Here I Am (Arabesque) - By Rochelle Alers Page 0,55
sobered when seeing her expression. Ciara wasn’t amused. “I play football because I enjoy it. When I stop enjoying it, then I’ll know it’s time to get out. I’m sitting in this wheelchair not because some three-hundred-pound linebacker landed on my legs, but because a deer picked the wrong time to cross the road. Am I angry with the deer? Hell, no, because I was in his habitat. Am I going to miss not playing this season? Hell, yeah!” He held up his hand. “Don’t bother keeping count because I gave you enough money to cover this month and the next one.”
“Keep cussin’ and it won’t last until the end of this month.” Brandt pantomimed zipping his mouth, and Ciara smiled at his antics. She didn’t know why, but she wasn’t able to remain angry or annoyed with him for any appreciable length of time. “Let’s go, sport. We still have work to do in the kitchen.”
“I don’t mind helping you, but I’m not going to chop another onion.”
“Come on, Brandt. Man up! You claim you watch the cooking channels, and I’m willing to bet you’ve never heard any of the chefs complaining about chopping onions.”
Brandt shook his head. “Why did you have to go and attack my manhood?”
“The word is challenge, darling,” she crooned.
“Watch how you use that word,” Brandt countered. “When a woman calls me ‘darling’ I take it to mean she wants to kick what we have up a notch.”
Ciara turned and walked out of the closet. “We can’t kick it any higher,” she said over her shoulder. “We’re living and sleeping together.”
Brandt placed his hand on the plate. The green light was replaced with red and the panel slid closed. When Brandt had had the safe installed, the technician had programmed the open-and-close mechanism with fingerprint recognition. It could be reprogrammed with as many as three sets of fingerprints. In the event of an emergency his mother would be able to open the safe.
Brandt wanted to tell Ciara she was wrong. There were other levels to take their relationship.
After all, there was happily ever after.
The elevator doors opened and Brandt smiled as Aziza preceded her husband and brother. Jordan placed a decorative shopping bag on the side table. He knew his cousin would bring his favorite wine.
“Welcome. Forgive me if I don’t stand up.”
Leaning over, Aziza brushed a light kiss over his cheek. “You’re really not a very good comedian.”
He winked at her. “I thought I was being funny.”
Jordan slapped his cousin on the shoulder. “I don’t know who’s worse, you or Uncle Fraser.”
Brandt squinted at Jordan. “My father isn’t that bad.”
“Yeah, right,” Jordan drawled. “One time he messed up the nursery rhyme about pickled peppers.”
Brandt offered his hand to his teammate. “What’s up, Al?”
Alex Fleming shook Brandt’s hand and gave him a rough man-hug. “That’s what I should be asking you. I heard you had a run-in with Bambi and she won.”
“Isn’t she the showgirl you met in Vegas with the legs that went on forever?” Brandt asked, deadpan.
Alex gave his sister a sidelong glance. “Man, you know what happens in Vegas stays in…” His words trailed off when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. “Oh, wow…”
Brandt saw the direction of Alex’s gaze. Turning slightly in the chair, he saw the object of his teammate’s stunned expression. Ciara had changed into a pair of black stretch pants, a matching tank top and black-and-white animal-print mules. She’d worn her hair loose, blunt-cut ends tucked behind her ears. A pair of silver hoops had replaced the tiny gold studs.
Ciara felt the heat from three pairs of eyes. She’d met Jordan Wainwright, so why was he staring at her as if he’d never seen her before? Brandt had mentioned that he was bringing his wife and she assumed that the tall, slender black woman with fashionably cut short hair was his wife. A smile parted Ciara’s lips. Harlem’s rogue attorney had exquisite taste in women.
Her gaze shifted to the man with cropped black hair standing on Jordan’s left. She felt a shiver race along her spine when she noticed his eyes weren’t brown or black, but an odd shade of gray that was strangely incongruent in his chocolate-brown face. Talk about eye candy. The man was beyond delicious. He smiled and dimples dotted his lean face like thumbprints in cookies.
She decided to end the impasse. “Hello, Jordan.”
With wide eyes, Jordan stared at the woman whose voice he remembered even if he hadn’t been able