Here I Am

by Rochelle Alers

  Brandt lowered his head and kissed the end of her nose. “Didn’t you have football at your high school?”

  “The year before I went to high school the school board disbanded the team after a boy died after being tackled in practice. At first they thought he’d suffered a concussion, but two days later he lapsed into a coma and was declared brain-dead. His parents signed the order to have him taken off life support and donated most of his organs. That left us with just basketball and baseball.”

  “There are thirty-two teams, divided into the NFC and AFC, and each conference is divided into zones: east, north, south and west. Each team plays the other three teams in their division twice—once at home and once on the road.”

  “How long is the season?” Ciara asked.

  “Seventeen weeks, sixteen games.”

  “That’s not very long, Brandt.”

  “Long enough to get your brain scrambled. I usually don’t feel the pain when I’m playing, but the next day, depending on where I got hit, it’s no joke. That’s why I had the contractor include the sauna and steam room at my apartment. There’s nothing like moist heat for aches and pain.”

  Ciara listened intently when Brandt gave the background on the game, but it ended when the teams took the field. She watched the action on giant screens. Her image appeared on the screen with Brandt’s and the stadium erupted in ear-shattering cheers. She sat, transfixed, when Brandt’s name was announced and he rose, using the crutches for support, and waved to the crowd and the players. Their images lingered when he sat, draped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her close. It was as if the entire world knew she was with Brandt Wainwright.

  Brandt kept up a continuous commentary, explaining each play, shouting at the top of his lungs when his team scored the first touchdown, then covering her mouth with his, sucking the air from her lungs and leaving her struggling to breathe.

  He loves this game. The four words taunted her. Brandt loved football, and the million-dollar question was, would he ever play again? Her cell phone vibrated at the beginning of halftime. Ciara pulled it out of her jacket pocket, staring at the display. Sofia had sent her a text: saw Viking suck yur face on prime time. U go Chica. She tucked the tiny phone into her pocket. If Sofia had seen her so did millions of others. The image was frozen in time for posterity.

  The second half started with Brandt’s replacement getting sacked twice and throwing three incomplete passes. The hometown crowd booed and shouted obscenities. Epithets like bum and loser were chanted until the Giants moved the ball down the field and the placekicker kicked a field goal. The score seesawed back and forth, ending in a tie when the clock ran out.

  “Let’s leave now while we can,” Brandt said in Ciara’s ear. “It’s going into overtime.” Again, the cameras followed them as they left their seats, fans applauding. Smiling, he raised a hand in acknowledgment.

  They made it to the parking lot, where Ibrahim waited for them. He took the crutches, storing them in the trunk after Brandt slipped onto the back seat next to Ciara. A loud roar went up in the stadium when the driver took his position behind the wheel. A rare smile parted Ibrahim’s lips. “We won.”

  Brandt sat up in bed, watching Ciara pace the width of the bedroom. She’d opened the casement windows and cool air flowed into the space. “Are you coming to bed, or do you intend wear a hole in the rug?”

  She stopped pacing, her hands in tight fists, and glared at him. “I can’t believe they put that footage on the late news for the world to see.”

  “It was just a kiss, Ciara. Why are you acting as if it was something more risqué? Besides, you’re hardly recognizable.”

  “My roommate recognized me, Brandt. She sent me a text saying she saw it.”

  “That’s because she knows I’m your patient.”

  “Please, Brandt, don’t try and minimize it. Nurses don’t go to professional football games with their patients then kiss them in front of millions of viewers.”

  He patted the mattress on his left. “Come here, baby. There’s always a solution to every problem.” Brandt smiled when she approached the bed and climbed in beside him. He pulled her close until she lay over his chest. “If there’s any talk, then we’ll just say you’re no longer my nurse. I’ll call my mother and have her tell the agency she doesn’t need your services any longer. Meanwhile she’ll pay you directly.”

  Ciara pondered Brandt’s explanation. “Just what would I be to you?”

