What the Single Dad Wants... (11 page)

She looked at him for a long moment. The man was heart-stoppingly gorgeous, she thought, not for the first time. “I guess you can get pretty much anything you want,” she speculated, only half tongue in cheek.

“Tell you the truth, I
have
pretty much everything I want.” And then, as if to prove it, he enumerated. “I've got the career I've always wanted. A really terrific daughter I sometimes feel I don't deserve and then, of course, there's Mother.”

A fond smile curved his generous mouth as a slightly distant look came into his eyes. “She's a hoot and I can't say she's even remotely typical, but life with her was an education from the very first moment. I don't think I'd be where I am if I'd had a typical mother.”

He was forgetting about his determination, about his drive. “I think you might be,” she told him.

“Oh?” he asked, curious. “And why's that?”

It was hard for her to think, to complete a thought, when he held her hand like that.

“Because we all carry the seeds inside of us of what we are and what we have the potential to become.” She warmed to her subject. “You take two people with the same set of circumstances in their background. One grows up to be a success, the other becomes a bitter, complaining failure, blaming everyone else for the fact that he never got anywhere in life instead of putting the blame where it belongs. At his own feet. The only difference between them is one is motivated to make
something of himself, maybe even
despite
his famous parents, the other feels he had three strikes against him from the very start and doesn't even try.”

Brandon wondered if that comparison was made for his benefit. “Let me guess, you minored in psychology.”

Only if she expanded her campus to include her life. “No, but your mother isn't the first celebrity I've worked with.” There were so many children of privilege who had the air of entitlement about them. He had no idea how lucky he was to have Victoria turn out the way she had—or maybe Victoria was the lucky one to have a parent like Brandon raising her. He might be her father, but part of him was also her best friend—a position she knew he was going to miss in the years ahead after the girl had grown up. “You get to see a lot in my line of work,” she said vaguely.

The writer in him prompted Brandon to ask, “Anything you can talk about?”

He sounded so interested, she couldn't just turn him down flat.

“A couple,” she allowed. “Without naming names.”

He shook his head. “Not interested in names, just situations,” he told her. “I write fiction, not a gossip column—although, at times, that seems to be one and the same,” he commented.

“As long as I don't have to use real names, then sure.”

And as they walked, she talked, telling him about a couple of her more challenging cases and the family dynamics that went along with them that she'd found intriguing. When she worked with a client, Isabelle liked to think she worked with the whole person, not just his or her condition. That involved getting to know and
working with the client's family—such as it was. At times, she thought the client would be better off without his or her family.

That wasn't the case here, she mused. All three family members were who they were because of the effect they had on one another.

Brandon proved to be a very attentive audience, quietly listening to her as she talked and only speaking to ask an occasional question whenever she paused.

When she came to the end of the third case she shared with him, Isabelle stopped to “scrutinize” her audience. She was convinced that Brandon was just being polite, letting her ramble on.

“You can't possibly find all this interesting,” she protested.

“Yes, I can,” he countered.

And the stories weren't the only thing he found interesting, Brandon added silently. As he listened to her talk about her interactions with the families of some of her clients, Brandon found himself also thinking about the woman, as well.

Thinking about her and discovering that he hadn't just imagined it. He was very much attracted to her. Strongly.

At that point, they'd already turned around and were on their way back to the bookstore. He'd left his gleaming white vehicle parked in the lot behind the chain store.

Approximately half a block away from the bookstore, he abruptly stopped walking. She watched him carefully, but said nothing.

“Would you mind if I kissed you?” he asked.

Mind? It was all she'd been thinking about for the past ten minutes. So much so that it had become difficult
for her to hold on to her train of thought and continue with her story.

“You didn't ask the first time,” she pointed out quietly.

The last time had been by accident. This was by design. “I'm asking now.”

The exquisite rush began before Brandon ever took her in his arms. Before he even lowered his mouth to hers.

Anticipation could stir up the blood to incredible heights. At times, she was aware, anticipation could lead to disappointment, but not this time. She already knew that.

