Here I Am

by Rochelle Alers

  Jordan slapped his cousin on the shoulder. “I don’t know who’s worse, you or Uncle Fraser.”

  Brandt squinted at Jordan. “My father isn’t that bad.”

  “Yeah, right,” Jordan drawled. “One time he messed up the nursery rhyme about pickled peppers.”

  Brandt offered his hand to his teammate. “What’s up, Al?”

  Alex Fleming shook Brandt’s hand and gave him a rough man-hug. “That’s what I should be asking you. I heard you had a run-in with Bambi and she won.”

  “Isn’t she the showgirl you met in Vegas with the legs that went on forever?” Brandt asked, deadpan.

  Alex gave his sister a sidelong glance. “Man, you know what happens in Vegas stays in…” His words trailed off when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. “Oh, wow…”

  Brandt saw the direction of Alex’s gaze. Turning slightly in the chair, he saw the object of his teammate’s stunned expression. Ciara had changed into a pair of black stretch pants, a matching tank top and black-and-white animal-print mules. She’d worn her hair loose, blunt-cut ends tucked behind her ears. A pair of silver hoops had replaced the tiny gold studs.

  Ciara felt the heat from three pairs of eyes. She’d met Jordan Wainwright, so why was he staring at her as if he’d never seen her before? Brandt had mentioned that he was bringing his wife and she assumed that the tall, slender black woman with fashionably cut short hair was his wife. A smile parted Ciara’s lips. Harlem’s rogue attorney had exquisite taste in women.

  Her gaze shifted to the man with cropped black hair standing on Jordan’s left. She felt a shiver race along her spine when she noticed his eyes weren’t brown or black, but an odd shade of gray that was strangely incongruent in his chocolate-brown face. Talk about eye candy. The man was beyond delicious. He smiled and dimples dotted his lean face like thumbprints in cookies.

  She decided to end the impasse. “Hello, Jordan.”

  With wide eyes, Jordan stared at the woman whose voice he remembered even if he hadn’t been able to recall her face. “Ciara?”

  “You know her?” Alex asked.

  A hint of a smile tilted the corners of Jordan’s mouth. “Yes. We met a couple of days ago.”

  Brandt extended his hand to Ciara without glancing at her. It was his turn to smile when he felt the light pressure of her palm on his. “Aziza, Alex, this is my nurse, Ciara Dennison.” He glanced up at Ciara; she met his eyes. “Ciara, I’d like you to meet my attorney, my agent and my cousin’s wife—Aziza Wainwright. The other gentleman is her brother and my teammate, Alexander Fleming.”

  Ciara angled her head as her gaze shifted from Aziza to her brother. Their parents had passed on the best genes to their very attractive children. A spark of recognition dawned when she realized where she’d seen Alex before. He’d been a contestant on Dancing with the Stars.

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  Alex took a step, extending his hand to Ciara. “It’s definitely my pleasure, Ciara.”

  What the… The expletive reverberated in Brandt’s head. He didn’t want to believe his best friend was flirting with his woman, girlfriend, lover, nurse. Although he and Alex disagreed occasionally, it was never about a woman.

  “I just thought I’d let everyone know,” he said as Alex cradled Ciara’s hand in his, “Ciara has agreed to be my date tonight.”

  Jordan stared at his cousin as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “Your nurse is your date?”

  Aziza elbowed her husband. “M.Y.O.B.,” she hissed between clenched teeth.

  “What?”

  “She wants you to mind your own business,” Alex translated for his brother-in-law.

  Ciara decided it was time for her to step into her hostess role. “Brandt and I decided dining on the rooftop terrace under the stars is the perfect way to end the day. Y’all can go on up and we’ll be right behind you.”

  Waiting until their guests made their way to the staircase, she rounded on Brandt. “What were you trying to prove?” she whispered angrily.

  Brandt’s expression was one of barely contained tolerance as he struggled to control his temper. A foreign and alien emotion held him in a savage grip, refusing to allow him to think with a clear head.

