Here I Am (21 page)

Jordan shook his head. “No. The fewer who know about the suit the better.”

Easing her hand from Brandt's loose grip, Ciara massaged her temples with her fingertips. Tension made her feel as if she had a vise around her head. She'd spent the most incredible ten days of her life with a man she loved, only to return home to accusations that she preyed on wealthy men like a scavenger on carrion.

Brandt rubbed the back of Ciara's neck. “Why don't you go upstairs and lie down? If Jordan needs anything else, he can talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” She stood up, Jordan and Wyatt rising with her. “Thank you for everything.”

Wyatt and Jordan waited until Ciara left the room, then sat down again. A hint of a smile played at the corners of Wyatt's mouth when he met Brandt's angry expression. He was impressed that his favorite nephew had managed to keep his temper in check.

“You've got yourself a live one, boy.”

Brandt wanted to laugh, but he didn't feel like laughing given the seriousness of the situation that had prompted his cousin and uncle to come to his home. It wasn't often Wyatt displayed his softer side.

“I like her,” Jordan stated without guile.

“I like her spirit,” Wyatt said.

“I'd like to buy that rag and then fire Poppy,” Brandt mumbled.

Wyatt and Jordan exchanged a smile. “That can be arranged,” the older man said.

Brandt leaned forward. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

Jordan crossed his arms over his chest. “In today's economic climate, advertising revenue is down and papers are issuing pink slips left and right, so it has to be just as bad or worse for the tabloids. A journalist isn't legally bound to reveal his or her sources, but I think if we…”

“What are you hatching, Jordan?” Brandt asked when his cousin didn't finish his statement.

“I can't tell. If I do then that would you make you culpable.”

“Culpable to what?”

Jordan flashed a sinister smile. “Just say I'm prepared to make the owner of
The Informer
an offer he can't refuse.”

“What if he refuses your offer?”

“Then I'll sue the hell out of him, Poppy Rayburn and his rag.”

Brandt put up a hand. “Do what you have to do to clear Ciara's name.”

Bracing both feet on the floor, Wyatt leaned forward. “How serious are you about this girl, Brandt?”

Brandt decided to be forthcoming. “Very serious.”

“Serious enough to marry her?”

Brandt knew going away with Ciara had changed him and her. A few times he'd fantasized they were married and on their honeymoon. Her presence offered him a peace he hadn't thought possible. It'd been six weeks since she'd walked into his life, and in less than six weeks she would walk out.

“Yes. I'm in love with her.”

“Have you told her?”

Brandt smiled. “Of course.”

“What did she say?”

His smile faded. “Why the cross-examination?” he asked.

A sudden iciness flashed in the older man's eyes. “I need to know when I write a check to clear your girlfriend's name. The price goes up if she's your wife, because then she'll be a Wainwright.”

“I don't need your money.”

“I know you don't, Brandt. But as head of the family—”

“Your patriarch status is null and void where it concerns Ciara,” Brandt countered. “You take care of what belongs to you, and I'll take care of what belongs to me. Jordan, once you find out whatever it is you need
to seal your deal, let me know and I'll forward you a bank check. I don't want to appear rude, but I'm going up to check on Ciara.”

Jordan stood up. “No problem, cuz. I forgot to tell you that Zee won her sexual harassment case. Rather than go to trial, Kenneth Moore took a plea. His license was revoked, and he won't be able to practice law for the next ten years. He'll also have to give up two and a half million for her pain and suffering. Zee plans to use the money to set up a foundation for sexually abused women.”

Brandt smiled for the first time in hours. His brilliant attorney cousin had brought down the sexual predator that had harassed the woman who would become his wife. Now he was counting on Jordan to clear the name of the woman he wanted as his wife.

“The slug got off easy. Uncle Wyatt, how were sexual predators dealt with in your day?”

Seventy-eight-year-old Wyatt Wainwright blushed to the roots of his snow-white hairline. “I never witnessed it, but I did hear of some guy losing his family jewels in a botched circumcision. He almost bled to death, but somebody called the cops who took him to the hospital. Word was he was never the same.”

Jordan grimaced. “Damn. I suppose Moore did get off easy.” He rested a hand on Wyatt's shoulder. “Let's go, Grandpa. Zee and I are staying in the city this weekend, so that will give us time to talk about how we're going to deal with
The Informer.
” He gestured to Brandt. “Don't get up. We'll see ourselves out.”

Brandt sat staring at outside long after his uncle and cousin left. The Wainwrights had closed ranks because
they sought to protect the family name. He wanted to go to Ciara and reassure her that she had nothing to fear, that he would protect her, but the slanderous article had driven a wedge between them.

