“Nothing worth talking about.”
Reaching over, he tugged at her ponytail. “How would you like a break?”
Ciara stared at Brandt’s profile, surprisingly shocked by his question. “You want another nurse?”
Leaning closer, he pressed a kiss to her hair. “Now why would I want another nurse when I’m crazy about the one I have? I was talking about going away for a week or two.”
She wondered if Brandt was thinking about his aborted vacation. He’d been on his way to North Carolina when he’d had the accident. “You want to go to North Carolina?”
“No, babe, I don’t want to go to North Carolina. I’d have a problem getting around on crutches.”
Wrapping her arm around Brandt’s waist, Ciara rested her head on his shoulder. Their relationship had an undercurrent of uneasiness these days. It was as if they’d reached an impasse: they couldn’t go forward and there was no going back. There was no way they could undo making love.
“What about your therapy?”
Brandt chuckled. “Do you always have to think like a nurse?”
It was Ciara’s turn to laugh. “Of course. Once a nurse, always a nurse.”
“Well, Nurse Dennison, there are some exercises I can do without using a treadmill or bike. Now, where should we go?”
He was offering her a choice—something Victor never had done. It had always been his way or no way. She hadn’t thought about or spoken Victor’s name since Esteban’s birthday celebration, and she knew it was just a matter of time before she would be able to exorcise him completely from her mind.
“We’ll discuss it over dinner.”
Brandt angled his head and brushed his mouth over her parted lips. “Wherever we decide to go, it will have to be after Sunday. I promised the guys on the team I would come see them play Sunday afternoon.”
“What else do you have planned?” she asked, smiling.
“That’s it for now. I’m going to have to call my aunt and let her know we’ll be away and won’t be able to join the others for her fall frolic fête.”
Ciara wanted to tell Brandt that reconnecting with his family took precedence over an impromptu vacation, but didn’t know his current state of mind. Perhaps getting away was what he needed to prepare himself for the next phase of his life—because there was still the possibility that he wouldn’t be able to play ball again. He would always have his family, but even if he’d remained healthy the career of a professional football player was not a long one. He’d chosen a career path measured in mere years and wishes that he would be able to retire physically unscathed.
Brandt had selected a tiny Italian restaurant two blocks from the apartment building, and what should’ve taken them five minutes to walk stretched into a laborious fifteen with him stopping to rest every twenty feet. Ciara chided herself for allowing him to perform the task his first day on crutches, but kept silent.
When the waiter recognized Brandt, he showed them to a table that provided a modicum of privacy. Placing a hand over his heart, the man angled his head. “My wife said a special novena for your recovery when we heard about your accident. I will tell her that her prayers were answered.”
Brandt smiled. “Let your wife know I really appreciate her prayers.”
“I’ll give you and your lady time to look at the menu,” he said, backing away from the table.
Ciara glanced around the restaurant; like many Manhattan eating establishments, the owner had maximized all available space with the positioning of tables along the brick walls. It was designed to duplicate an underground grotto with a waterfall, gaslight sconces and a cobblestone floor.
“This place is charming,” she said, smiling at Brandt across the table. A lighted candle threw long and short shadows over his lean face.
“I like coming here because the service is good, the food is exceptional and I can blend in.”
Ciara stared at her dining partner. It was the first time Brandt had alluded to his celebrity status being a hindrance. Even if he hadn’t been football’s Viking, it would have been difficult for him to blend in, given his appearance.
“Does it bother you when people stop and stare?” she asked.
Brandt lifted a broad shoulder under a cotton sweater. He was dressed entirely in black: sweater, jeans, running shoes and baseball cap. “Not too much. In the beginning I felt uncomfortable because I didn’t know how someone would react to me. Were they angry because we hadn’t won a game, or were they mad because we had beaten their team? It’s impossible to tell what someone is thinking when they come up to me, so I find myself on guard most times.”
“When you go out do you usually travel with Mr. Landis?”
A wry smile softened Brandt’s mouth. “Ibrahim provides the necessary buffer I need whenever I attend something on the scale of a charity event.”
“What about the clubs?”
“I stopped going to clubs a few years back. Alex had just joined the team and we went with several other players to a club in the Meatpacking District. Some dude threw a punch at Alex because he claimed he was flirting with his woman, and all hell broke loose. A running back was jumped by two guys and when it was all over the other guys were unconscious with broken jaws and busted ribs. A bouncer led us out through an emergency exit and by the time the police arrived we were nowhere in sight. That was the last time I went to a club.”
Ciara narrowed her eyes. “Please don’t tell me you got into the melee.”
“Did you actually think I was going to let someone tag one of my teammates without retaliating? There were only two hits: one when I clocked the idiot and the other when he hit the floor. We hauled ass because Alex would’ve violated his personal conduct clause and could’ve been banned from the game, while the rest of us would’ve faced suspension and substantial fines.”
“Was Alex flirting?”
“No. It was the woman who’d been coming on to him, but when he told her he wasn’t interested, she told her boyfriend he was trying to pick her up. Alex’s so-called playboy image is nothing more than media hype. He was seeing a woman for a couple of years, but they broke just before the new year. He claims she was drama personified.”