  The moment Alex had touched Ciara, Brandt realized he was jealous, and in order to experience jealousy he had to care for her—a caring going beyond their sleeping together. He shook his head. No! There was no way he was falling in love with Ciara. He was probably confusing caring with passion. Yes, that had to be it. He was in love with Ciara’s passion.

  “Are you deliberately tuning me out, Brandt?”

  “No. I’m not tuning you out, Ciara.”

  “If not, then will you please answer my question?” she countered.

  “I didn’t want him mauling you!”

  Ciara’s mouth opened and closed several times. “Mauling? The man just shook my hand.”

  “The man disrespected me in my own home.”

  “What!” The single word exploded from her mouth. “How did he disrespect you? Please tell me,” she continued when Brandt’s jaw tightened.

  “He came on to you not knowing anything about our association.”

  “You’re contradicting yourself, Brandt. Alexander is your friend and teammate. You guys are tight, so if you’d set up a woman for him to meet you would’ve told him beforehand.” She leaned over until their faces were level. “Please tell me what’s going on before we go upstairs and we embarrass each other.”

  Brandt’s steady gaze bore into Ciara’s. “Would you believe me if I told you I was jealous?”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “You, jealous? Of me and Alexander Fleming? I didn’t know he existed before he walked in here.”

  “And I didn’t know you existed before you walked in here.”

  Ciara’s heart jolted, her pulse pounded erratically when she pondered what Brandt hadn’t said. She felt as if her emotions were on a roller coaster, buffeted from side to side. Brandt was jealous of his friend because he wanted her for himself. What he wanted went beyond their making love with each other.

  “You like me, don’t you?”

  He moved closer without moving. “Of course I like you, Ciara. I’ve told you that.”

  She shook her head. “No. I mean you really, really like me.”

  Brandt picked up a lock of her hair, rubbing it gently between his fingers. “Are you asking if like squared equals love?”

  Ciara bit her lip, then nodded. “Something like that.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m not certain whether I love you, because I don’t know what it is.”

  “Maybe you’re confusing love with lust?”

  “No, babe. I’m more than familiar with lust and what I feel with you right now is not lust. I want you, and I’ll probably always want you, but—”

  Ciara placed her fingers over Brandt’s mouth. “We’ll talk about this later. Have you forgotten we have guests waiting for us?”

  He caught her wrist, kissing her fingers. “You won’t let me forget?”

  “Sure,” she drawled.

  Brandt brushed his mouth over hers. “Love you, babe.”

  Ciara winked at him. “Love you, too.”

  Chapter 14

  Ciara removed the lids to the chafing dishes. Mouth-watering aromas wafted in the warm summer air. The setting sun lit the rooftop aflame with an orange glow that made light-colored surfaces appear as if they were on fire.

  “Do you mind if I pour the wine?” Aziza called out.

  “No!” Brandt and Ciara chorused.

  Jordan sniffed the air. “I smell baked beans.”

  Ciara turned and smiled at him. “Give that man a cigar.”

  “Damn, brother,” Alex drawled, “you have a helluva nose.”

  Brandt beckoned to those sitting at the table. “Grab your plates and come serve yourself.”

  Ciara hadn’t permitted him on the rooftop until after she’d set up the table with a white tableclot
h, then added a colorful runner. The far end of the table was covered with flower petals and tea lights. Each place setting held wine and water glasses, cloth napkins and small bowls of water with lemon slices. He’d helped her load the serving cart and set up the chafing dishes on a buffet server.

  Ciara didn’t treat him like an invalid, and for that he was grateful. He had to be mentally prepared for the time when he was medically cleared to begin walking.

  He glanced up to find her leaning over his chair. “Sit down and I’ll bring you a plate. Go, Ciara,” he whispered in her ear. “You’ve been on your feet all day cooking, so it’s time for you to relax.”

  “I don’t want anyone to think I’m not taking care of my patient.”

  He took her hand, dropping a kiss on the knuckles. “Remember, I’m your date, not your patient.”

  Ciara ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, bringing Brandt’s gaze to linger there. She knew they were playing a game—one in which both would come up winners. “If I forget, then you’ll have to remind me.” She walked away with just enough sway in her hips to remind Brandt of what she’d been hiding under her smocks.

