The Summer We Burned

The Summer We Burned

Clara Evermore

5.0
Comment(s)
13
View
19
Chapters

They thought summer would be simple-sunlight, laughter, and long nights by the sea. But when a single reckless kiss turns into a wildfire of desire, nothing can ever go back to the way it was. Between stolen glances and forbidden touches, their love becomes a dangerous secret-too hot to hide, too deep to ignore. Every heartbeat draws them closer. Every night burns brighter. And the more they try to resist, the more they surrender to the passion that refuses to fade. But with temptation comes risk. Summer won't last forever, and when the world threatens to tear them apart, they'll have to decide: was this just a fleeting fire... or the kind of love that consumes everything? The Summer We Burned is a sweet, romantic, heartbreakingly hot story of summer love-wild, addictive, and unforgettable.

Chapter 1 The Summer That Found Us

The ocean smelled like freedom. Salt and warmth and something untouchable hung in the air, a promise waiting just beyond the horizon. She stepped off the wooden boardwalk and onto the sand, her sandals dangling from her fingers. The sun, molten and endless, spilled its gold across the waves. Somewhere in the distance, music floated from the resort-soft guitar strings, laughter, the clinking of glasses.

Adanna had promised herself this summer would be different. She hadn't come to the coast to chase anything-or anyone. She came for stillness, to find a version of herself that wasn't tied to deadlines, heartbreak, or the noise of the city. She wanted nights quiet enough to hear her own breath. Days calm enough to remember what it felt like to smile without forcing it.

But fate doesn't keep promises. Fate writes its own.

She spread her towel on the sand and let her toes sink into the heat. The waves curled forward and retreated, curling and retreating like a heartbeat. She lay back, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. For the first time in months, she felt light.

That was when she heard it-laughter, low and unrestrained.

It cut through the ocean's rhythm, sharp as a spark. She turned her head and saw him.

He was running along the shoreline, a surfboard tucked under one arm, water glistening down his chest. Not the polished kind of handsome you find in magazine ads-something wilder, sun-bitten, messy in a way that made her stomach stir. His hair, wet and dark, clung to his forehead; his skin carried the bronze kiss of too many afternoons under the sun.

He glanced her way-just once, just enough-and for a second the whole beach disappeared.

She looked away quickly, pressing her palms into the towel, heat blooming beneath her skin that had nothing to do with the sun. She wasn't here for distractions. She had come for peace, and peace never looked like that.

Yet peace didn't seem interested in her tonight.

The surfboard hit the sand with a soft thud. She felt rather than saw his presence beside her, the kind of awareness that tugged at the edges of her body. When she opened her eyes again, he was crouched near the tide line, running his fingers through the water as if searching for something.

"Beautiful evening, isn't it?" His voice carried over the rush of waves. Deep, playful, threaded with ease.

She blinked. For a moment she thought he was speaking to someone else. But when his gaze slid toward her, his mouth tilted into the kind of smile that knew exactly what it was doing.

"It is," she answered, her voice steadier than she felt.

"First time here?" he asked.

She nodded. "And you?"

He shrugged, water dripping from his hair to his shoulders. "I come here every summer. It's kind of my escape. Surf in the mornings, music at night, trouble somewhere in between."

She almost smiled. "And you're proud of that?"

His grin widened. "What's the point of summer if not to get into a little trouble?"

There was something reckless in his eyes, like a flame daring her to touch it. She should have looked away, should have buried her attention back in the waves. But instead she found herself caught, her heartbeat ticking a little too fast.

"I'm Adanna," she said at last, as if her name could anchor her back to herself.

"Luca," he replied. He said it easily, like he was offering more than just a name.

Silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable, but heavy with something unspoken. The resort music grew louder in the distance, a slow melody that wrapped around the night.

"Do you dance?" he asked suddenly.

She raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"At the bonfire tonight. Everyone dances. Even the shy ones." His eyes lingered on her, curious, inviting. "You should come."

Adanna shook her head, a nervous laugh escaping. "I didn't come here to dance. I came here to... breathe."

"Sometimes," Luca said softly, "dancing is breathing."

The words lingered long after he picked up his board and walked back toward the surf house. She watched him go, every step outlined by the setting sun. Her chest felt unsettled, as if something had shifted in the air.

She told herself she wouldn't see him again, that it was just a passing moment between strangers. But that night, as she stood on her balcony, the sound of drums rose from the beach. Firelight flickered against the horizon. And below, among the shadows and sparks, she saw him again-Luca, laughing, spinning, alive in a way that pulled at every thread inside her.

Adanna gripped the railing, the night air brushing over her bare shoulders. Her heart whispered the truth she wasn't ready to admit:

The summer she had come for silence was already beginning to burn.

Continue Reading

You'll also like

The Ghost Wife's Billion Dollar Tech Comeback

The Ghost Wife's Billion Dollar Tech Comeback

Huo Wuer
5.0

Today is October 14th, my birthday. I returned to New York after months away, dragging my suitcase through the biting wind, but the VIP pickup zone where my husband’s Maybach usually idled was empty. When I finally let myself into our Upper East Side penthouse, I didn’t find a cake or a "welcome home" banner. Instead, I found my husband, Caden, kneeling on the floor, helping our five-year-old daughter wrap a massive gift for my half-sister, Adalynn. Caden didn’t even look up when I walked in; he was too busy laughing with the girl who had already stolen my father’s legacy and was now moving in on my family. "Auntie Addie is a million times better than Mommy," my daughter Elara chirped, clutching a plush toy Caden had once forbidden me from buying for her. "Mommy is mean," she whispered loudly, while Caden just smirked, calling me a "drill sergeant" before whisking her off to Adalynn’s party without a second glance. Later that night, I saw a video Adalynn posted online where my husband and child laughed while mocking my "sensitive" nature, treating me like an inconvenient ghost in my own home. I had spent five years researching nutrition for Elara’s health and managing every detail of Caden’s empire, only to be discarded the moment I wasn't in the room. How could the man who set his safe combination to my birthday completely forget I even existed? The realization didn't break me; it turned me into ice. I didn't scream or beg for an explanation. I simply walked into the study, pulled out the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago, and took a black marker to the terms. I crossed out the alimony, the mansion, and even the custody clause—if they wanted a life without me, I would give them exactly what they asked for. I left my four-carat diamond ring on the console table and walked out into the rain with nothing but a heavily encrypted hard drive. The submissive Mrs. Holloway was gone, and "Ghost," the most lethal architect in the tech world, was finally back online to take back everything they thought I’d forgotten.

Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance

Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance

Roderic Penn
5.0

I stood at my mother’s open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule. While the priest’s voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?" When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone—he brought Charla with him. He claimed she’d had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child." He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me. "He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect. Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards.

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book