What the Single Dad Wants... by Marie Ferrarella Read Free Book Online Page A

Brandon Slade over to her small, crammed flat when he lived in a house that could easily accommodate half a dozen of her apartments didn’t exactly thrill her. She didn’t consider herself vain, but neither did she like to appear poor or become some kind of an object worthy of his pity.
    Isabelle bit her bottom lip, thinking. Maybe she could talk him into staying in the car while she threw a few things into a suitcase.
    He’s a man, not a pet to leave in the car while you run an errand. Besides, it’s hot today, unseasonably hot. You want him to get sunstroke?
    You’re not supposed to be vain, remember? Especially when you have nothing to be vain about.
    Having convinced herself, she lifted her head again, summoning a bright, breezy smile to her lips as she looked into his eyes and said with all the cheerfulness she was able to muster, “I’d love for you to come and help me pack, Mr. Slade.”
    â€œBrandon,” he corrected automatically. “And you lie very smoothly,” he told her in a tone he could have used to compliment her choice in shoes.
    Brandon took her arm as if they’d been friends forever and guided her toward the door. The grin he gave her was equal parts sexy, mischief and sunshine.
    The latter felt as if it was just bursting through her, giving light to all the dark corners she possessed.
    Her stomach bunched up again just as Brandon made a prophesy based on his last assessment of her ability to bend a lie to sound like the truth, something he did on the pages of his books time and again.
    â€œKnow what, Isabelle Sinclair? I’ve got a feeling that we’re going to get along just great.”
    With all her heart, Isabelle fervently hoped so.

Chapter Four
    I nstead of following her in his own car, the way she had assumed that he would, Brandon walked with her to her car and gave every indication that he was planning on accompanying her to her apartment in her vehicle.
    Isabelle took an immense amount of pride in her little car because—apart from it being economical and reliable, as well as, in her opinion, “cute”—it was also the very first new car she’d ever owned. Every other one she’d driven had been secondhand, time bombs, for the most part, waiting to go off.
    Those details not withstanding, she didn’t see why Brandon would choose to ride shotgun in her car. Since he was somewhere between six-two and six-four, and the vehicle had obviously been manufactured with passengers no taller than five-nine in mind, seating promised to be severely cramped for the author. Even when hepushed the passenger seat back as far as he could before attempting to get in.
    â€œAre you sure you want to do this?” she asked him uncertainly.
    â€œI’m game,” he told her as he began to fold himself up and angle his way into the limited space. It took a bit of doing, but he finally managed to get his entire torso inside the vehicle. As he contorted his arm to get the seat belt’s metal tongue into the slot, he cracked, “By the way, when’s the rest of the car coming?” This was not a good idea, Isabelle thought. “I’m sorry. When I bought it, I wasn’t expecting having someone your height getting into it. I hope you’re not too uncomfortable.” Even as she said it, she knew he was. He made her think of an early Christian martyr, doing penance.
    Brandon began to wave away her concern and discovered that he really couldn’t—at least, not literally. There wasn’t enough space available for him to execute the movement.
    â€œDon’t worry about it. This is roomy compared to some of the seats on the rides I’ve gone on with Victoria. There was one once at Jamboree-land where I thought I was going to have to fold my legs up around my shoulders, if not over my head.”
    She’d begun driving the second he’d managed to close the passenger side door. “You