Kate Hardy - Six More Hot Single Dads!

The beach, as it turned out, was located not that far from the bookstore. They gained access to it by taking a path that started directly behind the store and cut across an alley between two summer homes before it finally brought them straight down to the beach.

There was a full moon out, casting its light onto the waters.

Just for us, she thought, watching the moonbeams glimmer along the dark waters.

“There’s a full moon out tonight,” she commented.

“Like it?” Brandon asked, weaving his fingers through her hand as he deadpanned, “I ordered ahead for it.”

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.

She’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.