“You’re an incredible cook,” Brandt said, raising his goblet.
She raised her goblet in acknowledgment. “Thank you.”
Brandt speared another forkful of salad, savoring the differing flavors and textures on his tongue. “I’d ordered groceries before driving down south, because I knew I wouldn’t have time once mini-camp and preseason began.”
“Do you usually cook for yourself?”
Brandt nodded. “Not enough, even though I enjoy cooking.” He put up a hand. “Before you ask, I’ll admit to watching cooking channels. I’ve learned to make Paula Deen’s Southern fried chicken and Aaron McCargo Jr.’s stuffed pork chops.”
Leaning back in her chair, Ciara saw excitement light up Brandt’s eyes. It was apparent football, plants and samurai swords weren’t Brandt’s only interests. “What’s your best dish?”
“Shrimp and grits. I’m still trying to perfect an authentic New Orleans po’ boy.”
“Hey-y-y,” she crooned. “So you like Southern cuisine.”
“I love it. That’s why I bought a place in North Carolina.”
Resting her arms on the table, Ciara leaned closer. “Why North Carolina?”
Brandt speared a slice of steak and popped it into his mouth, moaning under his breath. “Delicious. Why North Carolina?” he repeated. “I had a teammate who’d gotten into real estate with his brother-in-law. They gave me a prospectus of new homes and lodges going up around Lake Lure. It only took one visit to convince me to buy.”
“Where is Lake Lure?”
“It’s near Chimney Rock, around twenty-five miles southeast of Asheville. The long-time locals told me the exterior shots in Dirty Dancing were filmed in Lake Lure.”
“I thought it was filmed in the Catskills,” Ciara admitted.
“I’d thought so, too. It’s the same with Last of the Mohicans—it was also filmed in North Carolina.”
The topic segued from food to movies and music, Brandt confessing he had a fondness for movie sound-tracks. Ciara felt as if she’d escaped to another universe devoid of city noise and traffic. If it hadn’t been for the sound of passing air traffic overhead she would’ve forgotten she was sitting on a rooftop terrace in the middle of Manhattan.
The conversation came to an abrupt halt when Ciara’s cell phone rang. Reaching into the pocket of her tunic, she stared at the display. It was Leona Wainwright. Excusing herself, she stood up and walked a short distance away so Brandt couldn’t overhear her.
“Hello, Leona.”
“How is everything?”
Her gaze lingered on the choppy waters of the East River before shifting to the roofs of buildings with water towers and central and cooling units. “It’s going well. We’re eating dinner on the terrace.”
“He’s eating?”
Ciara noted the surprise in Leona’s voice. “I’m going to be honest with you. He doesn’t like the frozen dinners you brought over.”
“Did you order in?”
“No. I cooked dinner.”
“I hadn’t planned on you preparing meals for Brandt. Don’t worry. I’ll pay you separately for cooking for my son.”
“You don’t have to, Leona.”
“Yes, I do. If I didn’t pay you I’d have to pay someone else. And I don’t want to get into another argument with Brandt. What matters is that he’s eating. The next step is to convince him to start accepting visitors. The entire family traveled to North Carolina to see him, but he was so heavily sedated that he probably doesn’t remember who was there. I don’t expect you to become a miracle worker, Ciara. But please try and get him to change his mind.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said, not willing to promise anything.
She wanted to tell Leona that she had to take it one day at a time. Tonight was the first time in weeks Brandt had gotten out of bed to eat, and she didn’t want to force him into doing something he didn’t want to do.
“Do you want to call me tomorrow, or should I call you, Ciara?”
“Let’s make it every other day—unless something comes up. If Brandt is willing to accept visitors, then I’ll call you. Right now I would recommend immediate family members and only one or two at a time. I don’t want to be rude, but I’d like to get back to make certain Brandt finishes his dinner.”
“I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t know I’d interrupted you,” Leona apologized. “I’ll wait for your call.”
Ciara ended the call, slipping the tiny phone into the pocket of her smock. “Sorry about the interruption,” she said to Brandt as she sat back down.
Folding his arms over his chest, Brandt angled his head. “I’d like you to answer two questions for me.”
“Only two?” Ciara teased, smiling.
Brandt’s impassive expression did not change. “For now.”
“What are they?”
“Why do you wear your clothes so baggy?”
Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “And what is the other question?”
“How do you maintain a normal love life when you sign up for an extended nursing assignment?”
“The second question is a lot easier to answer than the first. Right now I’m not seeing anyone.”
“But you do date?”
“Yes, I date, Brandt. Why are you asking?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Maybe one of these days when I’m not in this chair I’d like to take you out for dinner to say thanks.”
“You want to date your nurse?”
“By that time you won’t be my nurse. And it really won’t be a date.”
Ciara stared at him in surprise, recalling his former hostility. “It wasn’t that long ago that you ordered me out of your home and now you’re talking about taking me out.”
“That’s before I got to know you.”
“Know me or came to the realization that I’m not going anywhere?”
“Both.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t go out with you.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Okay, won’t. I’ve made it a practice not to date celebrities.”