  “You’d be my girlfriend.”

  “Why does it sound so simple?” she asked.

  “That’s because it is. Don’t move.” He reached for the cordless receiver on the bedside table. He dialed his parents’ number, apologizing to Leona for waking her, then told his mother what he wanted her to do and why.

  “Go to sleep, Brandt. I’ll call them right now.”

  “Thank you, Mom.”

  “There’s no need to thank me. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for Ciara. And I want you to tell her that.”

  “I will.”

  “What did she say?” Ciara asked when he placed the receiver on the cradle.

  “She said she’s going to call them right now. And she told me to tell you that there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for you.”

  Ciara smiled. She wanted to tell Brandt that it was nothing Leona wouldn’t do for her son. The Wainwrights viewed her as a miracle worker, giving her credit for pulling Brandt out of his funk. It might have taken more time, but he eventually would have tired of wallowing in self-pity. Not only was Brandt a competitor, but he played to win.

  “You can tell her thank you for me.”

  Brandt tunneled his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

  “I was born ready.”

  And he was ready to make love to her, but decided to put it off until they were out to sea. He had at least ten days to show Ciara how much he’d come to love her. Not only did he love her, but he was in love with her.

  Victor Seabrook lay in bed, watching the late news. He went completely still when video footage of the football game flashed across the wall-mounted flat-screen. Talk about luck! He’d fired a P.I. because the man hadn’t been able to come up with anything on Ciara Dennison and there she was, cuddling with Brandt Wainwright at a football game at the newly built stadium for the world to see.

  White-hot rage swept through him, making breathing difficult when he saw the ballplayer kiss Ciara. “Bitch!” The word slipped out, filled with venom Victor hadn’t known he possessed. When she’d threatened to tell her boyfriend that he was stalking her, Victor never would’ve thought the man was the Giants’ quarterback. That’s why she’d turned down his offer of marriage. She was holding out for someone wealthier and with more visibility. Dr. Victor Seabrook was a celebrity doctor, but Brandt Wainwright, born into a real-estate dynasty, was a celebrity athlete and media superstar.

  He’d waited two years to pay Ciara back for not appreciating what he’d done for her. He’d made her, provided her with what she needed to step into polite society with a minimum of effort. She’d met people who wouldn’t have given her a cursory glance if she hadn’t been on the arm of Dr. Victor Peter Seabrook.

  Reaching for the cell phone on the bedside table, he punched “Contacts” and scrolled through the directory until he found the name he wanted. He smiled when he heard the husky female voice.

  “Hey, you,” he said, repeating her unorthodox greeting. “I’ve got something for you that should sell out your next edition.”

  “Shall I come over now?”

  Victor frowned. “I’m in bed.”

  “When has that ever stopped us from conducting business, Dr. Seabrook?”

  “You’re right, Poppy.” He didn’t want Poppy Rayburn and she didn’t want him. But that didn’t mean they didn’t need each other. “Come on over.”

  Tapping a button, he ended the call and swung his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for pajamas. Even though it woul
dn’t make a difference to Poppy if he did come to the door without clothes, he didn’t want her distracted from what he planned to divulge to her.

  Chapter 19

  Ciara stood at the rail, staring at the choppy waters of the Atlantic as the sleek yacht sliced through the ocean with a minimum of rocking motion. She and Brandt had arrived at the pier at seven and been shown to a stateroom that had every convenience of a hotel. The crew of seven was as inconspicuous as they were efficient.

  A steward had unpacked their luggage, putting everything away, and half an hour after sailing the on-board chef served them a buffet breakfast of herbed scrambled eggs, sausage patties, baked country ham, buttermilk biscuits, homemade jams, navel oranges, hot coffee and tea and fresh orange juice with champagne.

  Closing her eyes, she wrapped her arms around her body. The autumn sun was hot, but it was the wind that chilled her exposed flesh. Ciara opened her eyes when she felt another source of heat. Brandt had replaced the crutches with two tripod canes; he admitted the canes helped him with balance and stability. She turned and smiled up at him. She’d gotten so used to seeing him seated that she was overwhelmed by his towering height and the breadth of his shoulders.