Knew that the man's kiss was like being bathed in a shower of sparklers.

Her eyes on his, Isabelle murmured, “Permission to come aboard granted,” just loud enough for him to hear above the sound of the ocean.

He grinned as he drew her to him, his body heat reaching out to hers.

“Doesn't that have something to do with boarding a ship?” he asked, amused.

“Whatever.”

Isabelle was aware that the word sounded utterly lame, but it was the only comeback she could manage right now. Her brain had moved passed conversations and was already otherwise engaged as she rose up on her toes and slid her arms around his neck.

Brandon touched his lips to hers. Very slowly, he lifted her off the sand and folded her into the kiss that was already, even now, claiming his soul as well.

S
he'd always been an old movie buff, and the classic scene
From Here To Eternity,
of two lovers lying on the beach lost in one another's embrace and kissing, flashed through Isabelle's brain just before she lost the ability to form coherent thoughts. How could one kiss do that? How could it just make the entire world go away?

She hadn't the energy to even
attempt
to figure that out. All she wanted to do was enjoy this moment, this sensation, before it—and possibly she—disappeared forever. Brandon knew,
knew,
he shouldn't be doing this. Shouldn't be giving in to his urges. The urges might be basic, but Isabelle was his mother's physical therapist, and if things between them went awry, life could become very awkward….

But what if they didn't?

What if things didn't go awry or veer off the track?
Then living with Isabelle just down the hall, seeing her each day, interacting with her, could only be a plus. After all, at its longest this interlude would probably only be for a little less than three more weeks.

Three more weeks and his mother intended to be completely recovered because she had every intention of going on that tour with the rest of the cast of
A Little Night Music.
Knowing his mother, the woman was stubborn enough to
will
herself fit enough to go on tour. With Anastasia away, the dynamics of his household would go back to what they'd been before the accident. Just Victoria and him and, once every two weeks, the cleaning crew that put the house back into order.

That would be life as he knew it. Life as he enjoyed it.

So why shouldn't he allow himself to savor this surprisingly exquisite, unselfconsciously seductive woman while he could? Their paths would stop crossing very soon.

The situation was perfect.

As was this palpable chemistry that had been generated between them.

His arms tightened around Isabelle even more, as if he were trying to absorb her—because, maybe, just for this moment, he was. Absorb her enthusiasm and her very exuberant essence. And this incredible—and unusual—spectrum of happiness she brought out in him.

Isabelle could feel her head spinning, and her body had stopped whispering its demands and was now all but screaming them. With all this work in the past six months or so, she'd almost forgotten she was a female. A woman. And, since she was living and breathing, she
did have certain needs. Needs that hadn't really ever been addressed.

Her body now reminded her that its education had been sadly neglected. She didn't intend for that pitiable state to continue a second longer.

This strange, all-but-consuming hunger threatened to swallow her up whole unless she did something about it.

Isabelle pressed her body into his, holding on to Brandon so tightly she was surprised he could still breathe. She certainly was having difficulty getting air in. As she shifted, she took the opportunity to press against him even more urgently, fitting her soft curves against his hard contours.

She felt his response immediately.

Her mouth curved beneath his. The next moment, she was kissing him even more passionately, stealing away the last of his breath. Sacrificing hers as well.

Brandon drew back his head. Breaking contact came under the heading of one of the hardest things he'd had to do. But it had to be done on the very slim, outside chance that Isabelle didn't realize she was about to push him entirely over the edge, emulsifying the last of his control.

“You keep doing that and I'm not going to be responsible for what happens next,” he informed her hoarsely.

There was no other way to describe it. The grin that curved her lips in response to his warning was nothing short of wicked.

It placed her in a completely different light in his eyes.

“Doing what?” she murmured innocently, her breath warm and teasing on his lips.

“Kissing me mindless.” The answer was tendered with effort. He struggled to hold himself in check when all he wanted to do was lose himself in her, to make love with her until he could no longer move.