  Brandt removed the cork from a bottle of merlot, allowing it to breathe before he filled his teammate’s glass. He was surprised Alex had requested wine—he usually drank beer. “I do have beer downstairs.”

  Alex shook his head. “The wine’s good. In fact, the food is off the hook. Did you use a different caterer?” Brandt usually hosted a catered New Year’s Eve party every other year.

  Brandt exchanged a surreptitious look with Ciara. “Tonight’s dinner wasn’t catered.”

  Jordan set down his water goblet. “Don’t tell me you cooked?” He knew Brandt was an avid fan of cooking shows.

  “No. Ciara did.”

  For the second time that night Ciara found herself in the spotlight, the focus of attention. Cradling the balloon wineglass, she took a deep swallow of the dry red wine. Would it always be that way because of her association with Brandt Wainwright? When she dated Victor he’d always been the center of attention. But it had become the opposite with Brandt.

  Aziza touched the napkin to her mouth after she’d swallowed a mouthful of potato salad. “Who taught you to cook like this?”

  “My mother.”

  “Is your mama married?” Alex quipped.

  Ciara laughed when she saw the wistful expression on his handsome face. “As a matter of fact, she isn’t. But that’s not going to help you because my mother’s not a cougar. She prefers men in her own age range.”

  “Do you have a sister?”

  “Alexander!” Aziza admonished.

  “Aziza!” he mocked. “I’m not looking to get married. All I want is to find a woman who can do more than make reservations. I’m a very simple guy with very simple needs. Tell them, Brandt. Am I complicated?”

  All eyes were trained on Brandt. “Do you really want me to lie to these good people?”

  The stunned expression on Alex’s face was priceless. “I always thought you were my boy and had my back.”

  “I am your boy, but you’re not simple nor is your lifestyle, so don’t expect to attract a simple woman.”

  Alexander turned to his brother-in-law. “Help me out here, Jordan.”

  “I’d love to, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be impartial. Ciara doesn’t know you. Give her your best-case scenario.”

  The young athlete shook his head. “I’m afraid to ask my sister. She’ll be forced to recuse herself because she, too, can’t be impartial.”

  Aziza gave her brother a pointed look. “If I were your attorney I’d suggest you take Jordan’s advice and ask Ciara. Now I’m going to recuse myself.”

  The entire table erupted into laughter, Alex joining the others. Pushing away from the table, he stood up. His upper body was silhouetted in the light from the flickering candles and the illumination coming from the atrium. He snapped his napkin with a flourish reminiscent of 18th-century fops. He bowed low to Ciara.

  “Milady Ciara. I’ve come to court to plea my case before thee. Could milady please give me some advice as how to proceed with the young damsels with which I find myself besotted.”

  Ciara laughed until tears rolled down her face. Alexander Fleming was blessed with enough dramatic flair that he could perform Shakespeare. What she couldn’t fathom was how the man with the gorgeous body and face would have a problem attracting women.

  Blotting her moist eyes, she waved him over. “Sit down and talk to me.”

  Still in character, Alex sat down gingerly. His teeth shone whitely against his dark face when he smiled at her. “Thank you, milady.”

  Placing her elbow on the table, Ciara rested her chin on the heel of her hand. “Do you have a problem attracting women, or holding on to them?” Brandt and Jordan cleared their throats in unison.

  Alexander rolled his eyes at them. “I can get the ladies, but something happens after we go out a few times.”

  “Can you be a little bit more specific?” Ciara asked.

  “It’s as if they have multiple personalities and I no longer recognize the woman I’d initially asked out.”

  Brandt shook his head. “I’ve told Al what the problem is. It’s PMS.”

  Lowering her arm, Ciara glared at him. “Oh, no you didn’t go there.”

  “Did he really say PMS?” Aziza asked.

  Brandt held up his hands in a defensive move. “What’s wrong with PMS? You ladies do tend to have mood swings during that time of the month.”

  “Sorry, cuz,” Jordan drawled. “I can’t agree with you on that because Zee is always the same.”

  “How’s that, cuz?”

