A Year In Love E-Book

Liz Gavin

• Herausgeber: Elessar Books LLC
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

"Every minute of this story is filled with happy romance. I completely fell in love with these two characters who so deserved their happily-ever-after." Sleep Reader Reviewer.
From a sinful Easter weekend in Las Vegas to a life-changing Valentine's celebration, this steamy romantic comedy takes you through a year in the love story of Steve and Natalie.
Lies and secrets separated these high school sweethearts. But their passion for one another has never waned. Now they must work together on the same project to save their companies.
How can they find their way back together when life keeps throwing them curve balls?
One-click this today to find out how Natalie and Steve get their happily-ever-after.
This steamy Romantic Comedy will have you curl your toes and split your side.

Leseprobe

A YEAR IN LOVE

ROMANCE COLLECTION

BOOK I

LIZ GAVIN

Illustrated byGERMANCREATIVE BOOK DESIGN

Elessar Books LLC

A Year in Love © copyright 2022 Liz Gavin

Cover by GermanCreative Book Design

All rights reserved, including the right to publish this book or portions thereof (except for reviews, news media reports, brief quotes with attribution, and purposes of promotion of this book or other novels by Liz Gavin) in any form whatsoever.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The material in this book is for mature audiences only and contains graphic sexual content and is intended for those over the age of 18 only.

All participants in sexual activities within this book are over the age of 18.

Created with Vellum

Synopsis

"Every minute of this story is filled with happy romance. I completely fell in love with these two characters who so deserved their happily-ever-after." Sleep Reader Reviewer.

From a sinful Easter weekend in Las Vegas to a life-changing Valentine's celebration, this steamy romantic comedy takes you through a year in the love story of Steve and Natalie.

Lies and secrets separated these high school sweethearts. But their passion for one another has never waned. Now they must work together on the same project to save their companies.

How can they find their way back together when life keeps throwing them curve balls? 

One-click this today to find out how Natalie and Steve get their happily-ever-after.

This steamy Romantic Comedy collection will have you curl your toes and split your side.

Contents

A Year in Love

I. Easter Cookie

1. Natalie

2. Natalie

3. Steve

4. Steve

5. Natalie

6. Natalie

7. Steve

8. Steve

9. Natalie

10. Natalie

II. Cookie Wars

11. Steve

12. Natalie

13. Natalie

14. Steve

15. Steve

16. Natalie

17. Natalie

18. Natalie

19. Steve

20. Steve

III. Firecracker Cookie

21. Natalie

22. Steve

23. Natalie

24. Steve

25. Natalie

26. Steve

27. Natalie

28. Steve

29. Steve

30. Natalie

31. Natalie

IV. Thankful Cookie

32. Natalie

33. Steve

34. Steve

35. Natalie

36. Natalie

37. Steve

38. Steve

39. Natalie

40. Steve

41. Epilogue

Thank YOU

About the Author

Also by Liz Gavin

A Year in Love

PARTI

Easter Cookie

Natalie

I can do this.

I’ve got this.

It is possible to jog around the perimeter of this effing arena for the tenth time without dropping dead on the asphalt of the parking lot. I can handle going from CEO to hands-on assistant in a day we happen to be short-staffed. That isn’t an issue for me.

My battle is with these fucking sneakers. Seriously?

Who in their right mind can walk in these awful things?

Not me.

I trip on my own shadow whenever I have to wear them, which thankfully isn’t often. Two left feet and all that jazz.

Yep. That is me in low heels.

Don’t ask!

I named my event management company ‘Stiletto’ for a reason.

I wish these entrances were close together.

I wish I had ignored those Oreo cookies in the kitchen cupboard.

I wish I had chosen another career.

Okay, that is a lie.

“I am cranky, so sue me,” I whisper under my breath, with a shrug.

Soaked to the bone under the freezing January rain, breath burning my chest cavity as if someone poured nitrogen down my throat, I keep going. I have zeroed in on the finish line. At least, my made up line - the VIP entrance at the far end of the parking lot.

I lift my wrist and, after a glance at it, my stomach churns. The glowing minute hand on the smart watch shows that Knight’s Edge will be walking onto stage in ten.

