Here I Am

by Rochelle Alers

  “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 Denni
son 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.”

  Brandt had made two telephone calls: to the store manager at Barneys and the other to a car service to reserve a car and driver for her. She hadn’t been able to count on both hands and feet the number of times she’d stood on a corner—in the rain or snow—waiting to flag down a passing taxi to either take her to work or back home. However, a single phone call placed by Brandt Wainwright, lasting less than a minute, had granted her door-to-door service. She entered the store, exchanging a smile with a well-dressed clerk with expertly coiffed streaked hair. It was impossible for Ciara to pinpoint her age; it was obvious the attractive woman had been nipped and tucked to perfection.

  “Good afternoon. I’m Rebekah, and is there anything I can assist you with, Miss…?”

  “Dennison,” Ciara said. “I need the de rigueur little black dress.”

  Rebekah’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. When the store manager told her Brandt Wainwright’s girlfriend was coming into the store, she hadn’t expected the tall, slender, bespectacled woman wearing jeans, a white tee and black leather mules. Her thick, dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

  “Day or evening?” the saleswoman asked.

  “It’s evening. But it’s going to be casual.”

  “Please come with me, Miss Dennison. I believe I have something that will meet with your approval.”

  Ciara nodded when she saw the black cotton asymmetric dress with a draped shoulder. It was not only simple, but elegant. It was perfect. Rebekah also had a good eye, because when she slipped the dress over Ciara’s body it was as if it had been made for her, skimming her curves and ending at the knee.

  Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she studied the back of the dress. “I’ll take it.”

  Rebekah pressed her palms together. There was nothing better than a quick and easy sale. She pointed to Ciara’s bare feet. “Do you need shoes?”

  Ciara wiggled her toes, thankful there were no chips in the raspberry polish. “Yes.”

  “How about peep-toe?” Rebekah asked, staring down at her groomed feet. “Your dress is simplistic chic, so your footwear can be just a little bit sexy.”

  “How sexy are you talking about?”

  “An almost five-inch stiletto sexy,” the saleswoman crooned.

  Five-inch heels would put her at the six-foot mark. Whenever she’d gone out with Victor, she had been careful not to wear shoes in which she would tower above him. She hadn’t been able to understand why, for all his brilliance, he’d had insecurities too numerous to count.

  But it would be different with Brandt. He was six-five and she five-seven, and although they wouldn’t be seen together publicly, just knowing he was taller was a comfort. “Please let me see what you’re talking about.”

  Minutes later Rebekah returned, dangling a black satin platform slingback with an origami bow at the peep-toe. Ciara recognized the shoe’s designer because of the distinctive signature red leather sole.

  “What do you think?”

  Ciara’s smile was dazzling. “Do you have them in five and a half?”

  “I’m certain I do.”

  The heels complemented the dress, while flattering her legs and feet. “I’ll take the dress and the shoes.”

  Rebekah’s smile matched her client’s. “I’ll pack up everything for you.”

  Less than forty minutes after walking through the doors of the Madison Avenue shop, Ciara walked out. The driver placed her purchases in the trunk after opening the rear door for his passenger.

  Slumping against the leather seat, she closed her eyes. The style of Christian Louboutin stiletto she’d chosen was called Miss ChaCha. She wasn’t going out dancing, but standing in as hostess to Brandt Wainwright when he entertained his family.

  She knew her role and responsibilities were becoming more complex—unorthodox, yet it’d had a profound effect on her patient. Brandt was no longer the sullen, grumpy man who’d fired nurses, refused to eat or cooperate with his medication regimen. Getting him mentally ready in his recovery was as important as his walking again.

  The driver maneuvered along the curb in front of the high-rise and the doorman came over to open the door. He took the garment and shopping bag from the driver, carrying them into the building for Ciara. He gave them to her before activating the elevator that would take her directly to the penthouse.

  The doors opened and she came face-to-face with Brandt. She hadn’t left until after he’d showered, changed his clothes and eaten lunch. “Hey, you,” she said, smiling.

  Brandt returned her smile. “Hey. How was shopping?”

  “Splendid.” Reaching into the back pocket of her jeans, she handed him the credit card. “Thanks.”

  “Did you get everything you wanted?”

  “N
ot everything.”

  “What didn’t you get?” Brandt asked.

  “There was a diamond necklace in the window at Tiffany’s that would’ve been the perfect accessory,” Ciara said, deadpan.

  “Do you want me to call Tiffany’s and have it delivered?”

  Leaning over, Ciara kissed Brandt’s clean-shaven cheek. “I’m joking.”

  His eyes met hers, darkening with an emotion that frightened him in its intensity. Brandt wanted his nurse in the most intimate way possible, and he’d spent the time waiting for her to return, cursing the turn of events that wouldn’t permit him to move about without the aid of the wheelchair.

  He’d made love to women, yet none had turned him on as Ciara Dennison had done with her impromptu lap dance. And he was certain she was as shocked by the act as he’d been. Not only had it been spontaneous, but the result had been explosive. He’d relived everything that had occurred when sitting on the chair in the shower, and his body had betrayed him for the second time that day.

  Fortunately for him, Ciara hadn’t been there to hear the curses when he struggled not to take care of his own sexual needs. Once he’d adjusted the water temperature to ice-cold and finished his rant, he was back in control.

  “I wasn’t joking. I don’t remember giving you a spending limit, so you could’ve bought whatever you wanted.”

  Ciara felt a shiver race up her back when she met Brandt’s penetrating stare. She didn’t know what had possessed her to tease him, but apparently it had backfired, because he was serious about her buying anything she wanted. She knew women who would’ve taken him up on his offer, all the while scheming to take as much from him as they could get. However, she wasn’t one of those women. In the past she’d become another wealthy man’s darling and she had no intention of it happening again. Even if Brandt Wainwright hadn’t become a celebrity athlete he still would be a wealthy man.

  She pulled back. “I bought what I needed.”