Here I Am (Arabesque) - By Rochelle Alers Page 0,21
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