He had no doubt Jordan and Wyatt would do what they needed to do to clear the Wainwright name, and Brandt knew what he had to do to secure his future and Ciara's.

C
iara woke to find the spot next to her empty, but the impression on the pillow indicated Brandt had come to bed. After she'd left Brandt and his uncle and cousin in the living room, she'd talked to her mother, showered, swallowed two aspirin and gotten into bed. Within minutes of her head touching the pillow she had fallen asleep.

Sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she stared at her feet. They were as dark as the rest of her body. She'd forgone wearing shoes when on deck. If she'd been more uninhibited, she would've sunbathed without her top, but hadn't wanted to embarrass herself or a member of the ship's crew.

Ciara left the bed, walking on bare feet to the adjoining bath, stopping when she saw Brandt sitting on a stool, shaving. “Good morning.”

He smiled at her in the mirror as she walked to an
area of the bathroom where the commode and urinal were concealed behind a half wall of frosted glass. “Good morning.”

“You're up early,” Ciara called out.

Brandt drew the razor over his jawline. “I have a press conference.”

There came the sound of toilet flushing, running water, the whirr of a toothbrush followed by gargling. He'd splashed cold water on his face and patted it dry when Ciara came up behind him.

“A press conference for what?”

He met her eyes in the mirror. “To announce my retirement.”

With wide eyes, Ciara stared at Brandt, unable to process what he'd just said. “Why?”

Shifting slightly on the stool, Brandt grasped her wrist, pulling her down to his lap. “Why not?”

“But you love football.”

He gave her a tender look his mother had given him whenever he had taken the time to make rather than buy a gift for her. “I love you, too.”

Ciara shook her head. “No, Brandt.”

“No what? You think I'm doing this for you?”

“Aren't you?”

“No. I'm doing this for us. I expect to recover completely, but I also know that I'll never be able to play football again. One tackle, I go down the wrong way, then I'm messed up again. Maybe the next time I won't be so lucky to get a nurse who'll knock me upside the head when I want to throw in the towel.”

Looping her arms around Brandt's neck, Ciara rested
her forehead against his. “You're the worst liar I've ever met, Brandt Wainwright.”

He winked at her. “I thought I was pretty good.” His expression stilled, grew serious. “Our living together and sharing a vacation was a wake-up call that something was missing in my life.”

“A woman.”

“No, Ciara. Not any woman. You. I had to lie flat on my back, unable to get out of bed and perform the most basic functions by myself to realize I needed more than the cameras, the adoring fans and the Super Bowl ring. I put you in the line of fire when you went to that game with me. I made you a target even when you'd told me that you didn't want to be in the spotlight. If I'd listened to you, baby, Poppy would've never written that article.”

“That's where you're wrong, Brandt. If someone was out to get me, it would've happened sooner or later. I spoke to my mother. She told me ‘this too will pass.' I think she was referring to what she'd gone through when she found out my father was a bigamist. She had her pity party, then she got it together because she had to take care of me. I hope your uncle and Jordan don't think I'm ungrateful, but I really appreciate them coming to my defense.”

“That's because they think of you as a Wainwright.”

“But I'm not a Wainwright, Brandt.”

“You would be if you married me.”

“Why?”

Grasping her shoulders, Brandt eased her back to
where he could see her face. “You have to ask me why? Isn't loving you enough, or do you want more?”

“Hell, yeah, I want more, Brandt Wainwright. I have your love, but I also want you to promise you'll be a faithful husband, a loving and supportive father and you'll let me do whatever it takes to make you happy.”

His smile was dazzling. “Did you just say yes?”

Ciara sucked her teeth. “I can't believe I've fallen in love with a dumb jock.”

The last word had just slipped past her lips when she found herself straddling Brandt's lap, his hardness pressing against her mound over her nightgown. Gripping the front, he pulled at the cotton fabric, rending it from neckline to knee.

“No!”

Brandt flashed a feral grin. “Oh, yes.” Anchoring his hands under her knees, he pulled her legs up and over his shoulders, her back resting on his thighs, her head dangling over his knees. “Let the games begin,” he crooned, cradling her bottom in his large hands.

Ciara cried out, then swallowed a moan when his mouth covered her mound; his tongue moving in and out of her vagina made her feel as if she were having an out-of-body experience. Arms flailing and head thrashing wildly, she forgot to breathe, leaving her lightheaded and close to fainting.

She felt the flutters growing stronger and stronger. Ciara gasped again when Brandt lowered her legs and entered her in one sure, strong thrust. Now they were equals. Anchoring her hands on the sides of the stool, she moved up and down on his erection.