I sprint the last couple of feet as a fucking athlete at the end of a marathon - out of breath and out of balance. No wonder I trip on the fucking metal lining of the red carpet and take off.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Flying face down, I tense all muscles, squeeze my eyes shut, and brace for impact as my body gets propelled into the air before I nosedive toward the rustic, concrete floor.

A mewl escapes my tight lips when my cheek connects with a warm surface.

Wait. What?

At least, there is no suspicious moisture or smell.

What the actual fuck?

I crack one eye open to investigate the source of heat that hits me. At the same time, an earthy scent invades my nostrils. Thankfully, it is the good kind.

A brawny chest covered in sleek black fabric has stopped my free fall.

I let out the trapped air from my lungs, straightening my back. Thank goodness I hired at least one person to work in the security team who thinks fast.

And has the reflexes of a pro football player.

I sink my fingers into flexed forearm muscles to steady myself.

He also has the athletic physique to match those sportsman skills.

“Thanks…” I search for his name tag.

When I don’t find one, I drag my stare upward the expanse of male thorax, craning my neck. I finally meet a pair of deep-set gray eyes as they scan me from the disheveled bun atop my head to the battered pair of sneakers covering my feet.

Oh, those eyes. I know them all too well.

“Great. Just what I asked for.” I step back, untangling myself from Stephen Clark’s arms, unable to keep a lid on the snark.

“A friend in time of need?” His thin lips split in a wide grin, revealing perfect pearly teeth. “You’re welcome, by the way. I’m always glad to help.”

Scowling to cover up the flight of butterflies playing havoc in my stomach, I shake my head at him. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of gauging my body’s reaction to his natural attributes.

I scoff, “My mom raised a good girl. I will not tell you where to shove your helping hands.”

We burst out laughing.

Recovering first, he replies, still out of breath. “Nat, you know I love your mom, but Mrs. Todeschini puts foul-mouthed sailors to shame.”

“You’ve got that right.” I wipe my index finger under my eye to dry a tear.

“You okay, ma’am?” Shannon Miller, one of my assistants, inquiries as she pops up to my right.

I nod. “I’m fine, thanks. What’s up with those?” I tip my head to the handful of wristbands she is holding.

“Oh, you know, the usual.” She offers me a one-shoulder shrug. “People get creative. I’ve got a couple of fakes, a bunch from previous nights and even some from other venues.”

“One would think millennials have a better grasp of technology, huh?” I managed not to roll my eyes. The effort hurts them though. “Haven’t they heard of barcodes and scans?”

“Right? No worries, Ms. Todeschini. We’ve got this.” Shannon turns to greet an attendee.

“Great. Radio me if you need anything?”

“Will do.”

All the time I am talking to Shannon, Steve lingers close to me. His presence keeps my senses hostage. Doesn’t he have something else to do? Why didn’t he go to wherever the hell he was to supposed to be? Like, inside the arena watching the fucking concert?

I’m sure the annoying chill at the pit of my stomach results from having skipped lunch and dinner because of this event. It’s got nothing to do with Mr. Steve Clark staying behind, looming over me.

For sure, it is hunger.

Yeah, that must be it.

I am starving after a long day.

I will stick to this story. After all, it is mine to stick to if I want to.

Right?

Nothing to do with sturdy pecs under silken shirts. No connection with an incisive gaze scanning everything I do.

I shoo the butterflies in my belly away. They persist.

When I admit to myself Steve isn’t going anywhere on his own, I motion the stubborn man to follow me. As we step inside the arena, warmth wraps around me. As heat chases away the frost under my skin, I wrack my brain for a subject to talk about that will keep my mind away from his physique.

The words bypass my good sense as I blurt, “Why did you lose the nerdy look after high school? It suited you so well.”

Great job staying away from dangerous topics, I admonish my mind.

Why did I think it would work anyway? After all, nobody should look this yummy in thick winter clothes.

“Because gym.” His mile-long shoulders shrug.

“Oh, that’s your new boyfriend, is it?”

His breath tickles my ear when he dips his head and sidesteps as he gestures for me to go through a metal gate ahead of him. “Touché.”

We skirt the stage to access the lounge behind it, then proceed to the dressing room. We halt outside the closed door. When I grab the knob, Steve’s raspy voice in my ear stops me.

“I haven’t seen you in sneakers since high school.”

