“There are quite a few similarities between you. You both run, God knows why.”
James chuckles despite his heavy mood. He finishes his beer.
“You both paint.”
“Not anymore.”
“Why?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Not feeling it.”
She studies him for a moment. His skin itches from the way she watches him. He’s not her Carlos, and he’s tired of being compared to a man who no longer exists. He’s already compared himself enough with Carlos. He pushes the bottle into the sand beside him and considers returning to the house. Maybe they should talk tomorrow. His mood has darkened with the night sky.
Natalya digs her feet into the sand and wiggles her toes. “I was four when my mom passed. My dad didn’t surf for a long time. There he was, at the pinnacle of his professional career, and he couldn’t compete. Surfing is like any sport. It’s about where your mind’s at.” She taps her forehead. “Dad’s mind hadn’t been on the water, so he decided to take some time off and mourn. Then he took another year off to start his company. But the ocean called to him, and in time he was back on the water and winning titles because when he went back, he was ready to go back. Now he has a booming business, travels the world sponsoring tournaments, and has a gal in every port.”
“You and Raquel were sisters, right?”
“Half sisters. Dad’s a free spirit. He’s always been open about his relationships. I love all my siblings.”
“How many do you have?” James recalls reading something about her family, but not the details. These would be his sons’ aunts and uncles. Their family.
“My sister, Tess, is in Sydney, Australia, and my brother, Calvin, is in South Africa. He’s the baby. I’m the eldest.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-three.”
“You probably already know I’m thirty-six. I feel like I’m thirty.”
“Hmm, I wonder why.”
He taps his temple. “In my head, I’m drinking a beer with an older woman.”
Natalya looks at him with a blank expression; then a laugh bursts from her chest. He grins. “Couldn’t resist.”
“Anyhow, there’s a point to my story.”
“Which is what?”
“You’re not ready to paint.”
“Well . . . ,” he says, rising and brushing off his shorts. “Send me a memo when you figure out when that’ll be.” He means it jokingly but the crass undertones are unavoidable.
“Oh, I already know.” Her tone matches his. She stands and takes his empty bottle. “You’ll start painting again when you stop hating on yourself and your life.”
He tenses. Carlos didn’t write anything about Natalya’s bluntness. Other than telling her last December he didn’t need her help, he can’t figure out what he’s done to deserve the icy attitude she keeps tossing his way.
“You’ve got me all figured out.” He crosses his arms. “What’s your story? Who the hell are you, Natalya?”
“Didn’t Carlos write all about my deep, intimate secrets?”
James clicks his tongue. “Ah . . . so you know what he wrote about in the journals.”
Her face turns crimson in the pale light. “I’ve read some parts.” She takes a deep drink of beer and he doesn’t have to guess about the parts she’s referring to. Like his paintings, Carlos’s writing was very detailed.
“Awkward.” The word echoes in her bottle. She looks sad and he can’t help feeling like an ass.
“I don’t remember anything about, um . . . us.” He motions between them.
She presses her lips tight and nods. Her eyes glisten. “Maybe it’s for the best. It’ll make tomorrow easier.”
“What happens tomorrow?”
“I call the attorney so he can start drafting the adoption papers.”
CHAPTER 18
CARLOS
Five Years Ago
August 15
San Jose, California
A muffled noise echoed through the room. It sounded like a hammer pounding nails into walls, but felt as if it were happening inside my head. White-hot pain shot across my scalp.
Thump, thump, thump. I peeled open sleep-crusted eyes to a dark room. I blinked and blinked again, trying to adjust to the pitch-blackness.
Thump, thump, thump. “Carlos!” My name came through the walls.
Memories from last night, or lack of them, scattered inside my brain like tumbleweeds on an empty road. No direction and completely at the wind’s mercy. At some point in the morning hours, I’d closed the privacy shade to block the sunlight. I couldn’t see shit.
I ground the heels of my palms into my eye sockets.
Thump, thump, thump. “Open the damn door, Carlos, before I call the front desk and demand they do it for me.”
“Coming,” I croaked. I rolled out of bed, stumbling to a knee. The migraine that burned like a forest fire had waned during the night, but my body ached, muscles stiff from sleeping hard the last few hours.
I pushed to my feet and felt my way to the door, hands in front of me seeking walls. I jammed my big toe on the desk chair and swore. The impact radiated up my shin. I shoved the chair I didn’t remember leaving out back under the desk.
Thump, thump—
I fumbled with the lock and opened the door.
Nat’s eyes rounded like a cat caught off guard. She gasped, then the tension melted. “You’re here. Thank God.” Her gaze lowered and her eyes went buggy again. “You’re naked.” She slapped palms against my chest and pushed me back into the room. The door slammed shut behind her.
At the skin-on-skin contact, my brain woke up. So did my body.
“Nat,” I groaned, my arms going octopus around her. I pushed her against the wall and pressed my entire length against her. “You’re here.” You feel goddamn amazing. I kissed her hard. My hands roamed up her shirt and cupped her breasts. My hips rocked. I groaned again.
She gasped. “Carlos.”
“Right here.” I bit her neck.
“Ow. Carlos.” She smacked her hands on my shoulders.
Impatient devil, I thought with a growl. I fumbled with the fly of her jeans. She wedged a knee between us, right into my lower abs. “Oomph.”
She squirmed from my arms and moved out of reach. “What the hell, Carlos?” she fumed and flipped on the light.
“Gah!” I squeezed my eyes shut.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I squinted at her. She looked stinking mad, her face tomato red under the freckles, with her fists on her hips. She was so damn gorgeous and hot, and it was freaking wonderful to have the one person in the world I trusted to be here with me. It only made me more aroused.
“I’m on fire for you, Nat.” I motioned at my groin.
She scowled and looked at the messy bed. “Have you been asleep this whole time?”
“Uh . . .” I squeezed the back of my neck. My gaze darted to the bed, rumpled sheets heaped on the floor. “Yeah.”
Her nostrils flared. “You probably have to pee.”
At the mention of that bodily function, my bladder roared and arousal died.
“What happened to you?”
“I have to piss.” I flipped on the bathroom light and kicked shut the door.
“Brush your teeth, too,” she hollered. “You reek.”
I relieved myself, washed my hands, and splashed cold water on my face, hoping the chill dissipated the Tule fog condensing inside my head. I couldn’t think or focus. Then I brushed my teeth, twice, and slipped on boxers and a shirt before returning to Nat.
She had opened the curtain and turned on the air to circulate the room’s staleness. She’d also straightened the bed. The sheets were back on the mattress. She was now flipping through a small paper pad and looked up as I approached. She flipped the paper back in place.
“I’ve been beyond worried about you. I’ve been calling and texting since you hung up on me.”
My gaze jumped to the nightstand. “Where’s my phone?”
“Here.” She handed it to me. “I found it on the floor along with my gazillion unanswered texts and calls.”