Here I Am (Arabesque) - By Rochelle Alers Page 0,42
of these kids will spend the rest of their lives in a chair.”
His brow furrowed. “Pile on the guilt, Mrs. Wainwright.”
A husky laugh came through the earpiece. “You’re the first one to call me Mrs. Wainwright since Jordan and I returned from our honeymoon.”
“For better or worse, you are now one of us.”
“Jordan reminds me of that every day. Now back to why I called you. Can you make it?”
Brandt closed his eyes. He wanted to decline, but children, whether sick or healthy, were always a priority for him. During his fifth year in the NFL he’d set up a charity focusing on athletic and academic scholarships for high school students from low-income families.
“When and where? Okay,” he agreed after Aziza gave him the name of the hospital and the time he was expected to appear. “Will you be there?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t miss it. Hang up so I can arrange for a car and driver to pick you up.”
“Don’t bother. I have my own driver.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’ll see you later, Mrs. Wainwright.”
“Hang up, Brandt.”
“See you later, beautiful.”
Brandt had just ended the call when Ciara walked into the bedroom, damp hair falling around her face. He smiled. After the dinner with his family, she’d exchanged her usual baggy outfit for slacks, shorts and blouses. Sandals had replaced her clogs. What she hadn’t exchanged were her glasses for the contact lenses.
Ciara returned Brandt’s warm smile. “Good morning.”
He patted the mattress, and he wasn’t disappointed when she climbed into bed next to him. Ciara had stopped putting up the bedrail, permitting him to get in and out of bed unassisted to use the bathroom. This morning he’d washed his face and brushed his teeth, then returned to bed to wait for her. Leaning to his right, he pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“Good morning. We’re going out tomorrow afternoon.”
Ciara gave Brandt a sidelong glance. Brandt looked good. In fact, he looked better than good. He was delicious. The sun-browned richness of his tanned face gave it a healthy glow. His eyes were bright, shimmering with laugher. She swallowed when she noticed the outline of the bulge under the sheet.
She’d awoken early, lain in bed and called herself every type of fool for even contemplating taking up with Brandt Wainwright. The night before they’d watched a romantic comedy. He’d fallen asleep halfway through the movie and she’d turned off the TV and went to bed.
Sleep had been elusive; she tossed and turned while images of her writhing uncontrollably on Brandt’s lap had come back in vivid clarity, followed by more images of an erotic dream wherein she wasn’t on his lap, but on her back with him inside her. Never in her thirteen years of practicing nursing had she been so tempted by a man’s body as now.
Her relationship with Brandt went against everything she’d professed. Dr. Victor Seabrook was a celebrity, but he paled in comparison to Brandt. However, her ambivalence about her unorthodox relationship with her patient disappeared whenever they shared the same space.
Ciara averted her gaze from his erection, asking, “Where are we going tomorrow afternoon?”
“I’ve been asked to visit some kids at a hospital.”
“Which hospital?” When Brandt told her, Ciara knew she would not have been upright if she’d still been standing. Why, she thought, did it have to be the same hospital where she’d begun her nursing career? The same hospital where she’d met and subsequently dated Victor? The same hospital she’d fled when he’d become more demanding, possessive, when he’d sought to control her life?
Brandt saw Ciara clutch the sheet before her grip eased. “What’s the matter?”
She affected a smile that only touched her mouth. “Nothing.”
“Please don’t lie to me, Ciara. You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost.”
Ciara knew she had to tell Brandt that they were going to a hospital where most of the staff were familiar with her and where she could possibly run into a man who was not what he’d presented—a doctor who was Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
“I used to work at that hospital.”
“Did you leave on bad terms?”
“No,” she answered truthfully. “It was my decision to leave.”
“How long did you work there?”
A beat passed. “Ten years.”
Brandt studied the face of the woman who unknowingly had changed him and his life. If she hadn’t stood her ground he would’ve chased her out too, leaving him to wallow in a maelstrom of helplessness and self-pity. Ciara was good to and for him, and if there was anything she wanted or