I snap my head around. His left eyebrow shoots up toward the stylish wave of red hair framing his broad forehead. I stick my chin up to offset the foot-or-so difference in our heights.

“That’s because you never see me at work.”

“You wound me, my fair lady.” He clutches at his chest in an over-the-top imitation of a fallen hero in a bad movie. “Have you forgotten all those sultry nights we’ve shared at luxury hotel suites? You always wore stilettos then.” He winks. “Stilettos, silk, and lace.”

My mind runs away from me, lured by the vivid scene Steve paints.

Desire flares in my veins, making my girly parts wet.

Someone yanks the door open from inside.

Too bad I have held on to the fucking knob like a lifeline against the troubling sensations playing havoc in my body.

And flying off I go.

Again.

This time I land on Noah Cartwright’s chest.

“Just like Super Bowl Sundays back in the day.” The band’s drummer kisses my right cheek while roaring laughter makes his green eyes sparkle.

“You and my brothers must have felt all grown-up and manly.” I kiss him back before stepping out of his embrace. “Tackling a chubby girl five years your junior.”

“Who kicked and swore like any professional baller.” Tristan Knight slaps Noah’s back on his way out of the door. “Let’s go, bro. We’ve got a packed house to rock tonight.”

The four band members stalk down the corridor toward the stage with a little entourage on their heels: wives, kids, manager, Steve and me.

As they walk onto stage, my ears get pierced by shrieks from the audience. Noah perches himself on the stool behind the drum set. Tristan accepts a flaming red guitar from a roadie. Another one hands out a bright yellow bass to Aidan Gallagher. Ricardo “Duke” Alcantara yanks the mic off its stand.

“Hello, Los Angeles! Are you ready to rock?” he hollers.

Seventeen thousand fans howl in response.

“I can’t get over seeing you in this kind of clothes.” Izzie Anderson, the guitar player’s wife, snickers to my right.

“I can’t walk around snaking cables and strewn cases in stilettos. Too much liability for your tour manager.” I sling an arm over her shoulders, hugging her tight.

Natalie

I sometimes get the urge to pinch myself to double check that I’m not dreaming. I mean, owning a business specialized in organizing events has turned rubbing shoulders with celebrities into routine for me.

However, Knight’s Edge and Izzie Anderson are in a whole different category for me. Izzie became this huge pop icon when she was a teen. Growing up, I covered my bedroom walls with posters of her album covers, her pictures of sold-out concerts, and any other photo I came across. Luckily for me, she lived a couple of blocks down my street, next door to my godparents – the Cartwrights.

Did you get how awesome this is?

Yes, exactly.

Knight Edge’s drummer, Noah Cartwright is a longtime friend. And it so happens that his parents are my godparents who they lived next door to my childhood idol.

I’m telling you my life is enchanted like a fairy tale.

“I’ve got to go do my round.” I squeeze Izzie’s arm, offering her a wide smile. “Be right back.”

I check in with each team leader in charge of different aspects of the concert. Where I return to my original spot, the band is backstage again while an army of roadies rush around to get the equipment and instruments ready for the encore.  

I lean against a large black case and allow the muscles on my back and arms to unclench, but just a little. We’ve got the homestretch without any serious issues, but the race isn’t over yet.

The crowd stomps their feet, chanting demands for more songs. Noah leads the procession back to the stage. Aidan and Duke follow him close. Duke receives a guitar from Tristan’s assistant and the audience roars.

Tristan hugs Izzie tight against his chest. “This blows my mind every fucking time. They know what song is coming next.”

She smiles, love illuminating her expression with the power of a thousand suns. “They know it because they’re your fans, silly man.”

Watching their exchange, my heart thuds in my chest with a pang. I don’t envy people. I strive to achieve my goals, so I respect others who do the same. Izzie and Tristan have worked their butts off to get their happily-ever-after. I’m not jealous of what they’ve got; but, I can’t help asking myself if that kind of mutual adoration is in the cards for me.

I believe it isn’t and I’ve made my peace with that.

So, why the hell my heart aches right now?

Izzie pushes Tristan toward the stage. He drags his feet until he stands under a solitary spotlight trained on the mic. A beautiful yet eerie purple beam pours on and around him. The rest of the world is cast in darkness. Thousands of electronic fireflies gleam around the arena as the fans raise hands holding their cell phones.

