Here I Am (Arabesque) - By Rochelle Alers Page 0,69
go home, miss.”
A stocky man spun around. “Says who?”
“Says me,” Ciara announced.
Brandt looked up, his stunned gaze taking in everything as she must be seeing it. “Ciara.” Her name came out a whisper.
“I want them out of here, Brandt.”
“Go home, Stubbs, and take your friends with you.” Brandt’s voice seemed to come from a long way off—a voice he almost didn’t recognize as his own. His teammate had called, asking if he could stop by. Brandt told him he could, but he hadn’t expected Jon Stubbs to bring an entourage and groupies.
“You heard the man,” Ciara said loudly when no one moved. “Go home.”
Clarissa popped up like a jack-in-the-box. “How many times do you have to be told to get the hell out of here?” Her eyes were shooting daggers at the man who’d tried mauling her. “Mr. Landis, if these people don’t leave in two minutes, I want you to call the police and have them arrested for trespassing.”
Landis removed his jacket, tossing it on the table between the great room and living room. The butt of the handgun in the shoulder holster looked like a small club against the stark white shirt. “Good night, good people.”
As if it had been choreographed, everyone turned and walked to the elevator. The penthouse was as quiet as a tomb when the elevator doors closed.
Brandt broke the silence. “Ibrahim, will you please take my sister home?”
Clarissa rounded on her brother. “I thought I was staying…” Her words trailed off when she was saw Brandt glaring at her. “I’ll be right back, Mr. Landis.”
Ibrahim Landis slipped into his jacket. “I’ll wait outside for you.”
Ciara waited for Clarissa to retrieve her overnight bag, then walked her to the elevator, punching the button. “I’m sorry it had to end like this,” she apologized in a quiet voice. She and Clarissa had made plans to spend the day together.
“That’s okay. I’ll probably see you again when my aunt and uncle host their family get-together at the end of the month.” She offered a bright smile. “Thank you for taking such good care of my brother. And please don’t tell me it’s your job, Ciara, because I know it’s more than that.”
Ciara angled her head. “What is it you know, Clarissa?”
Dark lashes framed a pair of sky-blue eyes that knew too much. “Brandt’s in love with you. I’d suspected it when we came for dinner, but when you walked in here tonight dressed like you just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine, I knew for certain when he looked at you.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“No, I’m not, Ciara. I’ve seen my brother with more women than I have fingers and toes, and not one of them—”
Ciara held up a hand. “That’s enough, Clarissa. I’m tired and I’m certain Brandt’s tired, and I need to get him into bed.”
Clarissa managed a bright smile. “I’ll see you,” she said cheerfully, then stepped into the elevator.
Waiting until the doors closed, Ciara slipped off her heels, leaving them under the table in the entryway. Walking on bare feet, she made her way to where Brandt sat waiting for her. She sat opposite him, crossing one leg over the other.
“This may be your home, Brandt Wainwright, but you are still my patient. And you know better than anyone that you can’t hang out drinking—”
“I wasn’t drinking,” Brandt said defensively.
“What’s up with the girl on your lap?”
“She wasn’t on my lap. She was on the arm of the chair.”
“And if I hadn’t come in when I did would she have been on your lap?” Ciara asked.
“Why is it you sound like a jealous wife?”
“You wish,” she said, glaring. His lids were drooping and the dark circles under his eyes were a testament to his exhaustion. He was entertaining when he should’ve been in bed.
“Yeah, baby. I wish.”
Ciara arose from the chair. “I know it’s way past your bedtime, because now you’re talking nonsense.”
“I say something you don’t want to hear and it’s nonsense?”
Releasing the brake on his chair, she pushed it out of the living room. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
“It’s already tomorrow.”
Ciara tried controlling her temper. “Why are you being so stubborn? Because if you’re looking for a fight, then I’m willing to oblige. I come back expecting you to be in bed, not entertaining ladies—and I’m using that term very loosely—”
“They’re not my groupies,” Brandt said, cutting her off.
“Groupies, whatever. They’re all the same, Brandt.”
“You forgot ho,” he drawled, chuckling under his breath.
“That too. And it’s not funny,” she chided, pushing