Resting her elbow on the table, Ciara rested her chin on the heel of her hand. “Aren’t most relationships filled with drama?”
Brandt stared at the doll-like face of the woman totally unaware of her impact on him and his life. “They don’t have to be, Ciara.”
Her delicate eyebrows lifted. “Were yours?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“What makes you the exception?” she asked.
“It’s not about being the exception. It’s about recognizing it and taking the necessary steps to avoid it. I don’t do well with needy women, or those who crave the spotlight.”
“Is it because you’re not willing to share the spotlight?”
Brandt recoiled as if he’d been struck across the face. “Is that what you believe, Ciara?”
“It’s not what I believe, Brandt. It’s what I’m asking.”
“The answer is no. It’s not easy living in a fishbowl where everything you do or say is scrutinized. It took a while, but I learned to play the game. There are times I smile when I don’t feel like smiling, because once you become a so-called celebrity, everybody wants a piece of you. And you can’t preen on the red carpet one night then beat up a photographer the next day. You forfeit what you crave most: privacy.
“I could’ve bought a condo anywhere in the city, but chose the building where I live because it’s the most secure Wainwright property in the city. The elevator you take to get to the penthouse only stops at certain floors, because those tenants want to remain anonymous to everyone but the security staff. All of the doormen and security personnel have to go through extensive background checks, and then sign a confidentiality clause not to disclose what goes on in the building. You said you lived in a doorman building, so you know New York doormen are notorious gossips.”
<
br /> “So that little orgy I witnessed was the exception rather than the norm?”
“It wasn’t an orgy, Ciara,” Brandt spat out angrily. “I thought we’d settled that little misunderstanding. I had no idea Stubbs was bringing his crew with him when he asked to visit.”
“Crew? The girls looked more like rump-shaking backup dancers.”
“I wouldn’t know what they looked like, because I wasn’t interested. And if I had been, what was I going to do sitting in a wheelchair?”
Lowering her arm, Ciara gave him an incredulous look. “I know you didn’t ask me that when you know exactly what we did with you sitting in a wheelchair.”
Grinning and flashing straight white teeth, Brandt winked at Ciara. “We did some pretty incredible things in that chair. I’ll never forget your lap dance as long as I live.”
Thankfully she did not have to respond—a waiter set a basket of warm bread and two goblets of water on the table. She picked up the menu and perused the selections, feeling the heat of Brandt’s gaze on her.
“Were you jealous?”
She glanced up. “Jealous of whom or what?”
A beat passed. “Were you jealous of the woman sitting on my chair?”
Ciara knew the time had come for her to stop lying to Brandt and to herself. “Yes,” she whispered. “I was jealous and angry enough to pull the heifer’s bleached blond hair out from her black roots.”
If Ciara’s admission hadn’t been so critical to their relationship, Brandt would’ve laughed. But he didn’t, because he knew that if she was jealous, then her feelings for him went beyond casual sex. Suddenly he was sure of himself and what he had to do to win Ciara over completely.
“You’ll never have to worry about me and another woman as long as we are together. Now have you thought of where you’d like to go?” Ciara shook her head. “Would you mind if I make a suggestion?”
“Please.”
“Do you get seasick?”
A slight frown line appeared between Ciara’s eyes when she pondered his question. She hoped he wasn’t thinking of embarking on a cruise. She and her mother had taken a weeklong cruise down to the Caribbean one year and the ship was so large that it took them three days to figure out the shortest route to their cabin. “No. Why?”
“I’d like to charter a yacht and sail down to the Caribbean. We can use the boat as our hotel when visiting some of the islands.”
“It will be just us?”
He smiled. “Yes. Do you want to invite someone else?”
“Oh, no,” she said quickly. “I love the idea.”
“Good. I’ll call and make arrangements tomorrow.”
“How long do you anticipate we’ll be gone?”
“A week to ten days. Why?”
“I’ll have to contact my mother and let her know I’ll be out of the country. I also need to stop at my apartment to pick up clothes and my passport.”
“Don’t worry too much about clothes. We can go shopping when we dock in Miami. I’ll have Ibrahim take you home so you can pick up whatever else you’ll need before we sail.”
Ciara wanted to ask Brandt how many times he’d taken a woman with him yachting to exotic places, but decided what he’d done with other women was none of her business or concern. She would take Sofia’s advice and enjoy the ride, then when it was time to get off she would be left with her memories.
“It sounds as if we’re going have some fun,” she said instead.
“If I can’t promise anything else, I can promise you fun.”
Chapter 18
Ciara activated the speaker feature on her cell as she folded clothes, storing them neatly in her Pullman. “Yes, Mom, I know what I’m doing. My patient is going on vacation, and I’m accompanying him.”
“You know I’ve never interfered in your business, Cee, but something tells me this man is more than your patient,” said Phyllis Dennison.
“And what would the more be, Mom?”
“I can’t put my finger on it, but something in your voice is different. You sound happy.”