She placed a hand to his chest, her fingers lightly feathering along the hard ridges.

Isabelle smiled up into his eyes. “I doubt if anything could render you into a mindless state.”

Now there she was wrong. “Keep kissing me like that and you'll find out,” he promised.

Laughter entered her eyes. “A challenge. I love a challenge,” she whispered huskily.

The next moment, she was kissing him again. Or was that him, kissing her? Brandon wasn't sure. All he knew was that she'd lit a fire within him. A fire that gave no indication that it could be quenched in the near future.

He wanted to take her now, here, in this place, while desire ravaged his body. But this was a public beach, and although the public appeared to be either asleep or elsewhere, he wasn't about to take a chance that one of Newport Beach's finest would somehow show up next to them at the worst possible, inopportune moment.

Besides, he didn't want to take a chance on having Isabelle vulnerable like that.

Aside from the fact that it would be absolutely embarrassing for her, he was fairly certain that he would never hear the end of it from his mother. Not to mention that inevitably, the media would get hold of it and that would embarrass not just Isabelle but his daughter as well. He couldn't risk it.

They needed to go somewhere private. Somewhere there wasn't a chance that his mother would materialize like an apparition who had lost her way.

That meant that his house was out. Granted, he had a
lot of rooms, but they were rooms his mother was given to roaming through at will. They needed somewhere more private.

For the second time in less than five minutes, he forced himself to draw back from the woman who had begun a fire in his core. His voice barely above a hoarse whisper, he said, “We'd better be getting back.”

She didn't want to let go of the moment or of the man. But she couldn't very well do what every fiber of her being was begging her to do—at least, not out here, out in the open, no matter how romantic the notion of making love beneath the stars might sound.

She thought of his house. It was huge, but there was always the chance of being interrupted by Anastasia or, far worse, by Victoria.

And then it came to her.

“Would you like to stop at my place…for a nightcap?” Isabelle asked, adding the coda just in case he'd suddenly thought better of what he'd just begun and turned her down. It was a way to save face in what could be a dicey situation.

One look into his eyes, and she knew that he wouldn't be turning her down.

“A nightcap sounds good,” he told her.
Making love with you sounds better.

Linking his hand with hers, he stooped down to pick up her shoes with his other hand. They started walking again and made their way back to the bookstore's parking lot.

The bookstore was dark, and the lot was empty except for his car. Aiming his remote at the vehicle, Brandon heard a tiny squeak in response, followed by both locks springing open.

He held the door for her. When Isabelle was seated, he rounded the hood and got in on the driver's side.

Chivalry, she thought with a small, appreciative smile, was not dead. It was alive and well within this dynamically handsome author of thrillers.

His genre was aptly named, she couldn't help thinking, because right at this moment, a thrill ran up and down her spine, ushered in by wave after wave of anticipation.

Every single nerve ending she possessed was at attention right now.

On edge.

Aside from a couple of “almost” experiences in college, both of which ended rather poorly, she had never actually made love with a man before. She was both excited about what lay ahead—and self-consciously worried about it at the same time. What if she didn't measure up?

What if making love with a novice, a virgin, completely turned him off? Being a virgin had never bothered her before. There'd never been anyone to whom she'd wanted to surrender herself to before. But now…

Now she wondered if she'd disappoint him.

Of course she would, she thought, mocking herself. At this point it was only a matter of by how much, not “if.” For the first time in her life, she regretted her lack of experience.

There had to be something she could do in order not to disappoint him, she thought frantically.

As they pulled up into her apartment complex, she continued to be both excited and afraid. What if she'd built this up too much? What if he was the one who failed to measure up?

Not possible. Look at him. The man is incapable of
disappointing you, even if he just spends the evening kissing you.

Okay, then, what do I do if I disappoint him?

She had no answer for that one.

Brandon stopped the car but remained seated for a beat longer. Her fingertips began to grow cold. Had he changed his mind? Was he rethinking the situation and finding her to be off-puttingly eager? Or did he feel she was lacking in some way?

