Free What the Single Dad Wants... by Marie Ferrarella

suddenly saw it, saw the way things were set up. Although cars were now restricted to a single lane going in either direction, there was the remnant of a shoulder available to her on the right side. It wasn’t anything an SUV could travel, but her vehicle was the size of a Smart Car with a gland condition.
    In two short moments, she made up her mind. Bracing herself, she suddenly darted into the space on the right. Once there, she immediately began maneuvering her way down toward the junction up ahead where, according to the information on her GPS, the traffic let up, the speed picked up to that of regular freeway travel and the entire way from there to his house was, for the most part, unobstructed.
    Surprised at the sudden shift onto the sidewalk and the fact that she was now driving in the defensive manner of an Indianapolis 500 racer, Brandon eyed her uncertainly. She’d just broken the law—or bent it in several places at the very least.
    They were picking up more speed, passing the other cars with absolutely no trouble. He could swear envious looks were being shot in their direction.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” he asked.
    She would have thought that would have been rather obvious. “Getting you home before you lose the ability to walk,” she answered simply.
    He didn’t want her getting into trouble on his account.
    â€œIf a policeman sees you, you’re liable to get one hell of a large fine,” he warned. Not that he would allow Isabelle to pay it, he added silently. She could hardly afford it, while he, on the other hand, would hardly notice it.
    She’d been very alert, searching for any sign of a police vehicle. She hadn’t seen any of Newport Beach’s finest in the vicinity.
    â€œI’ll play the odds,” she told him.
    So far, her vigilance had worked, and the odds had remained in her favor. She’d never gotten a ticket, and although she was far from being a speed demon, she wasn’t exactly a timid saint on the road, either.
    Despite his growing physical discomfort, Brandon took a scrutinizing second look at this young woman who was traveling up the shoulder of the road as if it was the most natural thing to do.
    â€œYou know, until just now, I thought you were a sweet girl-next-door type. But there’s a lot more to you than first meets the eye, isn’t there? You, Isabelle Sinclair, are a very complicated woman,” he concluded.
    She spared just the most fleeting of glances in his direction. The smile she saw on his face went directly to her gut. It made risking a ticket utterly worthwhile. The addition of a compliment just put the whole thing over the top.
    She got him home far faster than he thought possible. At the end of the trip, he came to the conclusion that his mother’s little physical therapist drove like a pro. Aracing pro. He wondered if it came naturally by way of genes, or was it just something she did by rising to the occasion?
    The next moment, as he opened the door on his side and tried to get out, all other thoughts vacated his head. There was nothing to focus on except getting out of the car.
    Or not getting out of the car, as the case was turning out.
    â€œHow are they?” Isabelle asked, concerned.
    The second she’d pulled up into the driveway and set the parking brake, she’d leaped out of the vehicle and quickly rounded the nonexistent hood to come to his side. He’d already opened the passenger door. Isabelle opened it wider.
    And then she remained standing there, looking at Brandon’s lower half as he attempted, unsuccessfully, to unfold himself and get out. It became painfully obvious that he was having difficulties after his second attempt failed.
    â€œNumb,” he answered honestly. “But I think there’s hope.”
    Brandon had always subscribed to the glass half-full school of thought. Nothing could be gained by anticipating the worst. If it was meant to happen, it would