Brandt was transfixed by the firm bouncing breasts
and the expression of pure carnality sweeping over her sensual features, unable to believe she was his—forever. Their lovemaking was different, deeper, more satisfying. She'd become a Wainwright—his Wainwright woman even before they'd exchanged vows.

Her hot flesh squeezed his tightly, eased and then squeezed him again—this time tighter and longer than the previous one. “Oh, baby! Please, please, baby!” he pleaded shamelessly. “Please let it go.”

Ciara did let it go, love flowing from her heart and her body. “I love you, I love you,” she chanted over and over until it became a litany.

Brandt waited for his heart to resume its normal rhythm, then buried his face between her neck and shoulder. “Game over.”

Ciara giggled. “Who won?”

“No one. It's a tie.”

Running her fingertips up and down his moist back, Ciara exhaled audibly. “Yes,” she whispered after a comfortable silence. “Yes, Brandt, I will marry you.”

“When, baby?”

“Next year. After the Super Bowl.”

Brandt pressed a kiss under her ear. “Would you be opposed to a destination wedding?”

“I'd love a wedding on the beach with the ocean as the backdrop.”

Lines fanned out around his eyes when he smiled.
No tie!
“How many babies do you want?”

Her hands stilled. “Let's start with one, then take it from there.”

“I thought you'd want at least two or three, only child.”

Ciara laughed softly. “Slow down, sport. There's plenty of space on this floor to put in at least four bedrooms.”

“I can live with that.”

“Can you live without football, Brandt?”

Her question gave Brandt pause. He didn't want Ciara to think he was giving up the game for her; he was giving it up because it was time for him to walk—if not limp—away. “What I don't want to live without is you. Playing football was a temporary detour in my life's game plan. Fortunately, I have options many other athletes will never have. I can join the real-estate business, or I can go into business for myself.”

Ciara realized she didn't know the man she'd promised to marry as well as she should. “Why type of business would you set up for yourself?”

“I don't know. Maybe you can help me make up my mind.” Brandt didn't tell her that he'd contemplated buying
The Informer.
He knew nothing about running a newspaper, but he'd always been a quick study.

“I'm certain if we put our heads together we can come up with something viable,” Ciara said. She shrugged what was left of the nightgown off her shoulders. “You owe me a nightgown, Brandt Wainwright.”

“Sorry about that, babe. I guess I got a little excited.”

Ciara's eyebrows lifted. “Only a little?”

“Okay, a lot, only because you're a helluva sexy chick.”

“This sexy chick better let you get ready for your press conference. Where is it?”

“Aziza made arrangements for it to be held in one of
the conference rooms at Wainwright Developers. I want you to come with me.”

“No, Brandt. You have to do this alone. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here when you get back.”

He ran a finger down the length of her nose. “We're going to get the person who leaked that information to Poppy, and when we do they'll pay.”

“It doesn't matter anymore. You know what they say about karma.”

“Yes. It's a bitch.”

Ciara sobered, wondering if it was Victor who harbored a grudge because she'd rejected him. What, she mused, was her recourse? Would she be able to sue him over disclosing factual information? His defaming her character by calling her a gold digger was another matter. He was a control freak, but he was also a brilliant, selfless surgeon who'd helped countless people reclaim their lives. She had to determine what was more important—her pride or his brilliance.

“If it was Victor, then I don't want you to do anything to him. My marrying you is punishment enough. His knowing I'm going to lie down next to you every night and see your face when I wake every morning is enough. And when I give birth to your babies and not his—that will, as they say in the South, ‘take the rag off the bush.'”

Brandt stared at Ciara, his eyes making love to her. “How did I get so lucky?”

Curving her arms under his shoulders, Ciara kissed Brandt's thick neck. “I keep asking myself the same thing, and so far I haven't come up with an answer.
Maybe after we celebrate our golden anniversary we'll come up with an answer.”

“Do you think I'll still be able to get it up fifty years from now?” Brandt teased.

“Of course. There is no excuse for erectile dysfunction with the number of pills on the market.”

Throwing back his head, he laughed loudly. “I suppose Daddy will still be smoking.”

“Daddy will be all right as long as Mama doesn't put out his fire.” They laughed, sharing the moment when all was right in their world.

Brandt set Ciara on her feet, then reached for the canes several feet away. “After the press conference, I'm coming back to pick you up and we're going shopping for rings. I'll also make arrangements for your mother to come down and meet the family.”

“What if we let our mothers select the locations, and then we just show up?”

Again, it wasn't for the first time that Brandt couldn't believe he'd found someone like Ciara. He loved her. His family liked her. And she'd charmed the pants off Wyatt Wainwright.

Football had been good to and for him, but spending the rest of his life with Ciara was something even more special, and he couldn't wait to make her a Wainwright woman.