Page 2 of Isabelle’s Forbidden Love

Isabelle glanced at the nightstand, where her cell phone lay.

“I must have been really tired,” she said quickly, hoping that it wasn’t written on her face that she’d had a sexual dream about no other than Orlando, one of her father’s employees. Orlando, the vampire who was as reserved as they came, and who never talked about himself, never talked much at all.

This wasn’t the first time she’d had this dream. Ever since Orlando had been injured in connection with investigating the kidnapping of her father, Samson, and their friend, Cain, four months earlier, she’d dreamed about what had happened that night. Orlando had been gravely injured, and while she’d given him human blood to heal, she’d also licked his wound to close it with her saliva, something he’d tried to refuse. But she’d wanted to taste his blood, and she had. It hadn’t gone any further back then, because others had been in the room with them, but in her dreams, the event always led to sex, heart-pounding, headboard-banging, sweaty, marathon sex.

“You look a little flushed,” Delilah said and put her hand on Isabelle’s forehead.

Isabelle pulled back. “Mom, I’m perfectly fine. You know as well as I do that I don’t get sick. It’s probably the heavy duvet. I should change it out for the summer duvet.”

Yeah, blame it on the bedding! Very smart.

“That’s probably it,” Delilah replied. She smiled. “I know it’s your night off, but your dad just called. He wants you to come to HQ. There’s a case.”

“Did he say what the case is about?”

“A murder.”

Isabelle nodded and swung her legs out of bed. “I’d better take a shower and get ready. Can you let him know I’ll be there in forty minutes?”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Isabelle entered her ensuite bathroom, when she heard the door to her bedroom close behind Delilah. She was relieved to be alone again, even though she liked living at home. After all, the house was so huge that most of the time, it felt as if she was alone, even when her parents and her younger brother Patrick were home. But in the last four months, ever since the incident with Orlando, she’d started contemplating getting her own place. On occasion, she stayed at Grayson’s loft in the Financial District, where she enjoyed more privacy. She even kept some of her clothes and other necessities there. Her brother Grayson had moved to New Orleans with his mate, Monique, shortly after Samson and Cain had been freed from their kidnappers. But he hadn’t sold the loft.

Isabelle stepped under the shower. She could still feel the ghost of Orlando’s touch, even though in real life, he would never touch her. But in her dreams, he’d done much more than that. He’d made love to her, taking her in the most possessive manner possible.

In reality, of course, nothing like that would ever happen. According to her friends and colleagues at Scanguards, Orlando had never expressed any interest toward any woman, or been known to date or have one-night stands. And as a bouncer at the Mezzanine nightclub, which was owned by Samson and his best friend, Amaury, he certainly had his pick of pretty women. Yet, he seemed uninterested in sex. For a brief moment, she’d wondered if Orlando was gay, but Eddie and Thomas, the gay couple who ran Scanguards’ IT department, were one-hundred percent certain that Orlando was straight.

She sighed. Why was she interested in a man who treated her with nothing more than polite indifference? Was it because she’d succumbed to the temptation of drinking his blood? Was that why she was drawn to him now? Or was it the fact that he was a giant, a vampire who towered over everybody, and exuded strength and power, the kind that promised absolute protection? Did she still carry emotional scars from her own abduction fourteen years earlier? Was that why she was drawn to Orlando, because she knew instinctively that he would always protect her?

Isabelle shook her head and reached for the shampoo. It was stupid to think like this. Orlando wasn’t interested in her that way. He only saw her as Samson’s daughter. And while she knew that he and Samson had a history, her father had never disclosed to anybody—other than maybe Delilah—what had passed between them.

2

San Francisco, eighteen months earlier

He had only one last favor to call in. What he would do if this didn’t pan out, he didn’t know. Did he have the courage to end it all? Or was he a coward for wanting to hold on to hope when he knew there was none? Why prolong his miserable life, when so much bloodshed lay in his past?

Before he could change his mind, Orlando rang the doorbell of the large Victorian house in a fancy neighborhood of San Francisco. He knew somebody was home. He could hear sounds from inside, though even his sensitive vampire hearing couldn’t make out any words. Through the windows on the upper floors, light was streaming into the night. On the first floor, a curtain moved, temporarily allowing a sliver of light to fall on the sidewalk.

Despite it being late November, the temperature was mild in this coastal city. Up north, it would be snowing. But he didn’t miss the snow, though he missed other things about his home, a home he hadn’t seen in decades and could never return to.

The heavy wooden door opened, and simultaneously a lamp above the entry cast its light onto Orlando. In the open door stood a tall man, his silhouette contrasted against the light behind him. Orlando remained standing on the stoop, not wanting to seem presumptuous that he was welcome. For all he knew, the man now staring at him didn’t recognize him. After all, over three decades had passed since they’d met. And they’d only met one single time.

“Orlando,” Samson said, his voice but an echo, before he cleared his throat. “Orlando Carlisle.”

Orlando nodded. “Samson.”

“What are you doing here?”

At the question, a flicker of disappointment charged through him. He wasn’t welcome. “I shouldn’t have come.” He already turned on his heel, when a hand clamped over his shoulder. Instantly on alert, Orlando tensed.

“Get your butt in here, Orlando, don’t make me drag you in. I will if I have to.” There was a chuckle in Samson’s voice. “Even though you’ve got a good fifty pounds on me.”

All hesitation gone, Orlando stepped into the hallway, and Samson closed the door behind him. He glanced around inside the elegant home that radiated not just wealth but warmth, the warmth of a family. He’d always known that Samson was a wealthy man, but he was rich in more ways than one. He had a family, a mate, children, even though Orlando hadn’t believed the rumors at first.

“It’s good to see you,” Samson said and put his arms around him, hugging him for a brief moment. “It’s been a long time.”