Here I Am (Arabesque) - By Rochelle Alers Page 0,53

calls. His cell phone, which had been found in the wreckage of the Escalade, was returned to him along with his credit-card case. Both were in a plastic bag in a drawer in the kitchen. He made a mental note to get the phone and retrieve the messages.

Chapter 13

Ciara, removing husks and silk threads from ears of fresh corn, swayed gently to the music filling the kitchen from the built-in radio. She had gotten up early to marinate meat, boil potatoes and shred cabbage. Brandt had been assigned the task of cutting, dicing and chopping the ingredients that would go into the potato salad, slaw and baked beans. Her head popped up when he returned to the kitchen. He’d made a hasty retreat into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face after dicing onions.

She smiled. “Are you all right, sport?” His eyes were red and slightly puffy.

Brandt sniffled. “I’ll survive.”

“I wished I’d known you were going to invite another person because I would’ve ordered more corn.”

Brandt approached Ciara, resting his hand at her waist. “Don’t stress yourself, babe. We have more than enough food to feed five people.”

“Have you forgotten that two of the five weigh at least two-fifty?” Brandt had invited one of his teammates to join them for dinner.

“I’ve lost at least fifteen pounds since the accident, so I’m no longer two-fifty.”

Ciara moved his hand up to her back after it slipped to her hips. “You can’t expect me to cook if you feel me up.”

Brandt pressed his face to her side, pulling her down gently to sit on his lap. He tightened his hold on her waist when she attempted to free herself. “Don’t move.”

She went pliant against his chest. Brandt claimed to have lost weight, but his body was still hard, rock-solid. The upbeat song ended and a soft instrumental piece dating from the seventies filled the kitchen. It was one of her mother’s favorites.

Ciara closed her eyes, enjoying their closeness. They’d slept together without touching—Brandt on his back, legs extended, while she’d rolled over on her side in an attempt not to come into contact with his injured legs. She woke before he did, completed her morning ablutions, and when she’d returned to the bedroom, she found Brandt sitting in bed reading.

“Had you always wanted to play football?”

Brandt pressed his mouth to the bandana covering Ciara’s hair. She appeared incredibly young with her bare face, tank top and cutoffs. She’d elected not to wear her glasses, and when he looked at her he felt as if he were drowning in pools of liquid chocolate.

“No,” he said after a comfortable pause. “It was something I sort of fell into my first year of college.”

“Where did you go to college?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.

“Stanford. I was an economics major until I was bitten by the football bug. My roommate was a kid from Georgia and he teased me because I watched baseball. He claimed the only sport worth watching and playing was football. Earl was going to tryouts and convinced me to go along with him.”

“What position were you going to play?

Brandt chuckled. “I wasn’t going to play any position. I went along with Earl to offer him moral support. The coach saw that I was tall and looked strong, so he had me do twenty-five push-ups and sit-ups, then run the length of the football field twice. I did it without breathing heavily or breaking much of a sweat. What he didn’t know was that I’d always been a fitness fanatic, so his little test was like milk and Oreos—sweet!”

Ciara placed her hands over the large ones pressed against her belly. “Show-off.”

“You’re wrong. I would’ve been a show-off if I’d given him fifty push-ups and sit-ups, then run the length of the field three or four times. What I lacked in strength I made up with stamina. I got up every morning, rain or shine, to jog three miles.”

“Did your roommate make the team?”

“Yes. We were well-known on campus. I played defense my first year, but when our first-string quarterback was injured during practice, and the backup quarterback was on academic probation, the coach asked if I could step in. My first game I threw three touchdowns. And, as they say, the rest is history.”

“Are you big for a quarterback?”

Brandt nodded. “I’m heavier than most quarterbacks, but I use it to my advantage. It’s a lot harder to sack a six-five, two-hundred-fifty-pound quarterback than one who’s six-two and two-twenty. And