I lose a battle with my foolish, inner romantic and sigh.

What the fuck? Get a grip on yourself, Natalie Todeschini. I demand, without much success. This song always gets me.

“This is You’re My Favorite Lullaby,” Tristan mutters into the mic.

The fans holler.

I swallow hard past the lump in my throat.

That song topped the charts for months when they first released it. And it remains one of Knight’s Edge’s most enduring hits. It gives my sentimental inner teen hope that second chances and happy endings might be real. Too bad my cynical grown-up disagrees. But, right now, the rebel youngster wins and I allow my mind to dive into the fantasyland the lyrics paint, forgetting the real world around me.

Tristan begins the song facing the audience.

You stole my life in a heartbeat

You killed my love in a dirty suite

The promises I made, you broke

The love that I gave, you choked

Duke strums the chords in a soulful solo while Izzie walks onstage, holds Tristan’s hand, and sings to him.

Ghost of love haunts my dream

Shadows cast from within

Until a blood orange evening sky

Shows me you’re my favorite lullaby

The whoops and cheers from the audience turn deafening when they share a chaste kiss before singing the next stanza in unison.

“You did a great job tonight.” Steve’s voice sounds behind me, making me jerk back to reality.

I jump out of my skin. It takes me a heartbeat, or ten, to recover the ability to speak.

I growl, “What the fuck? You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that. What were you thinking?”

My heart beats in my throat. Not because of Steve’s proximity or the way his eyes hold mine. No. Breathing has become a battle because the man gave me a scare.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

My inner teen rolls her eyes at me.

He snickers, “What are you talking about? I’ve been standing right here the whole time. It’s good to enjoy a concert for a change, not worrying if the security team is doing their job. Or double checking that the VIPs are cozy in their restricted area.”

“I bet. Not to mention spying on your competition.” I square my shoulders and cross my arms under my breasts.

Steve takes his time staring at me. I raise my chin.

Challenge accepted.

He tsk-tsks. “Will you ever take a compliment like a normal person?”

“First, what gave you the idea I’m a normal person?”

“My bad. You’re right,” he chuckles.

“Second, what compliment?”

He rolls his eyes before playing along with my pretend game.

“I said you did a great job with this concert, Ms. Todeschini,” he whispers, invading my personal space and running a finger up my forearm. His lips touch the sensitive skin of my ear before he delivers his punchline. “I can’t wait for the after-party. I wonder if you’ll change into your famous stilettos for that.”

The sound of my heartbeats muffles the screaming crowd as the band members get off stage.

“I might.” I focus my stare on a stain on the floor next to his leather shoes.

This right here is Steve Clark’s superpower. He turns me into a horny teenager. Every. Fucking. Time.

“Good. I’ve heard great things about the luxury hotel you’ve picked for the party.” His hand wraps around my wrist. My pulse goes wild under the pressure of his fingertips. “I can’t wait to check their suite.”

Our eyes lock.

Then I lower mine to his crotch where the black cloth of his pants stretches in an inviting bulge.

“I want to wrap my legs around your waist and bang you against the wall right this moment,” I whisper. “Too bad I’m not into sex in public.”

“Too bad indeed.” With a sharp intake of breath, he releases my wrists and spins around, walking away from me.

I glower at Steve’s back as he follows the band and entourage retreating to the dressing room. With each sway of his narrow hips my throat gets drier, warmth floods my sex.

I’m so royally screwed.

And have I mentioned horny?

I glance around and locate Shannon standing beside a merchandise booth near the opposite corner of the stage.

I cross the raised platform faster than a cartoon character escaping a coyote and with just as many hurdles. I might have knocked the air out of a couple of roadies on the way.

“Sorry!” I shout over my shoulder, ducking to avoid a collision between my forehead and a cymbal carried by a crew member.

I screech to a stop before taking the stairs down to the general admission area. With these sneakers and my luck, I might break my neck. I don’t want to end the night at the emergency room.

On the way to where my assistant stands, I negotiate the people dismantling the set and the audience cramming the exits.

I nod to Shannon when I get by her side. “Do you need me here to help coordinate transport back to the hotel?”

