Here I Am (8 page)

She placed the receiver on the bed where he could reach it. “I'm going to ask the agency to send another nurse in two weeks. I'd agreed to host a birthday party for a friend before being assigned to your case.”

“I don't want another nurse.”

“You can't be left alone,” Ciara argued softly.

“I'll get someone to hang out here until you get back.”

Not wanting to argue with Brandt, she adjusted the setting on the thermostat, dimmed the floor lamp in the sitting area and walked out of the bedroom and into her own. Ciara slept with the connecting door open, since there was no other way to know if her patient needed assistance. She'd come to enjoy sleeping in the large mahogany canopy bed.

Before going to sleep, she usually spent time in the kitchen, planning the next day's menu, followed by a leisurely soak in the tub, listening to classic love songs. She reluctantly climbed out of the tub, went through her nightly ritual of moisturizing her face and body, pulled a nightgown over her head and slipped into bed. She woke without an alarm clock, alert and ready.

H
alf an hour into Brandt's session with the therapist, Ciara left them alone. Mindful of the previous encounter, Thomas Lambert took a more conservative approach, putting Brandt through a series of exercises focusing on muscle strengthening using weighted pulleys to keep his upper body toned. She'd found herself mesmerized as she watched his pectorals, triceps and biceps flex as he did the exercises. There was still a fading bruise on his upper left chest where the seat belt had dug in. The bruises on his face from the air bag had faded completely.

He used a chair to exercise, lifting his lower legs parallel to the floor. The therapist started out with five reps and indicated it would eventually increase to twenty-five or more. A printout with illustrations of home exercises was affixed to a corkboard on the
wall next to a schedule of NFL and AFL games for the upcoming season.

Dr. Behrens had given Brandt a recovery timeline: six weeks to walk with crutches, eight weeks before he would be able to walk with canes. After ten weeks he predicted he should no longer use a cane and then it would be another five months before he would be able to walk without evidence of limping. He had cautioned Brandt against playing any contact sport until a year after the accident. Only then he would be medically cleared and nearly one hundred percent recovered and discomfort-free. Whether Brandt would ever suit up and play football again was something that would be determined by the NFL.

Walking into the dining room, she removed an armchair at one end of the table to accommodate Brandt's wheelchair. The table was set for six. Not only had Leona and her husband accepted the invitation to come for dinner, but Brandt's brothers and sister had also asked to attend.

Picking up a water goblet, she checked it for water spots. She'd returned it to its proper place when Brandt rolled in. “How was it?”

“A lot better than the last time.” He maneuvered closer to the table. “You're missing a place setting.”

Ciara's brow furrowed. “I don't think so. There's one for you, your sister, brothers and parents. That's six.”

“Where's yours, Ciara?”

She gave Brandt a long, penetrating stare. “I'm not eating with you and your family.”

“And why not?”

“Because I've made other plans,” she volunteered.
She'd searched online for restaurants and cafés on Second or Third Avenue that had caught her interest.

The first thing that sprang into Brandt's mind was that Ciara was going out with a man, and he didn't want to think of her smiling, touching and/or kissing another man. She was his…his nurse, and she was there to… His thoughts trailed off when he realized he had no basis for being jealous of Ciara and another man. He would expect her to seek out male companionship.

“Are you going out with someone?”

Ciara stared at Brandt, baffled. Why would he assume because she'd opted not to eat with his family that she would have a dinner date? “No.”

“Then that does it. You will eat here.”

“No, Brandt. I don't want to intrude.”

“You're not intruding. You've eaten with me every day since you've been here, so why should tonight be any different?” Brandt held up his hand when Ciara opened her mouth to come back at him. “Enough. Please put out another place setting. And I'd really appreciate it if you would stand in as my hostess tonight.”

“I'm surprised you ask, because I look dowdy.” Her query was dripping with sarcasm.

“That's not even close to being funny, Ciara. You wouldn't be a mess if you didn't wear those smocks.”

Ciara glanced down at her light blue top with bright red and yellow butterflies. “I think it's rather cute.”

“It's cute if you were a kindergarten teacher. If you need something to wear, then I'll give you my credit card and you can go shopping.”

“You want me to go shopping for an outfit and leave you home alone?”

