Six More Hot Single Dads!. Kate Hardy

he worried about? His mother? He had no reason to be worried in that department. “Don’t be,” she told him, then went on to add, “I already told you, your mother’s doing fine—”

      He cut her short before she could begin to elaborate. “Yes, I know.”

      Okay, she was confused, not to mention lost. “Then why…?”

      Pulling out of the parking space, he waited until he had straightened the wheel and driven to the corner before continuing. “I was referring to you.”

      “Me?” Now she was really confused. “You’re worried about me? Why?”

      This was unfamiliar ground for him. But then, he didn’t usually venture into this kind of territory. “I was worried that maybe, because of what happened earlier, you’d want to quit.”

      “What happened earlier?” she repeated, thinking he was referring to getting soaked in the shower. “No offense intended, Brandon. You’re a very famous man and all, but I don’t think you have what it takes to be responsible for a sudden drastic shift in the weather.”

      “Earlier than that,” was all he said as he began to drive back up Pacific Coast Highway. Quaint little shops whizzed by in reverse as he made his way back to MacArthur Boulevard and Newport Beach.

      That only left one thing. Her eyes widened in amazement. “You think I’d quit because you kissed me? Or because you stopped?” she added, a whimsical smile playing on her lips.

      When she mentioned the latter, he knew he was on safer ground. A note of relief slipped into his countenance. Granted, he could always find another physical therapist for his mother—it wasn’t as if Isabelle was the only one available on the North American continent—but his mother liked the woman, and that in itself was a rarity. Besides, he liked her, as well, and it wasn’t exactly a hardship having her around for a while longer.

      “Then we’re okay?” he asked for form’s sake.

      “We’re fine,” she answered. “Trust me, if you’d done something I didn’t like, I wouldn’t have meekly let it happen—or held my tongue. I might look like one, but I’m not a shy wallflower.”

      He thought of the way she’d driven like a speed demon to get back to his house so he could start getting feeling back in his legs. “No,” he agreed, “you’re not. And for the record—”

      He stopped abruptly as he began to maneuver his vehicle around a moving truck that hogged the entire road.

      Impatient, Isabelle forced herself to wait until he cleared the truck, then pressed, “Yes?”

      “For the record,” he repeated, “you don’t look like any wallflower I ever encountered.” Slanting a glance in her direction, he glimpsed her grin. “Why would you even say that?” he asked. “Who told you that you look like a wallflower?”

      “Zoe. My sister,” she added in case he’d forgotten her sister’s name.

      “I know who Zoe is,” he told her. He had a great memory when it came to names, people and places. “What you didn’t mention, however, was that she was blind.”

      Her smile blossomed into a full, wide, pleased grin. “She just worries about me,” she said by way of excusing her sister. “She wants me to make ‘the best’ of my ‘assets’ so that I don’t wind up growing old alone.”

      “I think you’re alone because you want to be,” Brandon told her, making a judgment call. “Not because you have to be.”

      That was all very sweet, but he was missing a very salient point. She knew it wasn’t exactly prudent to make the admission, but she’d never been one to play games. “I’m not exactly beating off men with a stick here.”

      Having temporarily put himself in her place, something he did whenever he was trying to understand someone’s motivation, Brandon had an explanation.

      “That’s because you’ve been burying yourself in your work.” He spared her another glance. “By choice, I’m guessing.”

      Was that a lucky guess, or was he just being polite? Either way, the man had managed to hit awfully close to the actual truth. She thought of denying it, but she had a feeling it would do no good. He was right, and she sensed that he knew it. But, she was willing to bet, he didn’t know why she wasn’t in the market for a relationship—and she intended to keep that to herself.

      “When did I tell you that I wanted my fortune told?” she asked wryly.

      “Consider it a bonus for working with my mother. Or,” he went on, giving her another way to view this, “you could consider this as the result of being around a writer who likes to stay on his toes by dissecting situations and people.”

      No, she thought, “bonus” was the way she viewed the outing they’d just had—and most of all, it was the word she applied to the kiss they’d shared. Both, in their own way, were precious to her.

      And, more than likely, a one-time-only kind thing. She didn’t foresee circumstances arranging themselves so that she found herself on the receiving end of affection any time in the near future.

      Or ever.

      “I’ll keep that in mind,” she murmured.

      It occurred to Brandon that he had never heard that particular sentence sound so very pregnant with possibilities before.

      Or promise.

      But then, he reminded himself, he’d only known Isabelle for a very short amount of time.

       Chapter Nine

      After that initial foray into Brandon’s creative process, much to her surprise and delight, Isabelle found herself being drawn further and further into the man’s literary world.

      To her the whole process was exciting beyond words. But, at the same time, she didn’t want him to think of her as some sort of a wide-eyed groupie. To that end, she’d already made up her mind to turn down his next invitation.

      Except that the next one was to attend a reception scheduled to be held directly after his book signing at one of the local branches of a large national bookstore chain. When he asked her if she wanted to attend, the word “no” hovered on her lips. However, it never actually emerged. She’d swallowed it the moment Brandon began to describe the event to her. Within moments she knew that she couldn’t pass up something like this. There would never be another opportunity to attend a reception like this as a guest of the author.

      Besides, she discovered that refusing him was next to impossible for her.

      Especially since he began by saying he’d take her attendance as a personal favor because she would be keeping an eye on his daughter and his mother, both of whom were coming to the signing and the reception.

      She couldn’t say no after that.

      And that was why the following afternoon, during a break between Anastasia’s morning and afternoon therapy sessions, found her in the nearby shopping mall. Since the reception was taking place after five, she was in the market for a simple black dress that promised to be anything but simple.

      There was nothing simple about the price tag attached to the dress. But, since this was a once-in-a-lifetime situation, Isabelle closed her eyes and thrust her credit card toward the sales clerk. The slinky little number, which fit her as if it had been created with her in mind, easily cost almost as much as the rest of the clothes hanging in her closet put together.

      But as Isabelle surveyed herself in the mirror the evening of the big event, she felt it was worth the price.

      It was difficult for her not to allow her imagination to take flight, creating fanciful scenarios that had built on that afternoon they had spent at Laguna Beach.

      She