did,” Brandt confirmed.
Ciara closed her eyes for several seconds. “I didn’t want to even like you.”
“But you do,” he countered.
She flashed a sexy moue. “Not only am I involved, but I’m also in love with you, Brandt Wainwright.”
He kissed the end of her nose. “How did I get so lucky?” He’d asked her the same question weeks ago.
Ciara moaned when Brandt began moving again, reigniting her passion. Heat and cold clashed, sweeping her up in a maelstrom of desire that made her feel faint. They established a rhythm, choreographing a dance of desire, as shivers of delight eddied up and down her spine.
Brandt’s groans overlapped Ciara’s, his hips moving faster and faster. Then it happened. The tightening in his scrotum, the burning sensation at the base of his spine, then the rush of semen, leaving him unable to speak or breathe.
Ciara Dennison was the first woman with whom he’d slept without a condom. And she was the only woman with whom he’d made love that he wanted to have his child. He hadn’t lied to Ciara. He did love her—more than he could’ve imagined loving any woman.
Brandt and Ciara stood at the rail, watching as the shoreline of Charlotte Amalie grew smaller and smaller as the yacht sailed in a northerly direction. They’d spent the day shopping and touring the island by car.
Over the past week their ports of call had been Miami; Key West; San Juan, Puerto Rico; and St. Thomas in the U.S. Virgin Islands. They were going home, with a stop in Miami to refuel before continuing on to New York. The weather had decided to cooperate. It’d rained twice, during the early morning hours, and when they had disembarked it was to days filled with sunshine and tropical trade winds.
Their days began with leisurely lovemaking, shared showers and hearty breakfasts eaten on the top deck. Days at sea were spent sunbathing, watching movies or playing chess. The midday meal was always served buffet-style with fresh salads, tropical fruit, cold fish platters and fruity beverages. Dinners were extravaganzas fit for visiting royalty. Each evening the chef prepared a special dish, cooked on deck with accompanying wines, and served by white-jacketed waiters.
Brandt felt the vibration against his leg. It was the first time someone had called his cell phone in eight days.
Reaching into the pocket of his slacks, he took out the BlackBerry. A frown appeared between his eyes when he saw that Jordan had called him. He retrieved the voice mail message. His cousin had sent him an email he thought would be of interest to him.
Walking over to a deck chair, Brandt sat, placing the canes on deck beside the chair. When he accessed his email account and read the article Jordan had forwarded, Brandt knew if he hadn’t been seated he would’ve lost his balance. Ciara’s greatest fear was manifested. Her association with him had become fodder for the tabloids.
“Is something wrong?”
He glanced up as Ciara sank down on the chair next to his. “No.” When he punched a button, the article was replaced by the phone’s wallpaper. “Why do you ask?”
Ciara stared Brandt through the lenses of her sunglasses. “You had this strange look on your face.”
Brandt was faced with the dilemma of showing her the email or waiting until they returned to New York. Within seconds, he decided on the latter. He wouldn’t take any action until he spoke directly to Jordan.
“Someone sent me a bunch of chain letter emails,” he lied. “I hate those damn things clogging up my inbox.”
Ciara rested her hand on Brandt’s forearm. His sun-browned skin and ash-blond hair reminded her of a magnificent palomino. Two days. They had forty-eight hours before returning to New York and reality.
Chapter 20
Ciara walked into the kitchen and threw several newspapers and a magazine at Brandt, hitting him in the chest. “You knew about this, didn’t you?”
They’d returned to New York at seven in the morning, and twelve hours later during one of the televised entertainment shows, her worst fear had become a reality. The photos of her and Brandt kissing at the New Meadowlands Stadium had opened a Pandora’s box, releasing a swarm of lies, rumors and scathing innuendos.
She’d left her cell at the penthouse, and when she’d retrieved her messages there were several from her mother, Sofia and many of the nurses she’d worked with at the hospital. All of the messages carried a similar tone: We’re here for you if you need us.
Ciara hadn’t known what they were talking about.