“Right. The day.” He let out a short, sharp breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “It’s funny how the day only became an issue when I tried to show you how I felt. I thought we were having a moment back there, Isabella. I thought we were on the same page.”
“We were,” she said, finally looking at him. “But I’m allowed to have a limit, Cal. I’m allowed to say when it’s enough.”
His jaw worked, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He didn’t look at her. “I don’t like being handled, Isabella. And I don’t likebeing told ‘no’ after I’ve spent the entire day trying to make you feel welcome.”
“Is that what this was?” she asked, her voice dropping. “An investment? You pour the wine and put on a show, so you expect a payout?”
Cal’s grip tightened on the wheel until his knuckles turned white. He didn’t answer, but the quiet was an admission. He pushed the accelerator down, the Escalade surging forward with a predatory growl.
The headlights swept across the Scott farmhouse, illuminating the porch and the front of Burke’s truck. Cal brought the car to a sudden, jerky stop at the base of the steps. He didn’t kill the engine. He didn’t unlock the doors.
He turned in the seat, his eyes searching hers in the dark. There was nothing soft in him now; possessiveness sat in his gaze like a shadow, and the hair on Izzy’s arms stood up.
“Cal,” she said softly, reaching for the door handle. “Thank you for today. The wine, the dinner… it was all very generous.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached out, his hand cupping the back of her head with a firm, unyielding grip. He pulled her toward him, and this time, there was no gentlemanly restraint. He kissed her again, and it was deep, invasive, meant to leave a mark—a final claim before he let her go.
Izzy didn’t resist. She kept her eyes closed, her body forced into a mimicry of surrender, playing the part of the smitten guest until she felt him finally relax his grip. It was a performance for an audience of one, a survival tactic born in the shadows of the Varga warehouse.
He finally pulled back, a smug, satisfied shadow of a smile on his lips. “Goodnight, Isabella. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
The locks clicked open with a sharp, mechanical snap. Izzy practically tumbled out of the car, her boots crunching on the gravel as she hurried toward the porch. She didn’t look backuntil she heard the roar of his engine as he peeled out of the drive, leaving a cloud of dust in the moonlight.
* * *
Hollis Ridge Estate — After Midnight
Wade sat alone in the dark-paneled den with a glass of bourbon resting beside him, the low amber light from the desk lamp throwing long shadows across the room.
The house had finally gone quiet.
Cal had stormed off hours ago in one of his moods.
Vance had returned to the guest house near the lower ridge.
But Wade couldn’t quite shake the image of Isabella Moreno from his mind.
The girl had looked alive out there on horseback.
Wind in her dark hair.
Cheeks flushed from the mountain air.
Legs tight against the saddle.
Healthy.
Vibrant.
Curious.
Too curious.
His jaw tightened slightly as he thought about the dinner table.
The lipstick.
The perfect smile.
