Page 4 of Isabelle’s Forbidden Love

Samson stood up, and Orlando did the same.

“I wish I could drive over to HQ with you, but I’m taking my wife to the theater tonight. She’s getting dressed right now. But I’ll call ahead, so Quinn will be expecting you and take care of you.”

“Thank you, Samson, I’m very grateful.”

“As I’ll always be, my friend,” Samson said and shook his hand, holding it for a few breaths.

Into the silence, hurried footfalls came closer.

“Dad?”

Samson turned at the sound of a woman’s voice, and Orlando followed his gaze just as a young woman entered through the open arch.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know we had company,” she said with a ravishing smile.

Orlando’s throat went dry.

“Isabelle, this is an old friend of mine, Orlando Carlisle. Orlando, this is my daughter, Isabelle.”

He barely heard Isabelle’s reply and wasn’t sure whether he said anything in return, because everything inside him tumbled as if he’d been tossed in a dryer. He couldn’t feel his feet, didn’t know whether he was still standing, or whether he was floating on a cloud, or worse, had collapsed and passed out.

Isabelle was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. And in his long life—he’d been turned into a vampire in 1754 at the beginning of the French and Indian War—he’d met plenty of beautiful women. None could hold a candle to Isabelle. She was tall for a woman, and slender, with long legs encased in tight jeans, and a turtleneck sweater that hugged her breasts like a snug glove. Her long dark hair looked as if it was spun from delicate silk. Her skin had an olive tint, complementing her naturally red lips and her straight nose. Perfectly curved eyebrows framed her dramatic green eyes that looked like deep pools of water in which any man could drown. As if she were a siren, and a mere look at her could seal his fate.

Everything about her screamed danger: her sensual smile, the curve of her lips, the gentle rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed evenly, her graceful movements as she walked closer, the feel of her warm hand in his as she shook it in greeting. Yes, everything about Isabelle told him to stay away, because it would be so easy to fall for her. To open his heart to her. To let her in. To make her his.

Even though he knew he couldn’t, because everything he touched, he destroyed. And a woman like Isabelle deserved better than him. It didn’t matter that already now, seconds after meeting her, he craved her. Lust this intense never ended well. It would blind him—once more—and he wouldn’t see the danger until it was too late. Until he had no choice but to do the unforgivable. No, it was best to never think of Isabelle in that way. It was best to deny himself and never give in to his desires.

“Orlando?”

Samson’s voice interrupted his musings.

“Excuse me?” he managed to reply, not knowing what Samson was asking him.

“Isabelle offered to take you to Scanguards, since she’s driving there anyway.”

Fuck! Why did she have to tempt him like this? “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“It’s not a bother,” Isabelle assured him.

Her voice was like a soft trickle that seeped into every cell of his body, beguiling him, tempting him. How would she sound if she was beneath him when he made love to her? Would her moans have the same sensual quality as her voice? Would she say his name in the same way while he pleasured her, until he couldn’t hold back any longer and made her his? And the first time he drank from her while making love to her, would it be better than he remembered it? Would it be paradise?

“Then it’s settled,” Samson said firmly.

Orlando had no choice but to follow Isabelle as she walked downstairs to the garage, where she pointed to a baby-blue car. She wanted him to squeeze into a Thunderbird?

“I just got it. It’s so much fun to drive.” She slid into the driver’s seat.

It wasn’t easy to get into the miniscule sportscar, especially for a man of his massive proportions. At six-foot-six and two-hundred-and-sixty pounds of bone and muscle, he had a hell of a time folding his frame so he could sit in the passenger seat. His knees were half-way up his torso, his head nearly touched the roof, but the worst was that Isabelle brushed against his left leg when she put the car in gear and shot out of the garage.

At every turn, Orlando bumped against her in the small interior, while Isabelle’s natural scent filled the tight space. She smelled of vanilla and oranges, and the scent conjured up images of their naked bodies writhing against one another in a mating dance as old as time.

He felt a tension spread between them as if she could sense what he was thinking. As if she knew of his debauched thoughts.

Fuck! He had to get out of this car before she drove him mad with desire. He wished he’d never come to see Samson, because his beautiful daughter would be his downfall. Of that he was certain. As certain as the fact that the rays of the sun would burn him to ash if he was exposed for too long.

3

San Francisco, now