Here I Am (14 page)

“It's my pleasure.”

Alex took a step, extending his hand to Ciara. “It's definitely
my
pleasure, Ciara.”

What the… The expletive reverberated in Brandt's head. He didn't want to believe his best friend was flirting with his woman, girlfriend, lover, nurse. Although he and Alex disagreed occasionally, it was never about a woman.

“I just thought I'd let everyone know,” he said as Alex cradled Ciara's hand in his, “Ciara has agreed to be my date tonight.”

Jordan stared at his cousin as if he'd taken leave of his senses. “Your nurse is your date?”

Aziza elbowed her husband. “M.Y.O.B.,” she hissed between clenched teeth.

“What?”

“She wants you to mind your own business,” Alex translated for his brother-in-law.

Ciara decided it was time for her to step into her hostess role. “Brandt and I decided dining on the rooftop terrace under the stars is the perfect way to end the day. Y'all can go on up and we'll be right behind you.”

Waiting until their guests made their way to the staircase, she rounded on Brandt. “What were you trying to prove?” she whispered angrily.

Brandt's expression was one of barely contained tolerance as he struggled to control his temper. A foreign and alien emotion held him in a savage grip, refusing to allow him to think with a clear head.

The moment Alex had touched Ciara, Brandt realized he was jealous, and in order to experience jealousy he had to care for her—a caring going beyond their sleeping together. He shook his head. No! There was no way he was falling in love with Ciara. He was probably confusing caring with passion. Yes, that had to be it. He was in love with Ciara's passion.

“Are you deliberately tuning me out, Brandt?”

“No. I'm not tuning you out, Ciara.”

“If not, then will you please answer my question?” she countered.

“I didn't want him mauling you!”

Ciara's mouth opened and closed several times. “Mauling? The man just shook my hand.”

“The man disrespected me in my own home.”

“What!” The single word exploded from her mouth.
“How did he disrespect you? Please tell me,” she continued when Brandt's jaw tightened.

“He came on to you not knowing anything about our association.”

“You're contradicting yourself, Brandt. Alexander is your friend and teammate. You guys are tight, so if you'd set up a woman for him to meet you would've told him beforehand.” She leaned over until their faces were level. “Please tell me what's going on before we go upstairs and we embarrass each other.”

Brandt's steady gaze bore into Ciara's. “Would you believe me if I told you I was jealous?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You, jealous? Of me and Alexander Fleming? I didn't know he existed before he walked in here.”

“And I didn't know you existed before you walked in here.”

Ciara's heart jolted, her pulse pounded erratically when she pondered what Brandt hadn't said. She felt as if her emotions were on a roller coaster, buffeted from side to side. Brandt was jealous of his friend because he wanted her for himself. What he wanted went beyond their making love with each other.

“You like me, don't you?”

He moved closer without moving. “Of course I like you, Ciara. I've told you that.”

She shook her head. “No. I mean you really, really like me.”

Brandt picked up a lock of her hair, rubbing it gently between his fingers. “Are you asking if like squared equals love?”

Ciara bit her lip, then nodded. “Something like that.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “I'm not certain whether I love you, because I don't know what it is.”

“Maybe you're confusing love with lust?”

“No, babe. I'm more than familiar with lust and what I feel with you right now is not lust. I want you, and I'll probably always want you, but—”

Ciara placed her fingers over Brandt's mouth. “We'll talk about this later. Have you forgotten we have guests waiting for us?”

He caught her wrist, kissing her fingers. “You won't let me forget?”

“Sure,” she drawled.

Brandt brushed his mouth over hers. “Love you, babe.”

Ciara winked at him. “Love you, too.”

C
iara removed the lids to the chafing dishes. Mouth-watering aromas wafted in the warm summer air. The setting sun lit the rooftop aflame with an orange glow that made light-colored surfaces appear as if they were on fire.

“Do you mind if I pour the wine?” Aziza called out.

“No!” Brandt and Ciara chorused.

