Page 40 of The Malibu Secret

Perfect addiction, lethal dose. I practically threw his clothes at him at dawn when Brinley's hellish screaming erupted next door. Couldn't let anyone—especially Willow with her perfect smile—discover he'd spent the entire night fucking me. Because I know I need to cut him loose. Someone has to be the goddamn adult here, carve that line in concrete. And that line screams: Cameron deserves someone who isn't the train wreck that is Tally Steele.

Yet I begged him to ruin me again. And again. And again. And several more times before we finally broke apart. A weakness I can't afford, but what defense did I have when he slid between my sheets, his mouth hot on my neck, his cock hard against my thigh? For all I know, spending the day with flawless Willow left him desperate, and I was just...his favorite sin. I need to bury last night in the "Never Again" graveyard and walk away. But God, the way he made me come undone...

After nursing and changing Brinley, I strap her into the papoose against my chest. Her tiny fists punch the air while her feet kick rhythmically, happy gurgles bubbling up as we head downstairs to face everyone. At least one of us is looking forward to this morning.

Cameron's already in the kitchen with the others, his black t-shirt stretched across shoulders that have no business looking that good. He hands me coffee—cream and real sugar, exactly how I need it—his fingers lingering against mine, eyes saying everything about last night without a word. My stomach flips, but I force myself to step back. Whatever happened between us has to stay there. Willow deserves her shot with him, and I won't be the reason she doesn't get it, even if I have to physically drag my gaze away from him every time he looks at me like that.

Cameron's eyes meet mine, glinting with mischief. "How did you sleep, Tally?" I bite back an eye roll. He knows exactly how I slept—I didn't. Not with his body pressed against mine all night, his hands exploring every inch of me until sunrise, my voice growing hoarse from calling his name. My thighs still ache from being wrapped around him all night, and the marks on my neck needed extra concealer today.

My body aches in all the right places as I stretch. "Like a baby," I say, though every cell in me is still vibrating with electricity. My muscles burn with the sweet soreness of marathon sex, my skin still hot where his hands gripped me. Christ, I haven't pulled an all-nighter like that since—I can't even remember. Worth every second, but I'm going to crash hard later. Cameron's eyes are bloodshot, pupils still dilated when they meet mine. If we both disappear for naps today, everyone will know that we’re both exhausted for the same reason.

Shit. How am I supposed to act normal around him today? Every time I look at him, I'll see last night—our first time since before Sicily, before the baby, before everything went sideways. For over a year, I've been dodging him while my trusty bedside vibrator got one hell of a workout. Then last night happened. One look, one touch, and boom—we went up in flames. Like striking a match in a room full of gasoline.

The whole family's gathered around the massive dining table, Willow included. They've laid out a buffet-style breakfast that could feed a small army, which is exactly what I need after the marathon session Cameron and I had last night. And several times more at dawn. And twice more before we finally crawled out of bed. I catch myself grinning and quickly school my expression. Let's just say there's a damn good reason I'm about to demolish this breakfast spread.

The food line forms, and I spot Cameron behind me, deep in conversation with Willow. Her voice floats over—husky and articulate with this musical quality that makes me want to punch something. She's rocking jeans and one of those casual tanks that somehow makes her biceps look sculpted and her chest look like it defies gravity. I bite back a sneer—isn't this exactly the scenario I've been angling for? After what happened last night, I know Cameron's a sure thing. One word from me and boom: engagement ring, massive house—not in Brentwood (too damn far from my tattoo studio), but maybe right in Echo Park. But the very thought of Cameron waiting at an altar somewhere, ready to lock this down, makes my chest tighten until I'm eyeing that lake out back like it's my only escape route.

And how, exactly, do I know that Cameron is mine if I want him? It wasn't just the way he fucked me last night like a man who'd been starving in the desert for forty days. It was because he said those words to me, his voice raw and desperate against my skin. Maybe he doesn't even remember it in the frenzy of our bodies crashing together like we were trying to break each other, but he grabbed my face between his hands and swore he loved me, swore he'd marry me tomorrow if I'd let him. Heat of passion? Maybe. He said it so casually I thought I'd hallucinated it. But I remember it now, burned into my memory like one of my own tattoos. And, Christ, there's a part of me—a part that's growing by the second, consuming me from the inside out—that wants to scream YES and claim him forever. Not just because Brinley deserves the childhood I never had—stable, wanted, protected, with two parents who can’t keep their hands off each other—but because I'm so fucking in love with Cam it terrifies me, like standing at the edge of a cliff and feeling that urge to jump.