“Have you ever dated one?”
She wanted to tell Brandt to let it go, that he shouldn’t take her response as a rejection. “Yes.”
“Who is he?”
“I can’t tell you.” Ciara was more than surprised that he’d asked her something so personal. She was certain if she’d answered his question Brandt would recognize the name.
A slight frown creased Brandt’s forehead. His curiosity about Ciara had just escalated. “Are you running away from him?”
“No. Why would you say that?”
“I…I don’t know. Forgive me for being intrusive?”
Ciara flashed a sexy moue. “I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think too long, Nurse Dennison.”
“I thought it was going to be Ciara and Brandt.”
“Oops. My bad.”
She shook her head in amazement. “I’ll accept the ‘my bad,’ but you are much too big for anything resembling ‘oops’ to come out of your mouth.”
Throwing back his head, Brandt laughed. The sound came from deep within his chest and bubbled up like rolling thunder. A moment later her laughter joined his, both laughing until tears rolled down their cheeks. Without warning, he sobered, staring at her.
Ciara stopped laughing, and as their eyes met she felt a shiver run through her when Brandt rolled the chair close to where she felt the warmth of his breath on her face. “What are you doing?” The query was a breathless whisper.
Resting an arm over the back of her chair, Brandt pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For making me laugh.”
Ciara felt his nearness stirring and disturbing. Brandt Wainwright was too large, too masculine and much too attractive a man to ignore completely. “I’m glad I can make you laugh.”
Brandt came closer without moving. “And I’m glad you’re here.”
“Does
this mean you’re going to do whatever I tell you to do?”
He smiled. “It all depends.”
“It depends on what?” she asked.
“It depends on how I feel when I wake up. If I’m going to be in a bad mood, then I doubt I’ll be that cooperative. But if I wake up in a good mood then you can have your way with me.”
“The only one who will have their way with you will be your physical therapist,” Ciara countered.
“Damn, you really know how to kill the mood.”
“The mood?” she responded.
“I’d like to think it is. It’s been a long time since I’ve shared the rooftop with a woman—a woman who’s hiding behind a baggy top and an old-lady hairdo.”
“You forgot the glasses.”
Brandt ran a forefinger over her cheekbone. “No, I didn’t. The glasses are all right. Even no makeup is cool but the rest….”
Ciara stared, momentarily shocked by his bluntness. “No, you didn’t….”
“Yes, I did, Ciara Dennison. There’s no doubt you’re an incredible nurse but—”
“But what?” she retorted, angrily.
Running a large hand over his face, Brandt tried to gather his thoughts. He had put his foot in his mouth and he had to find a way to extricate it without embarrassing himself or insulting Ciara any more than he had.
“I’m sorry. Forget it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll accept your apology, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to forget what you’ve just said.”
He held out his hand. “Pay up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You cussed. You owe the jar a dollar.”
“The jar is for you, not me.”
“Wrong. If I have to make a concerted effort not to cuss, then the same goes for you.” He angled his head. “Now pay up, or the deal is off and I will really let loose.”
Ciara didn’t give Brandt a chance to react when she pressed her lips to his, caressing his strong mouth. The kiss ended as quickly as it’d begun. “I think that’s worth more than a dollar.”
Brandt was too stunned to reply or react. He sat motionless, watching as Ciara picked up her plate. “Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he warned softly, recovering his voice.
“And what exactly are you going to do sitting in that chair?” she challenged.
There was enough sassiness in her voice to pique his competitiveness. After all, he was a pro ballplayer, always ready and willing to take on any challenger.
“Come over here and I’ll show you what I can do.”
Ciara blew him a kiss, crooning, “Some other time, cowboy. I don’t want you to do anything that would compromise your recovery.” She began stacking plates, glassware and serving bowls on the serving cart.
“What I propose will not in way compromise my recovery.”
“Slow it down, Superman. There will be plenty of time for that once the casts are off and you regain full use of your legs.”
A smile spread over Brandt’s face as he watched the confident fluidity in Ciara’s movements. Everything about her radiated self-assuredness, as if she was certain of her rightful place in the world. “Will you indulge once I regain full use of my legs?”
Ciara hands did not falter when she placed glassware on the second shelf of the cart. Brandt was asking whether she would permit him to make love to her. There was no way she was going to date another celebrity after what she’d gone through with Victor.
“No.”
“No?” Brandt repeated.
Her hands stilled, she glaring at him. “What part of no don’t you understand? No, Brandt Wainwright.”
“Is it because I am Brandt Wainwright?”
“No. It’s because you’re a celebrity athlete, and you can’t go anywhere without cameras following you. Every aspect of what you say and do is for public consumption.”
“And if I weren’t what you call a celebrity athlete?”
Ciara wanted to tell Brandt that she’d never dated blonds and in particular blond jocks with inflated egos but decided not to go there. “I’d have to think about it.”
