What the Single Dad Wants...

by Marie Ferrarella

  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.

  Pivoting on his elbows, Brandon drew back, separating their physical union but not their souls. One hand around her, he moved Isabelle closer to him.

  Slowly, his surroundings began to dawn on him. They were on the floor in her living room, clothes scattered on either side of them. The coffee table had gotten kicked to one side.

  He had no memory of that. No memory of anything, really, except for the hunger that had taken bites out of the pit of his stomach because he’d wanted her so much.

  “Isabelle?”

  Here it came, she thought, tensing. The question. Had he been greatly disappointed or only just a little?

  “Yes?” she murmured so quietly, he almost didn’t hear her.

  “Are you…” He had trouble forming the word, because with it came guilt. “A virgin?”

  “Not anymore.” She deliberately avoided his eyes, looking off to the side.

  “But you were.”

  “We all were at one point or other.”

  “Don’t play games with me.”

  She couldn’t remember ever hearing him sound this stern before. “Yes,” she admitted. “I’m sorry.”

  The words he was about to say froze as he looked at her, utterly confused. “Sorry?” he echoed. “Why are you sorry?”

  “That I obviously disappointed you.”

  He drew himself up a little more, staring down at her incredulously. “Where did you get that idea?”

  “Then I didn’t disappoint you?” she asked, surprised.

  “No,” he said emphatically. “Of course not. But if you’d told me ahead of time, I would have gone slower, been more gentle….”

  “Not possible,” she answered. “You were perfect. And if I’d have told you, you wouldn’t have made love with me,” she pointed out. “Would you?”

  She had him there. But not for the reason she thought. “No, I wouldn’t have,” he admitted. “But only because a girl’s first time should be something special, with someone special.”

  Her eyes held his. “What makes you think it wasn’t?”

  He didn’t know how to answer that. How to share the warm feeling her words had just created within him. So he changed the subject. Sort of.

  Looking around, he observed, “I guess we never made it to the bedroom.”

  Relieved that he’d dropped the matter of her virginity, she smiled. “Guess not. Next time,” she said. The next moment, her own words replayed themselves in her head and she tried to backtrack. “I mean…”

  He saw the slight embarrassment, saw the splash of color coming into her cheeks. Why did that make her look so appealingly adorable? He didn’t even like the color pink.

  “Next time,” he echoed, coming to her rescue.

  He was rewarded with a grateful smile and knew he’d instinctively said the right thing.

  Pressing a kiss to her forehead, more tender than heated, he said, “Give me a few minutes to catch my breath and we can see about making this time the ‘next time.’”

  Amazed, she propped herself up on her elbow and looked at him. Everything she’d ever heard pointed to most m
en only being interested in one thing, and when it was over, they went on their way—or fell asleep.

  “Really?”

  He could only smile in response as the words “delightful” and “adorable” echoed in his head again.

  “Really,” he said, not a hundred percent sure what he’d just confirmed, knowing only that it seemed to make her happy, and he’d discovered that he enjoyed doing that. Enjoyed it a great deal.

  It had been a long time since he’d felt this free, this content. It came as a double surprise because he’d been convinced that his distrust of his own reactions would always mar the experience for him. He had Jean to thank for that.

  And now, for however long this lasted, he had Isabelle to thank for bringing him back from that numb, dark place.

  Chapter Twelve

  “You were very late getting in last night,” Anastasia commented to Isabelle during the following morning’s physical therapy session. Because she was fairly certain that she looked a little unnerved at the observation, she wasn’t surprised to hear the actress explain, “I was having one of my sleepless nights and for once, the book I was reading did not put me to sleep. I had my bedroom door partially opened and I heard the two of you when you came in.”

  Isabelle instinctively braced herself for a volley of questions. It was an ingrained response. When she’d lived at home, her father would always grill her, bombarding her with questions whenever she came home after a date. At first she’d told herself it was just because he cared and was being overly protective. Eventually she realized it was because he was jealous that she was paying attention to another male. Though he never displayed any affection toward her, he wanted to be the focus of her world. He never seemed to understand that in order to get so much, he needed to give at least a little.

  Braced, she was more than a little relieved when all Anastasia asked was, “Did you have a good time?”

  The woman seemed apparently satisfied with the answer she gave when she said, “Yes.”

  Resuming the new task she’d been assigned involving a large, colorful scarf that was tied around her upper thighs and keeping it there as she moved across the room, Anastasia smiled and nodded quickly.