Dear Reader,
In Here I Am, we revisit the Wainwrights and meet another hunky scion, who is heir to the familyâs New York City real-estate empire. This time itâs Brandt Wainwrightâan NFL quarterback and Super Bowl MVPâwho has chosen professional sports over the family real-estate business.
Always in tip-top shape, Brandt faces his greatest challenge when he is forced to endure months of physical rehabilitation after a horrific automobile accident. Unable to take care of his most basic needs, he is forced to rely on the assistance of no-nonsense nurse Ciara Dennison.
Unimpressed by his celebrity-athlete status, Ciara tries to repress her feelings toward Brandtâboth as a patient and as a man. Despite the spotlight and tabloid rumors, Brandt must convince Ciara that true love is worth fighting for and that there is a happily-ever-after.
Of course, there are more Wainwrights whose stories are yet to be told. In the meantime, look for my Hideaway summer wedding trilogy in 2012, and get reacquainted with the Cole family.
Read, love and live romance,
Rochelle Alers
Brandt Wainwright gritted his teeth. It was as if he had ten thumbs instead of two. He had tried three times before, but he was unable to secure the striped, silk tie into a Windsor knot.
Heâd given up wearing ties, or as he called them, corporate nooses, the day after he was drafted by the NFL. That was more than ten years ago. Now, as his cousinâs best man in a wedding that was certain to make the Vows section of the Sunday New York Times, heâd agreed to wear a tuxedo.
He wasnât completely surprised when his cousin had asked him to be his best man, but what had shocked him was Jordan Wainwrightâs announcement that heâd planned to marry Aziza Fleming. Brandt had introduced the two of them at the New Yearâs Eve party heâd hosted earlier that year. Seven months later, and in less than half an hour, they would become husband and wife.
Brandt ran a hand over the back of his neck. He felt practically naked having cut his hair, which usually covered the nape of his neck. He hadnât wanted to, since like many athletes he was superstitious about things like that. But then again, he had to when Jordan asked him to get a haircut like the other groomsmen in the weddingâhis brothers, Noah and Rhett, and Jordanâs law partner, Kyle Chatham.
If it had been anyone else, Brandt wouldâve told them exactly where they could go and what they could do in the most colorful language imaginable. He was used to that kind of language in the locker room, on the gridiron and on occasion at family gatherings, much to the chagrin of his straitlaced mother. Brandt usually didnât make New Yearâs resolutions, but this year heâd made a promise to himself to watch his language.
Two quick taps on the door caught his attention. Turning, Brandt smiled as Jordan Wainwright leaned against the doorframe in one of the guest suites in the landmark Fifth Avenue mansion. After a raucous Vegas-style bachelor party at Brandtâs penthouse, the groomsmen managed to clean up well enough to attend the rehearsal and the dinner that followed in the magnificent four-story greystone mansion where Jordan had grown up with his brothers and sister. Instead of returning to his place, Brandt had spent the night in one of the guest suites to ensure he would make it to the wedding on time.
Brandtâs pearly white teeth were a stark contrast to his deeply tanned face. He smiled at Jordan, who wore a pair of dress trousers, black patent leather oxfords, a white tuxedo shirt and a platinum-hued silk tie. Jordanâs looks were dark and dramatic. His raven hair, hazel eyes and olive complexion made him stand out among the Wainwrights, who were mostly blond and fair-skinned.
âI came to see if you needed help with your tie.â
Brandt frowned. âYouâve got jokes?â The question was laced with sarcasm. âYou shouldâve had a beach wedding so we wouldnât have to wear tuxedos, ties or shoes.â
âYou can have a destination wedding once you decide to stop chasing skirts,â Jordan replied, with a smile.
Brandtâs frown deepened. âFor your information, I only chase skirts during the off-season. Did you come to check on my Windsor knotâtying skills, or are you getting cold feet?â
Jordan folded his arms over his chest and shook his head. âNot even close. My mother would have a minor breakdown if I didnât go through with this wedding. Initially, she wanted to invite three to four hundred people from my side of the family, but Aziza was adamant. She told her no more than one hundred fifty. After all, it is her wedding.â