CHAPTER 1 : The Taste of Temptation.
ISABELLA’S POV ~
The private jet had barely landed at Malibu when Isabella Rossi experienced the first real stirring of something dangerous inside her heart. It wasn’t fear nor nervousness.
It was anticipation.
She came out onto the tarmac dressed in the smallest white sundress that she had. The thin cotton was so sheer that the late afternoon sun almost made it translucent. No bra. No panties. Only smooth, sun-kissed skin and the faint outline of her body that could not help but attract attention. Her dark hair was flowing in loose waves down her back and her lips were painted the very shade of ripe cherries. The very kind that men wanted to bite.
Twenty-two years old. Freshly graduated. And at last, after six long years of stealing glances and secret fantasizing, she was heading into the lion’s den.
Callahan Hale’s mansion was situated at the end of the winding coastal road like a massive sculpture of money indignified. Cliffside. Glass walls. Infinity pool that seemed to merge seamlessly with the Pacific. A place that screams power.
The same power that Callahan had accumulated from scratch while at the same time, his younger brother Victor was barely surviving on mid-tier tech contracts.
Victor. Her stepfather.
The man who brought her up since she was ten years old, after her real father died in a car accident. The man who had married her mother and provided Isabella with the only stable family she had ever known.
Until Mom got sick. Until cancer won. Until Victor’s heart attack last week left him pale and begging in the hospital bed.
“Promise me, Cal,” Victor had said to the phone while Isabella was pretending to be asleep lying on the chair next to him. “Take her in. Six months. Give her an internship at Hale Global. Protect her from Blackthorn’s guys. You’re the only one I trust.”
Callahan had consented. Naturally. He was the big brother - the one who had made billions while Victor chose to play it safe. The one who never got remarried after his divorce ten years ago. The one who looked at Isabella as if she was both treasure and temptation every time their eyes met at the family dinners.
She had seen him staring multiple times.
Observed his jaw clench when she wore some outfit that was too short. Noticed the way his hand lingered a second too long when he was hugging her goodbye.
He was forty-five. Twenty-three years older. Her step-uncle. And she had wanted him since she was sixteen.
The black Rolls-Royce car stopped very smoothly right in front of the huge double doors. The doorman opened the door for her without saying anything. Isabella exited with her packed bag in one hand and her heart pounding in her rib cage.
She did not knock. Instead, she just pushed the doors apart like it was her place.
The entrance hall was so beautiful that it could take one’s breath away - white marble floors, a crystal chandelier as big as a small car, tall windows revealing the endless ocean. At the bottom of the grand staircase stood Callahan Hale himself.
He was dressed in free black pants and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the muscular contours and a faint shadow of a tattoo which she had never been close enough to identify. Now his dark hair was getting silver at the temples - the look of a man dignified, yet very handsome. His chin was rough with stubble and those eyes - storm-gray and impossible to read - were fixed on her the very moment she entered the house.
“Isabella.”
He spoke quite softly, somewhat controlled. A voice that could close billion-dollar deals or command an entire room without even changing pitch.
“You’re here.”
She beamed - a sweet, innocent and, at the same time, deadly smile.
“Uncle Cal.”
She stressed the word just strictly enough to make it sting. “Daddy said you would take care of me.”
Electricity was flowing between them. She closed the gap in three quick strides and, before he could figure out whether to shake hands or keep their distance, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Their hug was supposed to be innocent. Familiar.
Although, to say the very least, it was not.
She pressed her whole figure against his - soft breasts flattening on the hard chest of his, nipps already erect from the cold air-conditioning and from excitement what she was doing. The flimsy sundress did not help to hide the fact that they were hard. That the n*****s were scratching the surface of his shirt at every shallow breath she was taking.
Callahan was like a statue. For one heart-stopping moment, the hands hovered around the air before very cautiously landing on the bare shoulders. The thumbs gently caressed the light straps of the dress.
He took a deep breath and she sensed it —his rapidly thickening body against her belly. Huge. Strong. Getting bigger.
“Isabella…”
His voice was raw and even slightly hoarse. Velvet wrapped in gravel.
“You’re trembling.”
