Here I Am (10 page)

“Miss Clarissa. Your brothers are here.”

“Please send them up.” She returned to Brandt. “We'll talk about your nurse later.”

“No, we won't,” Brandt countered. “I don't intend to explain Ciara.”

He'd never been one to discuss the women with whom he'd been involved with his family—and certainly not with the press. As a professional athlete his life had become an open book, subject to scrutiny and censure, while discretion was something he'd come to covet.

Early in his career Brandt had learned to play the game: show up for photo ops, be seen with the models
and actresses and always sign autographs and show up for charitable events. Even when his publicist had suggested he cultivate a bad boy image to sell copy, he'd refused. Occasional profanity was as far as he would go. Behaving badly hadn't been and would never become an option, because he had to think of his reputation once his football career ended.

“You don't have to,” Clarissa threw over her shoulder as she turned to walk out of the library. “I'll just ask her what's up between the two of you.”

“Let it go and mind your business.”

“Uh-oh. Aren't we touchy?”

The doors to the elevator opened and Garth and Sumner Wainwright stepped out into the expansive entryway. There was no mistaking they were related. Both were blond, several inches above the six-foot mark and broad-shouldered. Garth's eyes were a sensual cobalt blue, Sumner's a cool, smoky gray. Both were casually dressed in slacks and shirts, sans ties and wearing lightweight summer jackets.

Garth slapped Brandt's shoulder. “You're looking good, big brother.”

Sumner, less effusive, nodded. “You do look great.”

Brandt smiled at his brothers. “Great is when I won't need this chair. Thank you, guys, for coming.”

“Where are Mom and Dad?” Garth asked.

Clarissa looped her arm through Sumner's. “They're having cocktails in the solarium.”

Garth sniffed the air like a large cat. “Something really smells good.”

“We're having Thai…” Brandt didn't finish his statement when he realized his brothers were staring
at something over his shoulder. He maneuvered the chair to see the object of Sumner and Garth's rapt gazes; he knew what they were experiencing when he found himself ensnared in a similar soporific spell.

It was as if he were seeing Ciara for the first time: he took in the length of her shapely legs, her trim thighs and how the black dress hugged her hips and breasts. Brandt heard his brothers' slow exhalation of breath behind him. It was apparent Ciara had the same effect on his brothers that she had on him.

“Who is she?” Sumner whispered in Clarissa's ear.

“I'll let Brandt tell you,” she whispered back.

Brandt, ignoring the whispering going on behind his back, extended his hand to Ciara. “Now that everyone's here, we can go into the dining room.”

Garth and Sumner shared a confused look. “Aren't you going to introduce us to the lady?” Garth asked.

“My bad,” Brandt drawled, successfully biting back a grin. “Ciara, these are my brothers, Garth and Sumner. Bros, this is Ciara Dennison, my private nurse and our hostess for the evening.” The three exchanged smiles and handshakes. “Now that we have the introductions out of the way, I think it's time we eat.”

C
iara, seated on Brandt's right, stared at Sumner Wainwright. His hair was cropped military-style, but it was his cool gray eyes staring back at her that made her feel slightly uncomfortable. She shrugged off the feeling, intent on enjoying the food the chefs had prepared for dinner.

The waiter had filled wineglasses with a pale blush wine and Brandt raised his glass in a toast. “I'd like to toast my family, who had to put up with my bad moods these past few weeks. Thank you for not abandoning me.” His gaze shifted to Ciara. “And to Ciara, who stood her ground and wouldn't permit me to wallow in the woe-is-me syndrome. You don't know how much I've come to rely on you.”

“Hear, hear,” everyone chorused.

Ciara took a sip of the cool wine, her gaze downcast. When she looked up she saw everyone staring at her.
What did they expect her to say? Brandt was her patient, and as his nurse it was her responsibility to take care of him.

The waiter, carrying a tray with a variety of appetizers, shattered the pregnant silence. Placing the tray on a cart, he placed chopsticks at each place setting, and then set out plates of spring rolls, cold noodles with sesame sauce, chicken and beef satay and a variety of steamed chicken and shrimp dumplings along with mixed vegetable dumplings.

“This is the best Thai food I've had since returning from Phuket last year,” Fraser said before dipping a piece of spring roll into a plum sauce.

Clarissa stared at her father. “You're not thinking about returning to Thailand, are you?”

Fraser shook his head. “No. Your mother threatened to divorce me if I go back.”

Brandt rested his hand on Ciara's knee under the table. “My father represented Wainwright Developers in Thailand when they put up an office building, because he speaks several Asian languages, including Thai, several Vietnamese dialects and fluent Japanese.”

“Ciara, have you ever traveled abroad?” Garth asked.

She smiled. “I had the Grand Tour after graduating high school. My mother took me to Europe for the summer.”

Phyllis Dennison had promised her daughter if she graduated in the top one percent of her class she would take her to Europe. Ciara studied when she should've been hanging out with her friends, who teased her about becoming a geek. Geek or not, her desire to see another part of the world trumped going to the mall, movies or
sleepovers. Boys were interested in her, but she managed to delay dating until college. By that time it was too late to learn the give and take of interpersonal relationships. She'd chosen badly and in the end suffered.