Did he suspect that this would be her first time?

Nerves warred within her as she forced words to her ultradry lips. “Something wrong?”

He took a breath. This wasn't easy for him. He'd never been with anyone like Isabelle before. His tastes usually ran toward far more superficial women.

“I don't want you to think that you have to go through with this. What I mean is that I don't want you to feel like you're being pressured to…”

Her. He was thinking of her. Her eyes widened as the last of her solid form melted in the face of his thoughtfulness. With the transmission shift between them, she leaned over, grabbed Brandon by the lapels on his jacket and pressed her lips against his. This time there was no working up to it. This time she was kissing him from the depths of her soul right from the start.

An eternity later, she finally drew back. She needed to come up for air, and it was either that or keel over from lack of oxygen.

“Does that feel like I think I'm being pressured?” Isabelle asked him in a voice that was hardly louder than a whisper.

The smile in his eyes turned to a grin when it reached his lips. “Nope.”

She drew a breath, desperately trying to steady her
erratic pulse. “All right, then,” was all she said. The next moment, she opened the passenger door and swung her legs out.

She didn't remember walking the short distance from his car to her door. Didn't remember unlocking her door. What she did remember was being caught up in a whirlwind that swept over her the instant they were both inside the apartment. A whirlwind that fed a frenzy shared by both of them.

Hands were everywhere.

His.

Hers.

Hands, touching, claiming. Worshipping. And undressing.

Not slowly and languidly to heighten the intensity by increments but wildly, feeding the fire, stoking the need until it was all-consuming, imprisoning both of them in its ring of flames.

She remembered the feel of his mouth, his lips, his tongue. On her lips, her throat, her skin. Felt their hot imprint on her breasts, her belly.

Everywhere.

She felt the fireworks, the explosions as they rocked her, weakening her. Making her stronger. Bolder. What happened to her now was so much more intense, so much stronger than anything she could have possibly imagined.

She wanted to laugh, to cry, to scream with joy. Above all else, she didn't want this exhilarating experience to end.

Ever.

He'd never had a partner react the way she did. Had never felt the need to keep increasing a partner's pleasure the way he desperately wanted to heighten hers. It
was like unwrapping layer after layer of a gift only to find more layers waiting for him.

Excitement coursed through his veins, and it was almost like making love for the first time. Not a first time with a new partner but for the very first time.
Ever.

Because of her reactions, her eagerness, the way she twisted into him, the way she caressed him, at first almost timidly, then eagerly and finally, wantonly, she made everything seem brand-new and fresh again.

Made him want to do it all and see it through her eyes to increase his own pleasure even as he sought to cull hers.

Eternity seemed nestled within each heartbeat. The more he did, the more he wanted to do. As incredible as it seemed to him in hindsight, he just could not get enough of her. She made him insatiable.

But finally, unable to hold himself in check a second longer, Brandon knew it was time for the song that had been playing so wildly between them to reach its highest crescendo.

Holding her hands above her head, lacing his fingers through hers, he joined their mouths together a moment before he began to move himself into her. He heard the small gasp that escaped her lips. Or rather, he
tasted
it.

The resistance he met surprised him. It never occurred to him that she was—

His eyes widened. But before he could draw back, before he could ask, she was wrapping her legs around his, pulling him in. Forcing him forward.

He
felt
her cry as it emerged and then echoed between them. The next moment, she was moving her hips, enticing him.

Sealing the last outstanding bond between them, they were now truly one.

He began to move first slowly then, as she responded, more and more quickly until they were both breathlessly racing to an invisible goal line that was just beyond their reach.

And then it wasn't.

It was theirs.

His fingers tightened around hers just at the moment of release, and he could have sworn he heard her crying out his name.

A shower of fireworks and glimmering stars rained over them, euphoria grasping both of them and clutching tightly before slowly releasing its hold by inches.

He wanted to stay like this indefinitely, but he knew he couldn't keep his weight off her for long, no matter how good his intentions were. Besides, he had to know if he was right.