Jordan sniffed the air. “I smell baked beans.”

Ciara turned and smiled at him. “Give that man a cigar.”

“Damn, brother,” Alex drawled, “you have a helluva nose.”

Brandt beckoned to those sitting at the table. “Grab your plates and come serve yourself.”

Ciara hadn't permitted him on the rooftop until after she'd set up the table with a white tablecloth, then added
a colorful runner. The far end of the table was covered with flower petals and tea lights. Each place setting held wine and water glasses, cloth napkins and small bowls of water with lemon slices. He'd helped her load the serving cart and set up the chafing dishes on a buffet server.

Ciara didn't treat him like an invalid, and for that he was grateful. He had to be mentally prepared for the time when he was medically cleared to begin walking.

He glanced up to find her leaning over his chair. “Sit down and I'll bring you a plate. Go, Ciara,” he whispered in her ear. “You've been on your feet all day cooking, so it's time for you to relax.”

“I don't want anyone to think I'm not taking care of my patient.”

He took her hand, dropping a kiss on the knuckles. “Remember, I'm your date, not your patient.”

Ciara ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, bringing Brandt's gaze to linger there. She knew they were playing a game—one in which both would come up winners. “If I forget, then you'll have to remind me.” She walked away with just enough sway in her hips to remind Brandt of what she'd been hiding under her smocks.

 

Brandt removed the cork from a bottle of merlot, allowing it to breathe before he filled his teammate's glass. He was surprised Alex had requested wine—he usually drank beer. “I do have beer downstairs.”

Alex shook his head. “The wine's good. In fact, the food is off the hook. Did you use a different caterer?” Brandt usually hosted a catered New Year's Eve party every other year.

Brandt exchanged a surreptitious look with Ciara. “Tonight's dinner wasn't catered.”

Jordan set down his water goblet. “Don't tell me you cooked?” He knew Brandt was an avid fan of cooking shows.

“No. Ciara did.”

For the second time that night Ciara found herself in the spotlight, the focus of attention. Cradling the balloon wineglass, she took a deep swallow of the dry red wine. Would it always be that way because of her association with Brandt Wainwright? When she dated Victor he'd always been the center of attention. But it had become the opposite with Brandt.

Aziza touched the napkin to her mouth after she'd swallowed a mouthful of potato salad. “Who taught you to cook like this?”

“My mother.”

“Is your mama married?” Alex quipped.

Ciara laughed when she saw the wistful expression on his handsome face. “As a matter of fact, she isn't. But that's not going to help you because my mother's not a cougar. She prefers men in her own age range.”

“Do you have a sister?”

“Alexander!” Aziza admonished.

“Aziza!” he mocked. “I'm not looking to get married. All I want is to find a woman who can do more than make reservations. I'm a very simple guy with very simple needs. Tell them, Brandt. Am I complicated?”

All eyes were trained on Brandt. “Do you really want me to lie to these good people?”

The stunned expression on Alex's face was price
less. “I always thought you were my boy and had my back.”

“I am your boy, but you're not simple nor is your lifestyle, so don't expect to attract a simple woman.”

Alexander turned to his brother-in-law. “Help me out here, Jordan.”

“I'd love to, but I'm afraid I wouldn't be impartial. Ciara doesn't know you. Give her your best-case scenario.”

The young athlete shook his head. “I'm afraid to ask my sister. She'll be forced to recuse herself because she, too, can't be impartial.”

Aziza gave her brother a pointed look. “If I were your attorney I'd suggest you take Jordan's advice and ask Ciara.
Now
I'm going to recuse myself.”

The entire table erupted into laughter, Alex joining the others. Pushing away from the table, he stood up. His upper body was silhouetted in the light from the flickering candles and the illumination coming from the atrium. He snapped his napkin with a flourish reminiscent of 18th-century fops. He bowed low to Ciara.

“Milady Ciara. I've come to court to plea my case before thee. Could milady please give me some advice as how to proceed with the young damsels with which I find myself besotted.”