So when Cameron catches my eye while chatting with Willow, I give him a nod and flick my gaze toward her—my silent permission. Despite last night, despite everything. This ache in my chest will fade eventually. What wouldn't fade? The suffocation of a shotgun wedding, the trap of vows spoken for all the wrong reasons, the prison of a life built on obligation rather than choice. Some cages have no keys.

I shake my head. Last night belongs in the file marked "Mistakes I'll Never Make Again," even if my body screams otherwise for the next forty-eight hours. Too bad. I've made up my mind.

My sanity can't afford another night like last night.

Chapter Thirty-Three

TALLY

That afternoon, I vanish. I can't bear another minute with Cameron's eyes following me everywhere. Breakfast had been torture—every time I glanced up, those blue eyes were watching me, stripping me bare across the dining table. I latch onto Celeste like a lifeline. Besides Cam, she’s my only familiar face here, and I shadow her movements with desperate determination.

After the dishes are cleared, I practically drag her outside. "Let's explore the woods," I suggest, needing pine-scented air to clear my head. What was the point of a mountain retreat if you stayed cooped up indoors? I hand Brinley to Cam with a clipped "We'll be back later" and escape before he can protest. The last thing I need is what his hungry gaze promises—sneaking away until dinner to finish what we started last night and this morning. I could read the invitation in every look he gave me. But I wouldn't give in. Last night was already one mistake too many.

Celeste and I walk into the woods, the cool mountain air filling my lungs. I try to focus on getting away—the pine smell that makes me forget the city, birds calling out, maybe even animals watching us from the trees. I press my nails into my hand. This weekend was never about Cameron and me breaking our no-sex rule just because we're not at home. And Cameron has no right—none at all—to push me into thinking this trip changes things between us. I hate that my body still wants him when he looks at me. That’s bad enough. What’s worse is that my heart still wants him. My soul. So, yeah, I need to get away from all of those feelings pronto.

Celeste stops and does a slow three-sixty. "Please tell me you memorized our route," she says, squinting at the towering pines surrounding us. "Because my phone's got zero bars out here."

I freeze mid-step. Half a mile from the house, surrounded by trees that smell oddly like vanilla extract, and not a single trail marker in sight. All because I couldn't stand another minute under Cameron's gaze, those eyes tracking my every move. No compass. No water. Nothing. Watch us end up as some nature documentary footnote—two idiots who wandered off and got scavenged by black bears after we collapsed from exposure. Bears don't even hunt humans, they just clean up what's left.

And speaking of bears…I freeze mid-sentence when I spot a black bear clinging to a nearby tree trunk, his dark eyes fixed on us. My lips curve into a smile. Unlike their grizzly cousins, black bears rarely pose a threat—they're the introverts of the bear world. And, really, grizzlies don’t pose much a threat, either, despite that infamous case of two grizzlies killing campers in one night in the 1970s, an incident so rare that it inspired a book and a TV special. In general, all bears leave people alone.

"What's with the grin?" Celeste asks, following my gaze.

"Bear," I whisper, nodding toward the tree.

Celeste's eyes widen. "Jesus! Don't. Move."

"Relax," I say, keeping my voice low. "He's just curious. Even if it's a mama with cubs nearby, she'd just huff a warning. They're not the monsters people think they are."

Something about this unexpected encounter pulls me away from thoughts of Cameron. Out here, with distance between us, I can finally admit the truth to myself: I want him as fiercely as he wants me. Last night when he whispered about love and marriage between kisses, my heart raced—and not from fear.

Marriage terrifies me? Absolutely. But standing here in the woods, I'm grateful for the space to realize how much I already miss him.

Celeste grabs my arm, her nails digging into my skin. "Tal. Tell me you know how to get back."

I shake her off. "I don't. But we find a stream, we follow it downstream, we find civilization. Simple." I lock eyes with her. "This isn't some horror movie where one of us ends up as wolf food while the other crawls out of the wilderness half-dead, drinking their own piss to survive."

"Wolves?" Celeste's voice jumps an octave, her face draining of color. "There are actual wolves out here?"