“Nope. We’re good. I’ve just double checked with Tom. He said the SUVs are lined up at the back, waiting for the band.”

“You’re the best.” I hug her and kiss her cheek. “Thank you.”

I dash for the nearest exit without bothering to illuminate the dumbfounded woman about the reasons why she’s made my day.

No time to waste.

I’ve got an after-party to prepare for.

The butterflies knocking themselves around in my belly make me queasy.

I scan the licenses on the black SUVs, pick one, and dive into the back seat, sliding the door shut.

“Not waiting for the band, boss?”

“Drop me off at the hotel and come back for the others please.” I smile into the rear mirror. Alonso, the driver, has been with the company since it started. “Something’s come up.”

“You bet.”

I buckle up and hold tight to the armrest. He’s the fastest, but not the safest driver I employ.

I peek out of the tinted windows at the busy Inglewood streets. The hotel is less than ten minutes away. With each mile the car conquers, the butterflies inside me multiply.

All because of a pair of bedroom gray eyes.

I’m screwed.

And horny.

Steve

I fidget on the bar stool while pretending my stare has not stayed glued to the double doors across the ample ballroom for the last half hour or so. The roaring music, high-pitched laughter, and chaotic chats around me cannot muffle the sound of my heart thudding against my ribs every time a dark-haired, pixie-size female passes through those goddamn doors.

Nope, you silly fool. That's not her. Again. The annoying sensible side of me pokes fun at the incorrigible romantic.

As I drag my gaze away from the woman who isn’t Natalie, I chug the remaining whiskey in the glass I’ve been nursing since I arrived at the bar. I settle it on the marble countertop.

Time to do another round of the after-party. Maybe she snuck in when I wasn’t looking. In those windows of time I averted my gaze from the entrance for like ten seconds.

A few steps shy of the packed dance floor, I bump into Aidan Gallagher, the bass player in Knight’s Edge.

“Hey, great show tonight. I like your studio albums, but the band’s live performances just can’t be beaten.”

“Thanks, man. It’s bloody unbelievable having so much fun at your day job, you know.” His brogue paints the words in bright colors.

My lips curve down at that thought. “I wish I could say the same.”

“Noah’s mentioned you’ve got your own business, is that right? It doesn’t sound so bad.”

With a reluctant nod, I murmur, “Yeah. I’ve got an event management company. I love my job, don’t get me wrong. But it’s been tough lately. Besides, it’s not like I make thousands of people scream my name in a stadium or something like that.”

Aidan claps me on the back and grins.  “Absolutely. I wouldn’t trade mine for anyone else’s job. Still, you’ve got to plan and deliver all sorts of events. That must be challenging.”

I offer him a deep shrug. “I’ve always loved puzzles.”

“And comic books.” Noah drapes an arm around my shoulders. “And all things nerd. I lost count of all the Tolkien characters I had to feed on Halloween over the years I lived with my parents. My favorite was Gollum.”

I guffaw. “Glad you appreciated my efforts. You think it was easy hunching around North Ranch all night?”

“What are you talking about? You were seven, not much taller than the jewelry-obsessed creature.”

I shake my head at Noah’s teasing. “It didn’t matter. I wanted to be authentic.”

The drummer grins. “I have to give you that. You always strive to be the best.” Noah releases my shoulders just to fake-punch my upper arm. “Speaking of which, I’ve heard your business is struggling. How happened?”

There’s no point in applying my usual deflection tactics with an old friend. I bury my hands in my pockets and the movement brings my shoulders down.

“Stiletto happened.” I choose not to elaborate, hiding the many meanings attached to that answer.

“She’s a fireball, isn’t she? I wouldn’t want to be in competition with Cookie,” Noah whispers.

My heart bumps against my ribcage at the nickname. I lost the right to use years ago. I would do anything to win it back, if Natalie gave me half a chance.

I snap myself out of the daydream that will never come true.

He goes on, “I bet she gives you a run for your money.”

“Every. Damn. Time. Natalie is a fierce warrior. But that’s not the only reason C&P Event Management has been struggling. The market has shrunk and landing good projects has become harder. It is what it is.” I downplay it, lifting my shoulders.