  “How was your nap?”

  Brandt stared at Ciara from under lowered lids. Barefoot and wearing a sweatshirt over a pair of shorts and with her ponytail whipping in the wind, he found her more tantalizing than when she wore the body-hugging dress and stilettos. She looked so incredibly beautiful, delicate and innocent that he found it hard to draw a normal breath.

  “It would’ve been better if I had someone to share it with me.”

  Looping her arm through his, Ciara went on tiptoe to brush her mouth over his. “Why didn’t you ask me?”

  “I did, but you told me you wanted to stay on deck and enjoy the ocean.”

  Ciara pressed closer, her breasts molding to the contours of his hard chest. “Ask me again, Brandt.”

  Lowering his head, Brandt trailed kisses down the column of her scented neck. “Ciara Dennison, will you come to bed with me?”

  Curving her arms under his shoulders, she rested her cheek over his heart while counting the strong, steady beats. “I’d thought you’d never ask.”

  He let out an audible exhalation. “What I wouldn’t give to be able to pick you up and carry you downstairs.”

  “Patience, sport. That time will come,” she whispered.

  Ciara lowered her arms, wrapping one around his waist as she led him below deck.

  Brandt knew he would eventually regain enough strength in his legs to lift more than his body weight. It was the realization that Ciara might not be around when he reached that milestone that had him anxious and frustrated.

  His taking her away was to give her a break from what had become a mundane ritual of checking his vitals, examining his legs, preparing meals, conferring with the physical therapist and accompanying him for his scheduled visits to the doctor’s office.

  His routine hadn’t varied much: he spent time in the solarium reading or pruning his plants, exercising, occasionally viewing movies from his extensive collection and sharing meals on the rooftop with Ciara, weather permitting. It was when they retired to bed that the floodgates opened and they talked—about anything and everything but themselves and what they wanted for their futures.

  Brandt was able to keep his balance as he followed Ciara into their stateroom. He could’ve reserved the Wainwright family yacht the Mary Catherine for the trip, but that meant driving down to the shipyard on the Chesapeake. The Mary Catherine was smaller, sleeker, but this one was better able to ride out a storm if they were to encounter rough seas—there still were another two months before the official end of hurricane season.

  There were three decks of cabins and salons, with the crew occupying the lowest deck. The interior staterooms were luxurious—walnut, teak, a gleaming stainless-steel stair on the main aft deck and ebony-and-cherrywood tables bespoke elegance and grace as seen in the finest homes.

  Ciara hung the Do Not Disturb tag on the doorknob, then closed the door and turned the security lock until she heard the soft click.

  Brandt sat on the bed, watching her intently as she closed the distance between them. He extended his arms and she walked into his embrace, burying her face in his hair. He felt so good and smelled even better.

  “I think I’d better close the curtains or the crew will get an impromptu peep show.”

  She pulled the heavy fabric over the porthole, shutting out sunlight and endless miles of water. Turning back, Ciara met Brandt’s eyes as she pulled the sweatshirt over her head, then the tank top. Her shorts and panties followed, leaving her completely naked for his rapacious gaze.

  She felt no fear or shame whenever she took her clothes off for Brandt, because it always felt so natural. Perhaps it was because within hours of meeting Brandt for the first time it had been she who’d gazed on his magnificent nude body. He may have been her patient, but he was also a man—a very attractive man who made her feel things she didn’t want to feel. Her fingers were steady as she unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it off his broad shoulders. He pushed her hand away when she attempted to unsnap his khakis.

  “I can do it.”

  Ciara nodded. For weeks she had performed the task of helping him to dress and undress, so it’d become a habit. She knew Brandt didn’t like relying on her for what was a basic human function, but he’d endured it until he was able to reestablish a modicum of independence. She got into the bed, lying on her side and watching as he relieved himself of his pants and boxer briefs.

