nerves, excitement, anticipation, every emotion that had my heart pounding and head buzzing, shot south.
A low, watery laugh escaped from her. She pushed my shoulders back into the chair and straddled me. I grasped her hips. The sensible side of me wanted to talk about this. Was she sure? How would this change our relationship? But the side of me that had been burning for two years was fed up with being ignored.
I skimmed my hands up her sides, curved my fingers around her nape, and kissed her. And damn, was she a good kisser. Her lips were exquisite and her scent intoxicating. God, I loved her scent.
My mouth moved over hers as she frantically unbuttoned my shirt. Then her hands were on my fly and that sensible side grasped her wrists. She dipped her chin and peered down at me. A flash of embarrassment brightened her eyes. A touch of vulnerability trembled her lip. I wanted to kiss it all away.
“I don’t have protection,” I managed to say, my voice sandpaper rough. It had been almost two years for me. There’d been no one since her and those ten glorious minutes in the shower.
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “We don’t need it.”
She was on the pill.
Air rushed from my lungs.
She skimmed her thumb along my bottom lip, and I nipped the soft flesh. Her eyes flared. Then her lips were on mine and I was lost. Consumed by the desire she poured into me and my possessive need to take her. Right here. On the balcony.
Who cared who could see us?
We sure didn’t.
She pulled down my zipper and I lifted my hips. Then I lifted hers, my thumbs grazing over a rigid line of skin inside each hipbone, and settled her over me. I wanted to ask about the scars I’d seen before when she wore a bathing suit and was just now touching for the first time. But the sensation of being inside Natalya stole my words away. We groaned, and started sliding against each other, our breaths coming faster. I thrust into her as though trying to reach that part of her she’d been keeping from me until tonight. When she’d laid bare her feelings and ran, as though expecting me to toss them back, gift wrapped and all, with a “No, thanks.”
I’d done quite the opposite. I’d picked up her declaration and locked it inside where she’d left a piece of herself behind all those months ago. Because with Natalya, I felt whole. Undamaged.
A short time later, Natalya lay on my chest, our heavy breathing easing into a steady rhythm. I grazed my fingers up her spine, in awe of what had just happened between us. I wanted more of this. The connection and of her.
She shivered. I reached for the blanket and draped it over us. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I kissed her forehead. She sighed and kissed my neck. “I’ve been thinking,” she murmured.
So had I. About what I wanted for my sons, who I was, and what was next with Natalya. Marry me teetered on my lips.
“What about?” I asked.
She crossed her arms on my chest and rested her chin on her hands. Her lips were a kiss away, but when I met her eyes, I stopped. She chewed her bottom lip. The vulnerability was back.
“What is it?”
“You should go to California.”
“What?” All the heat we’d built up dissipated as though a cold front moved in. Everything inside me chilled. My arms slid off her waist. “Why?”
“So you can find out—”
“Find out what?” I bit out the rude interruption. That my ID was fake and I’d get arrested boarding the plane? I shoved fingers into my hair and gripped the back of my neck.
She sat up, the blanket spilling behind her. “Who you are, that’s what.” Irritation and impatience hardened her tone.
At the risk of forgetting myself? I could see a face or landmark. I could hear a voice. Anything could snap me out of the fugue state.
“I don’t travel.”
“Listen, Carlos. I know you’re afraid.”