“I'll be all right for a few hours. I'll stay in the sitting area either reading or watching TV.”

Ciara looked at Brandt as if he'd suddenly lost his mind. She didn't want to think of going into a boutique to shop, then attempting to pay with Brandt Wainwright's credit card. In no time she would find herself arrested, read her rights, cuffed and entered into the criminal justice system for credit card theft.

“That's okay. I'll use my own card.”

Brandt shook his head. “No, you won't. You'll take my card. If there's a problem, then have the store clerk call me.”

Ciara worried her lip. “You must not like me very much.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Why would you say that?”

“Even if the clerk does call you, I'll still have to go through the humiliation of people believing I'd stolen your card.”

The seconds ticked as Brandt stared at the woman who continued to confound him. Most women would've jumped at the chance to go shopping for clothes and not have to pay for them. “Do you have a favorite store?”

She angled her head. “I have a few.”

“Name one.”

“Barneys.”

“Where is it, Ciara?”

“Sixtieth and Madison.”

“What if I call the manager of Barneys and let him know you're coming in with my credit card. I'll give him all of my personal information, so that will eliminate a subsequent phone call.”

Ciara didn't want to believe her life had become a
rerun. Victor paid for the clothes he'd wanted her to wear whenever they appeared together in public. Initially she'd been flattered when he'd accompanied her on her shopping outings. Then, after a while she'd found it annoying. However, whenever she protested, telling him she didn't need him trailing behind her, it'd sparked a volatile confrontation. It always ended with Victor overruling her.

The only difference this time was she wouldn't have an escort. She could select the store and what she wanted to wear. She'd told Brandt Barneys because she'd never gone there with Victor. “Okay,” she agreed.

“I'll call a car to pick you up and bring you back.”

She shook her head. “That won't be necessary. I'll have the doorman call a taxi for me.”

“Doormen are notoriously nosy and I try to keep them out of my business. Do I need to say more, Ms. Dennison?”

“Say no more, Mr. Wainwright.”

His eyes narrowing, he studied the missing chair at the head at the end of the table. “I hope that's not where I'm going to sit.”

Resting her hands at her waist, Ciara gave him an incredulous look. “Of course it's where you're going to sit. Why?”

“There's no wineglass.”

She approached him. “That's because you can't have wine. Remember, you're taking medication.”

“Not today.”

“Yes today, Brandt.” She usually gave him his medication following the midday meal.

In a move too quick for the eye to follow, Brandt
pulled Ciara down to his lap, tightening his hold around her waist when she tried to free herself. “I told you that I intend to celebrate. And that means having a glass of wine.”

Ciara felt his hot breath on the nape of her neck and the muscled thighs under her hips. “Please let me go, Brandt.”

He pressed his mouth to the side of her neck. “I will if you let me have a glass of wine.”

She giggled like a little girl. “Stop, Brandt.”

“‘Stop, Brandt,'” he mimicked her voice.

In her attempt to free herself, Ciara's buttocks came into direct contract with his groin. Within seconds, as if he'd been shocked by a jolt of electricity, he'd achieved an immediate erection. Brandt swallowed a groan. The sensation racing through his groin was akin to intense pain—the most intense, pleasurable pain.

Ciara gasped and then exhaled a lingering sigh when she felt a gush of moisture bathe the sensitive folds of her vagina. Feelings she'd forgotten came to life as she surrendered to the strength of the man holding her to his heart. She pressed her hips downward as Brandt pushed upward, rocking back and forth over the swollen length of flesh. She felt the quickened beating of his heart against her back, the rapid breathing in her ear and the sharp nip of his teeth on the sensitive skin of her neck.

She'd challenged Brandt, asking what could he do sitting in a wheelchair. He'd shown her exactly what he could do in a chair, and without penetrating her. He was making love to her, and she was close to climaxing.

“Oh s…” Brandt swallowed the expletive when he felt
the familiar tightening in his scrotum. He was going to ejaculate, but he wanted to be inside the woman gyrating on his lap.

He'd tried holding back but couldn't when his heart felt as if it was going to explode. Then he did something he hadn't done since adolescence. He released himself while fully clothed.

