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take-charge position. “Please come with me.”
    Ciara followed Leona through the expansive entryway that led into a great room. A curving staircase off to the left led to another level. “Is he on this floor or upstairs?” she asked.
    Slowing her pace, Leona glanced over her shoulder. “He is in a bedroom on this floor.” She didn’t tell the nurse that the second floor was usually off-limits to everyone. The only exception was when her son hosted parties in the rooftop solarium. She turned down a wide hallway and walked into one of three bedroom suites set aside for guests.
    â€œI’ll wait out here for you.”
    Ciara nodded and then walked into the room. Brandt Wainwright lay in a hospital bed positioned near the floor-to-ceiling windows, eyes closed, with a sheet covering his lower body, the rise and fall of his bare chest in an even rhythm revealing the steadiness of his breathing. The bedroom was furnished in a traditional style, in contrast to the post-war architecture of the apartment.
    She approached the bed. The rapid pulse of the large vein in his neck indicated that he wasn’t sleeping. Hergaze lingered on his face. He hadn’t shaved and a full day’s growth covered his jaw and chin. Ciara wasn’t into sports, but only someone completely cut off from civilization wouldn’t recognize the NFL’s golden boy.
    His hair was a mess, indicating it hadn’t been combed or brushed. It was also oily, which confirmed it needed to be shampooed. Reaching out, she placed a hand on his shoulder. His skin was cool to the touch. But before she could withdraw her hand, Ciara found her wrist trapped between Brandt’s fingers.
    â€œDo you usually shake someone’s hand even before you’ve been introduced?” she said, meeting his angry gaze. His eyes were a startling shade of sky blue. “Get out!”
    â€œI’m afraid that’s not going to be possible. After all, you are holding on to my wrist.”
    Brandt released her hand. “I’ve let you go. Now get out!”
    Ciara took a step backward, far enough to evade his long reach and folded her arms under her breasts. “I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Wainwright. In case you haven’t been counting, I happen to be your third nurse and that means you’ve just about struck out.”
    â€œWrong sport,” Brandt drawled, flashing a sardonic grin.
    She inclined her head. “I stand corrected. Maybe I should’ve said the clock just ran out, sport! Game over.”
    He stared at the nurse in the tie-dyed smock that overwhelmed her slender frame. His gaze shifted downward to a pair of leather clogs. At least the dark blue scrubs fit. He wasn’t exactly sure of her age, buthe guessed she was anywhere between twenty-five and thirty.
    Brandt had decided on another approach. He knew growling like a wounded bear wasn’t going to intimidate this nurse. “Please don’t take it personally, but I don’t want or need someone taking care of me.” His tone was soft, almost soothing.
    Ciara wasn’t fooled by his sudden change in tone. “Whenever I take care of a patient I can assure you that it’s never personal. You have a choice, Mr. Wainwright. Either you let me take care of you here or you can go to a rehab facility.”
    He snorted. “That’s not going to happen.”
    Her eyes narrowed behind the lenses of her black plastic frames. “You think not? If I walk out of here and file my report with the agency my recommendation will be that you see a psychotherapist and go to an inpatient rehab facility. I’m also certain you don’t want to remain on injured reserve next season. And I’m sure you’ve been cautioned about blood clots. We’ll begin by showering and washing your hair. If you want, I can help you shave or you can continue to look like Grizzly Adams.”
    Brandt sat up straighter. “Did anyone