  Brandt lay on his back and swung his legs into the bed, smiling when he executed the move without pain. Using the strength in his upper body, he turned on his right side, facing Ciara, and rested a hand over her breast. Her eyes fluttered, then closed.

  His eyes ate her up, from the hair spread out on the pillow to the rapidly beating pulse in her throat and heaving breasts. He forced himself not to stare at the area below her waist, because he wanted to visually savor her for as long as he could without penetrating her. Once inside Ciara, Brandt experienced a loss of control and common sense.

  Whenever he was buried in her moist heat he found himself swept up in a magical journey where he could see himself growing old with her, surrounded by their children and grandchildren. Even as a child he’d been a realist, never giving in to flights of fancy like some children who’d pretended they were superheroes. The only place where he’d achieved superhero status was on the gridiron. Blessed with quick reflexes, an accurate throwing arm and the uncanny strength to stave off being sacked, he’d become the Viking, a real-life flesh-and-blood superhero to the media and football fans.

  He was close enough to Ciara to see the outlines of her contact lenses. “Thank you.”

  A slight frown appeared between her eyes. “For what, Brandt?”

  “For being here with me.”

  She gave him a mysterious smile. “I should be the one thanking you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m supposed to be working, but you’re spoiling me.”

  “You’re not working, Ciara. Remember, my mother terminated your services last night. You’re Brandt Wainwright’s girlfriend, and as such I’m going to try to do everything I can to spoil the hell out of you.”

  “You don’t have to try,” she countered. “You’re doing it.” She was on a luxury yacht with a crew at her beck and call. She didn’t have to cook, do laundry or make her bed. All she had to do was get up, shower, dress and go up on deck to lie in the sun.

  “I’m going to ask one thing from you as my girlfriend,” Brandt said after a comfortable silence.

  Ciara felt her heart kick into a faster rhythm. Now it’s time for the other shoe to drop, she thought. “What is it?”

  Brandt’s hand moved from her breast to her hip. “Why do you make it sound as if I’m asking you to do something you don’t want to do?”

  “I didn’t mean for it to come out
like that.”

  He kissed her forehead. “You are precious to me, baby. What I’m asking is for you to give yourself to me and I’ll give you all of myself in return.”

  Ciara stared at the attractive cleft in his strong chin. “Is that it?”

  “If you want me to ask for more, then I can come up with a laundry list, baby,” Brandt said, chuckling softly.

  “No, Brandt. I don’t have a problem with what you’re asking for.”

  He sobered, meeting her eyes. “It’s just not your body I want, Ciara.” The seconds ticked by as they stared at each other.

  “You want me to love you,” Ciara said perceptively. To her surprise, Brandt showed no reaction, and she knew that she’d read him correctly.

  “Am I asking too much from you?”

  She felt a momentary panic before it disappeared like a wisp of smoke. Brandt was asking her to love him when she’d used everything in her emotional arsenal to fight her deepening feelings for her patient. She’d rationalized, telling herself she had no time for love and that when she walked away from Brandt she would take her love for him with her.

  “No, darling. You aren’t asking for too much.”

  Brandt’s gaze softened, becoming a caress when he stared into her eyes. “I love you, Ciara, and because I do I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  Ciara placed her fingers over his mouth. “Let’s enjoy what we have.” Her mouth replaced her fingers when she caressed his mouth, silently communicating her love for the man holding her to his heart.

  Reaching down, Brandt placed Ciara’s leg over his. He bit down on his lip when his penis hardened quickly. He still couldn’t make love to Ciara using positions that would bring them maximum pleasure, but at least now he didn’t have to rely on her straddling his lap.

  He longed for the day when he could place her on her back and he would start at her neck and taste every inch of her fragrant body until they experienced the full range of lovemaking. Grasping his erection, he guided it between her thighs, closing his eyes and moaning when her moist heat closed around his sex.