Ciara picked up the top to a hot-pink-and-red-striped bikini, folded it neatly and placed it in the bag. “That’s because I am happy. Private-duty nursing is less stressful than working at the hospital, and I get to select my cases.”
“Are you dating anyone?”
“No, Mom.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t have the time. What about you? Are you still seeing your history professor?”
Phyllis’s distinctive laugh came through the speaker. “Yes. He’d been planning to go to several countries in Africa to do some research for a book he plans to write after he retires at the end of this semester.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Mother?” Her mother only laughed like that when she was nervous.
“He asked me to go along with him as his wife.”
Ciara screamed like an adolescent girl. “What did you say?”
“I told him yes.”
Covering her mouth with a trembling hand, Ciara sat down on the chair beside her bed. It had taken twenty-three years, but her mother had found a man who made her happy and secure enough to try marriage again.
“Oh, Mom. I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you, baby.”
“When are you getting married?”
“Probably after the new year.”
The tears Ciara had tried to keep in check overflowed. “As soon as I’m finished with this assignment I’m coming up to see you.”
“James has been talking about driving to New York City to visit some of the museums and libraries, but he has to wait until the end of the year.”
“I’ll be up to visit you before then. But when you guys come down I’ll make certain not to accept another assignment so I can act as your guide.”
“I’ll let James know.”
Ciara talked to her mother for another ten minutes before ending the call. She couldn’t believe it. Her mother was going to marry the widowed history professor who’d waited patiently for Phyllis Dennison to come around and take a second chance on love.
Closing a dresser drawer, Ciara glanced around the bedroom where she hadn’t slept in weeks. She’d come to the apartment to pick up her passport and pack a bag with clothes better suited for the tropics. They were scheduled to leave Monday morning at eight from the West Side pier and arrive at the port of Miami Wednesday afternoon.
She zipped the bag, setting it on the floor. Ibrahim was waiting downstairs to drive her downtown, where they would pick up Brandt, then head to New Jersey for the game. Activating the security alarm, she locked the door behind her.
Ibrahim straightened from his leaning position against the bumper of the gleaming black Town Car and met Ciara and took her bag from her loose grip. He seated her before placing her luggage in the trunk. His day had begun early and would end late.
Brandt had called to instruct him to drive Ciara uptown, wait for her, then bring her back and pick him up for the drive to the New Meadowlands Stadium in East Rutherford, New Jersey. He’d been informed that Ciara was his employer’s nurse, but instinct indicated she was more—much more to the MVP quarterback. He was paid well for his services and his discretion.
Ciara, awed by the size of the stadium, the thousands filing into the open-air structure and the tangible anticipation of the coin toss and kick-off, was overwhelmed when reporters, photographers and adoring fans surrounded Brandt. She managed to disengage herself from the crowd while he fielded questions, posed for photos and scrawled his name on bare arms, T-shirts and scraps of paper.
She didn’t feel sorry for rich people, because all money did was give them a more comfortable lifestyle—it couldn’t buy happiness. However, with Brandt there was another factor—fame—and that made his life a bit more complicated. As a public figure he had to put up with being stalked by paparazzi shoving cameras in his face. He had to try to protect his personal space from the crazed or demented person with an ul
terior motive.
Ciara attempted to mentally detach herself from her involvement with Brandt, to see him as a superstar athlete and not as her lover. She noticed the way he held his head when listening to someone, the manner in which he’d lean over to talk to a young child, his open smile, the warmth of his laugh and his firm handshake even while supporting himself on the crutches. His hair had grown out enough to touch the top of his ears and neck. A heavy wave flowed across the crown of his head, the flaxen strands shimmering like sunlight on bleached wheat. He was a male trifecta: face, body and brains.
“Viking, do you think you’ll be physically ready to play next year?”
Brandt smiled at the reporter shoving a handheld tape recorder inches from his face. “That determination will have to come from the team’s physician.”
“Is it true that you’re not talking to your teammates?”
His smile was still in place, but his eyes weren’t smiling. They were cold and piercing. “It depends on which teammate you’re referring to.” He put up a hand. “Sorry, folks, but I need to get off my feet.”
The excitement he’d felt when walking into the stadium was replaced by a panic that made it impossible for him to move his legs. He’d lost Ciara in the crowd. His gaze was wild, frantic when he searched the throng milling around him. Then he saw her. She was standing thirty feet away—and alone.
Their gazes met, his filled with relief. He beckoned to someone from stadium security. “Can you please tell the lady in the red jacket that we’re going to our seats?”
The man nodded. “No problem, Mr. Wainwright. I’ll escort you there.”
It took longer than expected to get to their seats because it was slow going with the crutches, and their progress was impeded when fans ran over to greet or touch him. They were finally seated in a section with league executives and season ticket holders.
It was an overcast day and the air was cooler than Ciara had expected. She’d decided to bring the jacket because she wasn’t certain when the game would end. Leaning into Brandt’s warmth, she smiled up at him. “You’re going to have to explain the game to me.”
Here I Am Page 19