  Jordan winked at his wife. “Snarky.”

  Brandt and Alexander pounded the table. “Careful, cousin. ‘Snarky’ will get you remanded to the sofa for three months.”

  “I ain’t scared,” Jordan drawled recklessly.

  Aziza placed her hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “That’s all right, darling. When I come up pregnant in the three months you’re remanded to the sofa, you’ll be the one on daytime television. The laugh will be on you when Maury announces, ‘You are not the father!’”

  This time when everyone laughed, Jordan didn’t join in. Resting a hand over his heart, he bowed his head. “Your honor, I’d like to withdraw that last statement.”

  “What’s up with the bad acting?” Brandt asked. “First we have foppish Vicomte de Valmont from Les Liaisons Dangereuses, followed by a remorseful Perry Mason. Man up!” he drawled, repeating what Ciara had said earlier.

  “Hear, hear!” Aziza and Ciara intoned, raising their glasses.

  Ciara was drawn into the warmth and camaraderie of the Flemings and Wainwrights. Although united through blood and marriage, they were friends as well.

  When it came to family there was just her and her mother. Phyllis was an only child and she, too, an only child. Her grandparents were gone and Ciara knew of a few distant cousins, but it had been years since they’d gotten together. When she spoke to her mother again she would suggest contacting their Ohio relatives.

  Contacting relatives on her father’s side of the family was not an option, because the Dennisons had disapproved of William marrying Phyllis. They’d refused to attend the wedding or acknowledge the birth of their granddaughter. The adage “out of sight, out of mind” fit them to the letter. Ciara was certain their disapproval was a factor in William marrying another woman when he hadn’t divorced his first wife—it was the second wife the Dennisons approved of and fawned over.

  Ciara peered at Alexander Fleming over the rim of her wineglass. She found it hard to believe he was still single. She’d discovered when the conversation segued to a more serious topic that he was twenty-seven, had never married and hadn’t fathered any children.

  She’d also discovered that Brandt had become Alex’s mentor. He’d talked to him about the pitfalls of what he’d referred to as the precarious triangle: alcohol, drugs and groupies—things to be avoid
ed at all costs if he wanted a successful football career.

  “I know you’re out this season,” Alexander stated, “but what about next year, Brandt? Do you plan on coming back?”

  Clasping his hands together, Brandt rested them on his head, a habit he’d recently acquired because he found his shoulders and neck stiffening from inactivity. Each time he executed the motion Ciara stared at him. He lowered his hands.

  “I do plan on coming back. It’s the last year on my contract. Whether I plan to sign another contract is something I have to discuss with my agent.” He nodded to Aziza.

  Aziza returned Brandt’s nod. “And that’s something I have to discuss with my client’s doctor. If he says he can play, then we’ll think about resigning for a year. If not, then Brandt will have to consider his plan B.”

  Do you have a plan B? Ciara mused. She hoped Brandt Wainwright did, because judging from the X-rays showing the amount of hardware in her patient’s legs, she doubted whether he would ever play football again. But that wasn’t her call because Brandt was a commodity—a multimillion-dollar commodity.

  Aziza moved her chair closer to Ciara’s. “You and I have to get together because I want you to teach me how to make your oven-fried chicken, baked beans and what seasonings you use for the dry rub for the ribs. Jordan lived in Massachusetts for seven years and he claims he had baked beans and fried clam bellies at least three to four times a week.”

  “That’s a lot.”

  “Try telling that to my husband.”

  Ciara glanced at the magnificent yellow diamond in Aziza’s engagement ring. It was as dramatic as the woman who wore it. “We can meet, but it would depend on your schedule.”

  “I work from home.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Bronxville. But we also have an apartment in Manhattan. I’m willing to go along with whatever is convenient for you and Brandt.”

  “He went out yesterday for the first time since his accident and came back a little fatigued.”

  Aziza nodded. “Interacting with the kids took a lot of his energy. I’d suggested he leave, but he insisted he wanted to stay and sign autographs for the hospital staff. Perhaps he’s not aware that he had invasive surgery and it’s going to take a while before he’ll feel one hundred percent.”