While Ciara was thinking about it, Brandt decided to do something about it. He wouldn’t put undue pressure on her because that wasn’t his style when it came to women. He’d discovered his nurse was someone who intrigued him. Her appearance belied her lively personality. He hadn’t expected her to kiss him. He’d enjoyed the kiss, as brief as it was, and wanted to experience it again.
“I’ll accept that.” For now, he added silently.
Brandt maneuvered his chair behind Ciara as she pushed the serving cart down the hallway to the elevator and kitchen. Sitting in the wheelchair, he stacked dishes, glasses, utensils and serving pieces in the dishwasher after she’d rinsed them in the sink. Working together, they made quick work of cleaning up the kitchen.
She pushed him out of the kitchen and back to the bedroom. “After I take your blood pressure, temperature and check your heart and lungs, I’m going to give you your medication.”
Opening his mouth to protest, Brandt closed it quickly. He knew he had to cooperate with his nurse if he wanted to win her over. “I’d rather not take the pain pill until later.”
“Okay.”
Ciara stared at the thick, pale strands covering Brandt’s head as he pushed himself off the chair and onto the bed. He didn’t protest when she assisted him out of his shorts, leaving a pair of briefs and a T-shirt. She adjusted the foot of the bed until his legs were slightly elevated, and then the pillows cradling his back and head.
“Can you please give me the remote? The Mets are playing the Rockies in Colorado.”
Although she wasn’t into sports, Ciara knew baseball games ran an average of two and a half to three hours. That meant the game wouldn’t probably end until after midnight. She handed him the remote. “Do you think you’re going to get enough sleep, because I’m going to get you up at six in the morning.”
“I’ll be all right,” Brandt said, hoping to reassure his nurse that he was consciously ready to begin what he knew would become a difficult regimen of physical therapy.
“I’ll bring you your pain pill at eleven.”
“Eleven-thirty.”
“Eleven, Brandt,” she said in a no-nonsense tone. “The time is non-negotiable.”
He gave her a snappy salute as she turned and walked out of the bedroom. “Aye, aye, ma’am.”
Ciara had insisted on eleven because she needed to get at least six hours of sleep to be alert. Anything less would put her and her patient at risk of her making a mistake that could prove costly.
She returned with a small case containing a digital thermometer, electronic sphygmomanometer and stethoscope. In addition to his pain medication, Brandt’s doctor had also prescribed a multivitamin, an iron supplement and a blood thinner to reduce the possibility of blood clots brought on by his immobility. Any abnormalities were to be reported immediately
Her patient appeared oblivious to what she was doing because his attention was focused on the television screen. He seemed enraptured by the pre-game commentary as she handed him a glass of water from the carafe on the bedside table and then a pill until he’d taken all of them.
“Can you please adjust the air conditioning?” Brandt asked without pulling his gaze from the screen. “It’s too hot in here.”
Ciara did his bidding, left the bedroom and walked in the adjoining one. She half closed the connecting door. For the next hour or two she would shower, read, give Brandt his pain medication, then settle down to sleep for the night.
She wanted to forget that she’d kissed Brandt. What she couldn’t forget was how pleasurable it had felt. He’d kissed her cheek and she’d kissed his mouth. She and Brandt hadn’t known each other twenty-four hours, yet they’d crossed the line between nurse and patient.
Chapter 6
Brandt woke, unaware of time, day or place. The tightly woven shades covering the windows were raised and s
unlight had inched its way over the parquet floor. It had been the first restful night’s sleep since he’d come home from the hospital. What he had recognized immediately was the fragrance wafting in his nostrils.
“What’s the score?”
Ciara lowered the rails to the bed. “I don’t know.” Brandt had fallen asleep with the television on and when she’d come into the bedroom the image of an infomercial spokesperson had been flickering across the screen.
Pushing himself into sitting position, he stared at Ciara. There was something about her that was different this morning. A knowing smile tilted the corners of his mouth. It was her hair. A ponytail had replaced the unattractive bun.
“I like what you’ve done with your—” His compliment was preempted when she placed the thermometer under his tongue.
Ciara stared at Brandt watching her like a predator contemplating his next meal. “I got a text on my cell that the therapist will be here at nine. That means you’ll have to shower and eat before he arrives.” He nodded as she took his blood pressure, checked his vitals, writing down the results that she would later transfer to her laptop and subsequently forward to Brandt’s doctor’s office for an update.
He’d noticed something else about Ciara this morning. She was all business. “Everything okay?” he asked when she put her medical equipment away in the canvas bag.
“Your lungs are clear and all of your vitals are within the normal range. I’ll wait until after you’ve eaten to give you your vitamins and blood thinner. I won’t give you anything for pain until after your therapy session.”
“I’m going to try and do without it today.”
Ciara met his steady gaze. “You don’t have to be a martyr, Brandt.”
He scratched the growth on his chin. “I don’t want to become dependent on them.”
“I’ll make certain you won’t become dependent.”
Brandt continued to scratch his bearded face. “I think it’s time I shave this stuff off my face. It’s itching like hell.” Ciara’s eyebrows shot up. “I know. I’ll pay up later.”
Here I Am Page 6