Ciara felt Brandt's large body shudder at the same time the groan, beginning deep in his chest, exploded like the roar of a big cat. The sound was so primal she surrendered to the primordial forces taking her beyond herself. The first orgasm held her captive then it was followed by another and then another. She collapsed, her throat dry, her heart pounding a runaway rhythm and the pulsing reminded her of what she'd missed since walking away from her ex-lover.

“Br-andt…” His name came out in two syllables. “What have we done?”

Trailing kisses along the column of her scented neck, Brandt closed his eyes while enjoying the aftermath of making love with Ciara. “We've done nothing wrong, baby.”

“But—”

“No buts, no regrets.” He kissed her ear. “Okay?”

A beat passed. “Okay,” she whispered.

Brandt hadn't wanted her to feel guilty, because he didn't. He hadn't known her long. But that didn't matter. She was his nurse and he was her patient. That, too, had not mattered.

What mattered was how she made him feel whenever they shared the same space. He'd found himself at odds with Ciara Dennison because of their role reversal. He'd
been raised to take care of and protect women, but now it was Ciara who cared for and protected him. She'd gone after the therapist with the ferocity of a mother lion protecting her cub.

Was he upset because of the role reversal?

Yes.

Had he felt vulnerable when he hadn't been able to hide his pain from her?

Yes.

Had he taunted and bullied her? Had he mentioned her frumpy-looking uniform because he hadn't wanted to find himself attracted to her? Had he asked her to kiss him because he'd wanted to taste her sexy mouth again, and not just out of gratitude? The answers were yes, yes and yes.

The first night they'd shared the rooftop dinner he'd realized then Ciara Dennison was hiding her femininity. She'd permitted him glimpses of her natural beauty, however, when she'd exchanged the bun for a ponytail. After she'd exchanged her work clothes for a sweater and skinny jeans, Brandt hadn't wanted to believe she had attempted to hide her long legs and curvy hips under yards of unflattering fabric.

Her sitting on his lap, his arms holding her protectively, felt so right. It was as if she belonged there with him.

Resting the back of her head on Brandt's shoulder, Ciara wanted not to have any regrets, but guilt and shame lingered around the fringes of her mind. If she'd attempted to do what she'd done with Brandt in a hospital setting, not only would she have jeopardized
her position, but also her license to practice nursing in the state of New York.

“You're bad for me, Brandt Wainwright.”

He laughed. “I'm bad? You're the one who humped me.”

“I wouldn't have humped you if you hadn't pulled me down to your lap.”

“Don't try and wiggle out of it, babe. You were definitely the humper.”

Ciara snorted audibly. “That's because the humpee had a hard-on.”

“It couldn't be helped. You know you're kinda sexy.”

She glared at Brandt over her shoulder. “I thought I was dowdy?”

“That was before I saw you without the bun and the smock. I couldn't tell whether you were pregnant or you painted in your spare time.”

“Neither. Now, please let me get up so I can shower and change my clothes.”

Using one hand and keeping his free arm wrapped around Ciara's waist, Brandt deftly maneuvered the wheelchair out of the dining room and down the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

“We can shower together. I'll wash your back and you wash mine.”

Ciara grasped the arms of the wheelchair. “We are not going to shower together. And if you don't slow down you won't be the only one with broken bones.”

“I'm expert with this baby,” Brandt drawled. “Do you want to see me do a wheelie?”

“You try it and you'll find yourself looking for another nurse,” she warned.

Brandt slowed the chair, stopping outside the door to her bedroom. There was something in Ciara's voice that communicated she would follow through with her threat. He didn't want to lose her now that he was beginning to peel off the layers to uncover the real Ciara Dennison. He lowered his arm. “I believe this is your stop.”

Ciara practically jumped off Brandt's lap and raced into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. In a moment of madness she'd weakened and had found herself bumping and grinding with a man unable to walk on his own.

She made her way to the bathroom, stood in front the mirror, took off her glasses and stared at her reflection. The enormity of what had passed between her and Brandt Wainwright pressed down on her like a lead blanket.

Be careful, Ciara,
warned the voice in her head. She hadn't known what to expect with Victor until she was in too deep. But it would be different with Brandt, only because she was willing to become physically and not emotionally involved with him.

 

Ciara smiled at the driver when he opened the rear door to the Lincoln Town Car, extended his hand and assisted her from the vehicle. “Thank you.”