Ciara laughed until tears rolled down her face. Alexander Fleming was blessed with enough dramatic flair that he could perform Shakespeare. What she couldn't fathom was how the man with the gorgeous body and face would have a problem attracting women.

Blotting her moist eyes, she waved him over. “Sit down and talk to me.”

Still in character, Alex sat down gingerly. His teeth shone whitely against his dark face when he smiled at her. “Thank you, milady.”

Placing her elbow on the table, Ciara rested her chin on the heel of her hand. “Do you have a problem attracting women, or holding on to them?” Brandt and Jordan cleared their throats in unison.

Alexander rolled his eyes at them. “I can get the ladies, but something happens after we go out a few times.”

“Can you be a little bit more specific?” Ciara asked.

“It's as if they have multiple personalities and I no longer recognize the woman I'd initially asked out.”

Brandt shook his head. “I've told Al what the problem is. It's PMS.”

Lowering her arm, Ciara glared at him. “Oh, no you didn't go there.”

“Did he really say PMS?” Aziza asked.

Brandt held up his hands in a defensive move. “What's wrong with PMS? You ladies do tend to have mood swings during that time of the month.”

“Sorry, cuz,” Jordan drawled. “I can't agree with you on that because Zee is always the same.”

“How's that, cuz?”

Jordan winked at his wife. “Snarky.”

Brandt and Alexander pounded the table. “Careful, cousin. ‘Snarky' will get you remanded to the sofa for three months.”

“I ain't scared,” Jordan drawled recklessly.

Aziza placed her hand on Jordan's shoulder. “That's
all right, darling. When I come up pregnant in the three months you're remanded to the sofa, you'll be the one on daytime television. The laugh will be on you when Maury announces, ‘You are not the father!'”

This time when everyone laughed, Jordan didn't join in. Resting a hand over his heart, he bowed his head. “Your honor, I'd like to withdraw that last statement.”

“What's up with the bad acting?” Brandt asked. “First we have foppish Vicomte de Valmont from
Les Liaisons Dangereuses,
followed by a remorseful Perry Mason. Man up!” he drawled, repeating what Ciara had said earlier.

“Hear, hear!” Aziza and Ciara intoned, raising their glasses.

Ciara was drawn into the warmth and camaraderie of the Flemings and Wainwrights. Although united through blood and marriage, they were friends as well.

When it came to family there was just her and her mother. Phyllis was an only child and she, too, an only child. Her grandparents were gone and Ciara knew of a few distant cousins, but it had been years since they'd gotten together. When she spoke to her mother again she would suggest contacting their Ohio relatives.

Contacting relatives on her father's side of the family was not an option, because the Dennisons had disapproved of William marrying Phyllis. They'd refused to attend the wedding or acknowledge the birth of their granddaughter. The adage “out of sight, out of mind” fit them to the letter. Ciara was certain their disapproval was a factor in William marrying another woman when he hadn't divorced his first wife—it
was the second wife the Dennisons approved of and fawned over.

Ciara peered at Alexander Fleming over the rim of her wineglass. She found it hard to believe he was still single. She'd discovered when the conversation segued to a more serious topic that he was twenty-seven, had never married and hadn't fathered any children.

She'd also discovered that Brandt had become Alex's mentor. He'd talked to him about the pitfalls of what he'd referred to as the precarious triangle: alcohol, drugs and groupies—things to be avoided at all costs if he wanted a successful football career.

“I know you're out this season,” Alexander stated, “but what about next year, Brandt? Do you plan on coming back?”

Clasping his hands together, Brandt rested them on his head, a habit he'd recently acquired because he found his shoulders and neck stiffening from inactivity. Each time he executed the motion Ciara stared at him. He lowered his hands.

“I do plan on coming back. It's the last year on my contract. Whether I plan to sign another contract is something I have to discuss with my agent.” He nodded to Aziza.