I will not confess I lose track of what goes on in briefing sessions when my company goes up against Stiletto. A single glance from their CEO has the power to turn me into a sex maniac. What can I do? How am I supposed to focus on budgets and bids when Nat’s proximity floods my mind with X-rated scenarios?

“I might be able to help, if you provide services overseas,” Aidan says. “My father owns a car race team. There’s plenty of business there for a company like yours.”

Adrenaline pumps through me at the prospect. “Definitely. I’m established in Thousand Oaks, but I coordinate with local counterparts whenever necessary. I’d love to hear from your dad.”

“That’s settled then.” Noah clasps a hand on my right shoulder. “Now, you’ll have to excuse us. Duke has been waving at me like some assistant referee on steroids. There’s a late-night show host here to interview us. We’ve got to go.”

I locate the singer on the opposite side of the crowded room. The annoyance on the tall Brazilian’s expression does nothing to me. It’s the woman to his left that causes my heart to cartwheel like a fucking gold medal gymnast.

Natalie stands there with fisted hands at her flaring hips. Physical distance doesn’t placate the effects of seeing her. Raven black hair styled in curls fall past her shoulders, the tips resting on her breasts. Her flowery silk top, held in place by a leather corset, fills my mouth with water, my mind with hunger, and my dick with something else entirely. My fingers itch, so I curl them into a fist. I would give anything to unhook the silk thread from the corset’s silver eyelets, unwrap the silk, and cradle her breasts in my hands.

I sink my teeth into my lower lip and stifle a moan. My pants become tight and uncomfortable behind the zipper. My cock stirs to life as I envision her soft flesh spilling when I cup the large globes and my fingers tweak her nipples.

Whenever I see the woman my dick stands to attention in a painful salute.

I drag my stare away from her before I burst into flames and make a fool of myself in public. The thin fabric of my slacks offers little protection in case of a full-fledged erection.

To distract my libido, I focus on a man perched on a chair behind Natalie. I recognize the TV host because he’s one of my favorites. Besides sharing the same first name and initials, we agree on things like movies, books, and politics. I’m impressed Natalie has gotten him to fly from New York to Los Angeles to interview the band. I’m not surprised though. The woman is great at her job. I never underestimate her.

She will be busy for a while supervising that, so it’s the perfect time to take a breather. God knows I need to slow the rush of blood in my veins. I don’t want to have a stroke. Or an ejaculation for that matter. A public place is good for the former, not so much for the latter.

I’ve been eyeing a tiny balcony on the left side of the room for a while, delighting myself with glimpses of Beverly Hills in the distance. A forest of potted miniature pines conceal a glass door, which has intrigued me. Why would the hotel hide such a glorious view?

Set on solving the mystery, I stalk there. The glass door slides to the right when I get near it. I breathe in the icy night air. I’ve left my overcoat in the suite, but the cold should bring my body temperature down. When I step onto the balcony, the door swishes closed behind me. I shut my eyes to enjoy the reprieve.

Soundproof ballrooms make sense in this part of the city. The hotel would face multiple lawsuits from the people who live in this zip code. Fancy lawyers charge steep fees, but the hotel’s neighbors sport deep pockets.

I button up my jacket and lean against the railing, palms planted on the black metal. I take in the hills with their flickering lights. Distant sirens fade away as first responders rush to help. People say the Big Apple never sleeps, but L. A. is open twenty-four hours, every day of the week. At two in the freaking morning, movement and sound swell around me.

Another deep breath restores my pulse to its normal rate. I believe it’s safe to go back inside now without risking public embarrassment. Before doing so, I stiffen my back and cast a last look at the shimmering hills.

The brouhaha of the party makes a comeback, even though I haven’t heard the door open. I grasp the railing to regain balance as vertigo strikes me. I don’t need to peek over my shoulder to know who has joined me out here.

Her perfume cloaks me seconds before she molds her warm body against mine. Her breasts imprint the skin between my shoulder blades despite the many layers of clothing separating us.

When her hands snake under my jacket, her palms scorch my chest through the thin material of my shirt.

“Missed me?” Her lips touch my earlobe before her teeth nibble on it.

My knees buckle when my blood rushes down my body faster than light. I moan, clenching at the cold metal of the railing. The cold bar becomes a lifeline thrown at me as I drown in a sea of emotions in the middle of Hurricane Nat.