The conversations floating around the table went from foreign travel to movies and finally to the antics of high-profile A-list movie stars as the appetizers were replaced with pad Thai, a spicy crispy-duck salad then entrées of chicken, beef and shrimp with a plethora of sauces that included ginger, basil, green curry, peanut, sweet and sour, and lemongrass. Brandt had requested the chef prepare his father's favorite Thai dish, Bank Kok, crispy fried whitefish with bell peppers and string beans served with the chef's special sauce.

Not only had dinner become a family reunion, but it also served as a peace offering. Conversation was lively, with Brandt smiling and laughing. Even Sumner seemed to shed his dark mood to join the others when Fraser attempted to tell a joke that would've been funny if he hadn't given away the punch line.

“Daddy,” Clarissa wailed, “please give it up. You're never going to tell a joke without flubbing it.”

Fraser winked at his daughter. “I did it once without flubbing it. Ask your mother.”

Leona, resting a hand on her chest, shook her head. “I can't believe you'd ask me to lie for you—especially in front of my children.”

“Your children are thirty-three, thirty-two, thirty and twenty-eight respectively,” Fraser countered. “So don't talk about them as if they are little kids.”

Brandt stared at Fraser. “Dad, why is it when you
and Mom talk about us we're always her children and not yours?”

“Your mother and I agreed that when we had children I would leave the childrearing to her.”

“No, we didn't, Fraser Wainwright.”

Pushing back his chair, Garth stood up. “I'm sorry to break up this warm, fuzzy gathering, but I have to fly to the West Coast tomorrow morning.”

“Who or what is on the West Coast?” Brandt asked.

“An actress, whom I'm not at liberty to name at this time, who wants me to design a small café off Puget Sound for her partner.”

Brandt raised his water goblet. “Good for you.”

“What would be good is if he'd come to work for Wainwright Developers,” Fraser mumbled under his breath.

“Dad, please don't start with Garth,” Brandt retorted. “I thought we agreed after I decided to play football that you wouldn't put pressure on
your
children to make them join the family business.”

A flush darkened Fraser's face under his summer tan. “Your mother and I did agree.”

Brandt closed his eyes for several seconds, reliving the brouhaha that had ensued after he informed his parents that professional football had become his career choice. “If that's true, then, please, let's not talk about it. Not tonight.”

He didn't want his father to ruin what had become the best night he'd had since Jordan's wedding. And having Ciara sitting next to him had been an added bonus. She'd surreptitiously communicated to the waiter when to bring each course or refill wine and water glasses, and
when she admitted to traveling abroad he wanted to hear all about the places she'd visited.

Garth rounded the table, kissed Leona and patted Fraser's shoulder. “I'll call you and we can get together after I come back.”

Fraser smiled. “No problem, son.”

“Are you coming, little brother?” Garth asked Sumner.

“I'm an inch taller and at least ten pounds heavier than you. So that makes you the little brother,” Sumner teased, rising to his feet.

Leona stood up. “I think it's time we all leave so Brandt can rest.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, darling, for inviting us. And thank you, Ciara, for making the evening even more enjoyable.”

Ciara and Brandt waited as the Wainwrights filed into the elevator, the doors closing behind them. They shared a knowing smile. The food had been delicious, the company delightful and the conversation interesting.

She smothered a yawn, chiding herself for drinking two glasses of wine. One was enough to relax her, two usually made her sleepy. “Are you ready to go to bed?” she asked Brandt. It was after ten-thirty.

“Not yet. I'm going to wait until Angaraka finishes up in the kitchen, then I'll go to bed.”

“That's not necessary, Brandt,” Ciara argued softly. “I'll stay and you go to bed.”

“Are you certain?”

“Very certain,” she confirmed. “You had physical therapy today, so I don't want you to overdo it.”

“I'm not tired.”

“And I don't want you to get tired.”

Grasping the handles, Ciara pushed the wheelchair into Brandt's bedroom. She removed the casts, helped him undress and lowered the hospital bed to make it easier for him to transfer from the chair to the bed. She dimmed the lamp in the seating area and adjusted the thermostat while waiting for Brandt to emerge from the bathroom.

Brandt maneuvered the chair close to the bed, and with a minimum of effort, pushed off the chair and into the bed. “There's an envelope on the desk in the library. Please give it to Angaraka.”

Ciara nodded, adjusting the sheet and lightweight blanket over her patient's legs. She'd reverted to her nurse's persona. “Good night, Brandt. I'll come and check on you later.”

“I meant what I said earlier.”

“What's that?”

“I've really come to rely on you.”

“That's why your mother hired me. To take care of you.”

Brandt tried making out Ciara's face in the dimly lit room. Fatigue he hadn't felt before now swept over him, making it difficult to keep his eyes open. “That's not what I'm talking about.”

Ciara noticed Brandt was slurring his words, and she attributed it to either fatigue or the glass of wine he'd consumed with dinner. “Go to sleep.”