Aziza returned Brandt's nod. “And that's something I have to discuss with my client's doctor. If he says he can play, then we'll think about resigning for a year. If not, then Brandt will have to consider his plan B.”

Do you have a plan B?
Ciara mused. She hoped Brandt Wainwright did, because judging from the X-rays showing the amount of hardware in her patient's legs, she doubted whether he would ever play football again. But
that wasn't her call because Brandt was a commodity—a multimillion-dollar commodity.

Aziza moved her chair closer to Ciara's. “You and I have to get together because I want you to teach me how to make your oven-fried chicken, baked beans and what seasonings you use for the dry rub for the ribs. Jordan lived in Massachusetts for seven years and he claims he had baked beans and fried clam bellies at least three to four times a week.”

“That's a lot.”

“Try telling that to my husband.”

Ciara glanced at the magnificent yellow diamond in Aziza's engagement ring. It was as dramatic as the woman who wore it. “We can meet, but it would depend on your schedule.”

“I work from home.”

“Where do you live?”

“Bronxville. But we also have an apartment in Manhattan. I'm willing to go along with whatever is convenient for you and Brandt.”

“He went out yesterday for the first time since his accident and came back a little fatigued.”

Aziza nodded. “Interacting with the kids took a lot of his energy. I'd suggested he leave, but he insisted he wanted to stay and sign autographs for the hospital staff. Perhaps he's not aware that he had invasive surgery and it's going to take a while before he'll feel one hundred percent.”

“I'll do it, but let me talk to Brandt first.”

“No rush. Jordan and I are planning our first dinner party as a married couple in a couple of months, and I plan to cook and cater.” Aziza leaned closer, her
shoulder touching Ciara's. “I'd like to thank you for helping Brandt out of his funk. His mother told me that he wouldn't talk to or see anyone until you became his nurse. You should have seen the faces of the children when he let them sign his casts. It was like waking up on Christmas morning and finding everything you'd wanted under the tree.”

Ciara smiled. “Brandt's got a big bark and no bite.”

“He's the best, Ciara. I was reluctant to accept him as a client because I didn't want to have to deal with the overblown ego of a celebrity athlete. After meeting him I realized not only is he an incredible athlete, but he's also an incredible person. If only all of my clients were like Brandt Wainwright.”

“How many clients do you have?”

“Five, including Brandt.”

“That's not very many,” Ciara concluded.

“I know. Jordan and I are planning to start a family, and I didn't want to find myself overwhelmed with running a practice, taking care of my home and a new baby.”

“There are two words that should become a part of your vocabulary:
cleaning service.
”

Aziza laughed, satisfaction shimmering in her large eyes. “I like you and your style, Ms. Ciara Dennison.”

“Why, thank you so much, Mrs. Wainwright.” She'd perfected an authentic Southern drawl. “Do you mind coming with me to bring up coffee and dessert?”

Aziza popped up. “Let's go.”

The two women took the elevator to the first-floor kitchen, where Ciara pushed the Brew Cycle button on
the coffeemaker, while Aziza set down a platter with cream cheese–topped red velvet cupcakes on a trolley.

Leaning against the countertop, Aziza watched her hostess fill a crystal bowl with sugar and a matching pitcher with cream, moving around the space with the familiarity of someone who'd lived there for more than the few weeks since Brandt had returned to New York from North Carolina.

“You know he likes you.”

Ciara froze for a nanosecond, then continued stacking cocktail napkins on a tray with the cream and sugar. “I'm assuming you're talking about Brandt?”

“Who else would I be talking about?”

She gave the attorney a direct stare. “Alex.”

Aziza nodded. “You got me there. My brother knew when Brandt called you his date that it was time to dial down the come-on. But you were right the first time. I was talking about Brandt.”

“Brandt Wainwright is a very exciting, larger-than-life personality.”

“Are you talking about the ballplayer or the man?”

Crossing her arms under her breasts, Ciara leaned a hip against the countertop. “I'm not into sports, therefore I know nothing about Brandt the ballplayer. I was talking about the man.”