BOUND TO THE WRONG CALLAHAN

Chapter 2

*Last summer*

The beach house in the Miami was supposed to be Sienna's escape. Two weeks away from the city, from the constant pressure, from the endless talks about her future. Her mother thought she needed time to "find herself" before the family started making serious marriage plans.

If only she knew how right she was.

The house sat on a cliff overlooking the ocean, all glass and white stone. Beautiful in the cold way that expensive things were beautiful. But tonight, she didn't want beautiful. She wanted real.

That was how she ended up at the bonfire on the public beach.

She could see it from her bedroom window. The orange glow against the dark sky, the shapes of people dancing around the flames. People her age who were just living.

She slipped out after midnight, trading silk pajamas for jeans and a t-shirt. If the security guard her father insisted on woke and found her gone, her parents would know by dawn. But she was too restless to care.

The sand was cool beneath her bare feet as she walked toward the light and laughter.

The fire crackled and sparked, sending embers into the night sky. Someone had a guitar. Someone else had a cooler full of beer. Everyone was golden in the firelight, alive and free.

She stood at the edge of the group, suddenly shy. She didn't know how to do this. How to be normal.

"You look lost."

The voice came from behind her. She turned and her breath caught.

He sat on a piece of driftwood, camera in his hands. The firelight played across his face, highlighting the strong line of his jaw, the ink that covered his arms. A silver earring caught the light when he moved. His camera lens caught the flame, and for a second she thought it wasn't just fire that burned in his eyes.

"I'm not lost," she said, though it wasn't entirely true. "Just watching."

He lowered the camera and really looked at her. His eyes were dark brown. The color of coffee. Of sin.

"You're not from around here," he said.

"What gave it away?"

"The way you're standing. Like you're waiting for permission to breathe." He stood up, tall and broad beneath his black t-shirt. "I'm Landon."

"Sienna."

"Well, Sienna, you want to sit? Fire's warmer up close."

She should go back. Blakes didn't sit around bonfires with tattooed strangers who saw too much.

But she sat.

He offered her a beer from the cooler. She had never had beer from a bottle before.

It tasted like freedom.

"What do you do?" she asked, nodding toward his camera.

"I take pictures. Try to capture truth." He took a drink. "What about you?"

"I..." The question caught her off guard. What did she do? She went to charity lunches. She attended board meetings for organizations she didn't care about. She smiled and nodded and waited for someone else to decide her future.

"I don't really do anything."

"Everyone does something."

"Not me. I just exist."

He studied her for a long moment. "That sounds lonely."

It was. God, it was so lonely. But she had never said it out loud before.

"Sometimes," she whispered.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Noah. *Hope you're having a good time at the beach house. Thinking of you.*

Her stomach twisted. She turned the phone off without answering.

"You want to get out of here?" Landon asked suddenly.

"Where would we go?"

"Does it matter?"

For the first time in her life, the destination didn't matter.

"What if someone sees me?"

"Who's going to see you out here?"

He leaned closer, his voice dropping low. "You scared of getting caught being real?"

Yes. Terrified. Because getting caught meant facing consequences, and she had never been brave enough to face consequences before.

"Maybe," she whispered.

"Good," he said, standing and offering his hand. "You should be scared. Means it matters."

She stared at his outstretched hand. This was her choice. Take it and step into something dangerous. Or go back and pretend this night never happened.

She took his hand.

He led her away from the fire, down the beach where the sand was soft and the waves crashed against the shore. They walked in silence, the ocean stretching endlessly beside them.

"Tell me something real," he said when they stopped walking.

"What do you mean?"

"Something true. Something that matters."

She thought about all the proper answers she had been trained to give. But standing here with him, she wanted to tell the truth.

"I'm supposed to get engaged soon. My parents and his parents have it all planned out. The merger, the wedding, the life we're supposed to have together."

"And you don't want it?"

"I don't know what I want. I've never been allowed to figure it out."

He stopped walking and turned to face her. "What if you could have anything? Right now. What would you choose?"

"I'd choose to feel something real. Just once."

The words hung in the air between them. Dangerous. Honest. True.

"I can show you real," he said, his voice rough. "But you're going to remember this night long after you wish you could forget it."

The warning should have scared her.

Instead, it made her want him more.

"Show me."

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

The world stopped.

This was nothing like the polite kisses she'd had before. This was fire and hunger and desperation. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer. She could feel the ocean breeze against her skin, the soft sand beneath her feet. Could taste the beer on his tongue and something else, something that was purely him.

When he pulled back, she was gasping.

"Your place or mine?" he asked, his voice rough with want.

She thought about the beach house. The pristine white rooms. The place where she was supposed to be perfect, even when alone.

"Yours," she breathed.

He took her hand and led her to a small cottage set back from the beach. Weathered wood and windows that looked out onto the ocean.

She paused at the threshold, heart pounding. The point of no return.

"You sure about this?" he asked, reading her hesitation.

When he looked at her like that, like she was something precious and dangerous, she forgot everything.

"Yes."

He kissed her again, slower this time. Deeper. Like he was trying to memorize the taste of her. His hands found the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it over her head.

The cotton fell to the floor.

"You're beautiful," he said, his voice raw with honesty.

And for the first time in her life, she believed it.

He lifted her easily, carrying her to his bed. The sheets were soft and smelled like ocean air and him.

When he touched her, there was nothing gentle about it.

His hands mapped every inch of her skin. His mouth followed, leaving her gasping and shaking and begging for more.

"Please," she whispered against his ear.

"Please what?"

"Don't stop."

He laughed against her throat. "I'm just getting started."

When he finally moved over her, when he looked into her eyes and asked if she was sure, she had never been more certain.

"Yes."

He made love to her like the world was ending. Like this was the only moment that mattered.

She lost herself in him. In the way he said her name like a prayer. In the way he held her like she was something he was afraid to lose.

When it was over, they lay tangled together in his sheets. His fingers traced patterns on her bare shoulder. She could feel his heartbeat against her cheek, still racing.

"I should go," she whispered, even though it was the last thing she wanted.

"Should you?"

She lifted her head to look at him. His hair was messy from her fingers. His eyes were dark and satisfied and something else she couldn't name.

"I don't even know your last name," she said.

"Does it matter?"

Lying here in his arms, nothing else seemed important.

"No," she admitted. "It doesn't."

He pulled her closer, and she let herself pretend this was real. That she was the kind of woman who followed her heart instead of her obligations.

They made love again as the sun started to rise. Slower this time. Sweeter. Like they were trying to make it last forever.

But forever had to end.

When she woke up, he was gone.

There was a note on the pillow beside her, written in dark ink on paper torn from a notebook.

*You're going to be okay. Don't let them make you forget who you really are.*

She held the note to her chest and cried. For him. For her. For the night that changed everything and the morning that took it all away.

She got dressed and walked back to the beach house as the sun rose over the ocean. She couldn't stop herself from looking back at the cottage, hoping to catch one last glimpse of him.

It was already empty. Like he had never been there at all.

Back at the house, she took a shower that washed away the physical evidence but couldn't touch the memories. She folded the note carefully and hid it in the bottom of her jewelry box, beneath the pearls her grandmother had given her.

Her one rebellion. Her one secret.

Two weeks later, she was back in the city. Back to charity lunches and board meetings.

Three days after that, her father told her supposed boyfriend Noah Callahan wanted to marry her.

She said yes.

Because that was what Blake women did. They took what they were given and didn't ask for more.

But when she remembered strange arms around her, she wanted to say no.

Sometimes, in the dark of night, she would touch the note hidden in her jewelry box and remember what it felt like to want something just for herself.

She remembered him.

And she knew she always would.