“I like you, Ciara.”

“I like you, too, Brandt.”

His eyes opened. “You don't understand.”

Ciara smiled. “Yes, I do. Go to sleep.” She enunciated each word.

Brandt felt the warmth of the body he longed to touch, inhaled the subtle scent of the perfume that was as feminine and sensual as its wearer. It was the first time in a very long time he hadn't wanted to sleep alone, and it wasn't about sex, but companionship. Every night he went to sleep thinking about Ciara, and when he woke it was she he wanted to see.

“Good night.”

Ciara heard the soft snoring as she walked into the connecting suite and slipped out of her shoes and into a pair of fluffy slippers. A moan slipped past her lips when she felt the slight ache in her thighs. Miss ChaCha reminded her that wearing stilettos would take some getting used to. She found the envelope on the desk in the library, giving it to Angaraka as he and his staff packed up their equipment.

Twenty minutes after the elevators doors closed behind the caterer, Ciara removed the contacts, cleansed her face of makeup, fashioned her hair into a single braid and slipped into a pair of pajama pants with a matching tank top. She checked on Brandt. He was sleeping soundly.

She went into her bedroom, leaving the connecting door slightly ajar, and got into bed. Interacting with the Wainwrights reminded her that she'd always wanted a brother or a sister. Being an only child had its advantages and disadvantages. She hadn't had to share her toys or clothes and hadn't experienced sibling rivalry; but as an only child she would never become an aunt, couldn't call a brother or sister for emotional support. Maybe if she'd had a brother she wouldn't have had to deal with Victor Seabrook all by herself.

Ciara had thought it admirable that Brandt had stood up for Garth when Fraser hinted at him joining the family's real-estate conglomerate. She was fortunate her mother never tried to dissuade her from becoming a nurse. Phyllis's only comment was that if she wanted a career in medicine, why not become a doctor? Ciara knew she'd had the aptitude and the GPA to get into medical school, but not the patience to commit the time it took to earn a medical degree.

She tended to analyze people when she first met them, but Ciara decided to reserve judgment when it came to Brandt's family. They weren't the Brady Bunch, and yet they weren't as dysfunctional as those featured in TV reality shows.

Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for her family. Not only had her father cheated on her mother, but he'd also married another woman. Unfortunately for William Dennison, bigamy was illegal in New York. And once his divorce from Phyllis was finalized, he remarried his second wife in what he'd called a renewal of vows when it was actually their first legal union.

Pounding the pillow under her head, Ciara turned over and closed her eyes. She had to stop thinking or she would never fall asleep. Sleep did come and with it an erotic dream of her writhing on a bed with Brandt.

 

Brandt, pushing into a sitting position, reached across his body and after two attempts picked up the telephone. “Hel…lo,” he stammered.

“Brandt! Are you awake?”

He rested his free arm over his forehead. “Of course I'm awake. I'm talking to you, aren't I?”

“Do you know who this is?”

Brandt managed a wry smile. “There's no way I wouldn't recognize your sexy voice.”

“I'm going to tell my husband that his cousin is hitting on his wife.”

“Jordan would never believe it. It's known that Wainwright men never go after another man's woman. Why the early-morning call, Aziza?”

“I've been calling your cell phone for the past four days. They all went to voice mail. I didn't want to ring your house phone, but I only have a small window in which to respond to a request for you to visit the pediatric wing of a local hospital. When the hospital administration polled the kids as to who they most admire, your name topped the list.”

Brandt digested this information. His popularity usually escalated during the preseason, when sports-casters and photographers followed controversial players, interviewed coaches and offered daily reports on those who were still holding out signing contracts in lieu of higher salaries.

“Are they aware that I'm in a wheelchair?”

“You sitting in a wheelchair is temporary, Brandt. Some of these kids will spend the rest of their lives in a chair.”

His brow furrowed. “Pile on the guilt, Mrs. Wainwright.”

A husky laugh came through the earpiece. “You're the first one to call me Mrs. Wainwright since Jordan and I returned from our honeymoon.”

“For better or worse, you are now one of us.”

“Jordan reminds me of that every day. Now back to why I called you. Can you make it?”

Brandt closed his eyes. He wanted to decline, but children, whether sick or healthy, were always a priority for him. During his fifth year in the NFL he'd set up a charity focusing on athletic and academic scholarships for high school students from low-income families.

“When and where? Okay,” he agreed after Aziza gave him the name of the hospital and the time he was expected to appear. “Will you be there?” he asked.

“I wouldn't miss it. Hang up so I can arrange for a car and driver to pick you up.”

“Don't bother. I have my own driver.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I'll see you later, Mrs. Wainwright.”

“Hang up, Brandt.”

“See you later, beautiful.”

Brandt had just ended the call when Ciara walked into the bedroom, damp hair falling around her face. He smiled. After the dinner with his family, she'd exchanged her usual baggy outfit for slacks, shorts and blouses. Sandals had replaced her clogs. What she hadn't exchanged were her glasses for the contact lenses.