Читать книгу The Mummy Makeover / Mummy for Hire - Cathy Gillen Thacker - Страница 8

Only two things served to relax Kieran O’Brien—great sex and pumping iron. Since he still had several hours before he could leave work, and no special woman in his life right now, he’d have to settle for a weight session in his own private gym adjacent to his office. A sanctuary far away from the distractions and demands that came from owning two premier Houston health clubs, with a third location in the construction stage.

He strode through the club to the familiar sounds of expensive exercise equipment being put to good use, as well as a chorus of greetings from the regulars, several of whom were women he’d personally trained at one time. Some were women who’d wanted more than the standard workout. On the advice of those who’d groomed him to be a preeminent personal trainer, he’d vowed from the beginning not to mix business with pleasure. Not once had he crossed that line.

He’d kept his dating life separate from his professional life, in spite of the occasional temptation. The constant propositions had been one factor in his choice to halt private sessions; the other involved a lack of time. Not to mention a guy could only be so strong.

Kieran had almost reached his refuge across the room when a tug on the back of his T-shirt halted his progress and his plan. He expected a staff member announcing some minor crisis that needed his attention, or a patron inquiring about one of the latest innovations he’d purchased during a recent expansion. Instead, he turned to find a little girl with wide blue eyes and strawberry-blond hair, dressed in a pink jacket, white T-shirt and faded jeans, a denim backpack draped over her thin shoulder. She looked so sweet and innocent, all his irritation over the interruption melted away. Most likely she’d probably wandered from the play area and couldn’t find her way back. A displaced kid he could handle.

“Are you lost, sweetheart?” he asked.

She shook her head and studied the floor. “I’m looking for Mr. O’Brien. Lisa told me he has kind of long dark hair and a lot of muscles and you look like that.”

He quickly ran through a mental list of his employees but couldn’t remember any Lisa. “I’m Mr. O’Brien. What’s your name?”

“Stormy.”

When she nailed him with a determined look, Kieran’s gut told him she probably came by that name honestly. “Is your mom or dad a member?”

“I’m with Lisa and her mom.”

Not a whole lot for Kieran to go on to locate a missing adult. “Who’s Lisa’s mom?”

“Candice Conrad.”

Now that was a name he wouldn’t soon forget. A typical well-heeled, good-looking woman who had too much time on her hands and a disinterested husband, something he’d discovered when she’d hired him two years ago—and the reason he’d resigned from the position less than six months later. Not that his resignation had discouraged her from periodically asking if he’d consider taking her back on. “Do you need help finding Mrs. Conrad, kiddo?” A task he would assign to one of his staff members in order to avoid the overly enthusiastic Candice.

Stormy looked highly insulted. “I know where she is. I want to talk to you about buying training lessons.”

He had to hand it to the kid—she knew what she wanted. And what she wanted was something he couldn’t give her, even if she happened to be old enough to hire a trainer, which she wasn’t.

Determined to let her down easy, Kieran guided her to a round table at the juice bar in the corner, away from the hum of treadmills and the whir of recumbent bikes. After he retrieved a cup of fruit juice and set it before her, he took the seat opposite hers. “How old are you, Stormy?”

She shrugged off her denim backpack and laid it on the table. “I’ll be eleven two weeks before Christmas.” She sent him a toothy grin. “My mom says I was her best present ever.”

Considering her small stature, he would’ve guessed her to be at least two years younger. “You have to be eighteen to have personal-training sessions, but you could join our after-school youth exercise program.”

She took a quick drink then wrinkled her freckle-spattered nose. “I don’t want you to train me. I want you to train my mom.”

A request he couldn’t honor, but he could still be of some help. “Just have her call the club and ask for me. I’ll make sure she gets a good trainer.”

She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “That won’t work. I want it to be a surprise for her birthday. And I want you to do it because Lisa’s mom says you’re the best trainer around.”

Funny, Lisa’s mom hadn’t seemed all that interested in his fitness skills. “Look, Stormy, personal training is expensive and—”

“I know that.” She unzipped her backpack, pulled out a fistful of crumpled bills and held them out to him. “I saved up all my allowance. It’s almost eighty dollars. That should pay for a month, right?”

That would seem like a lot of money to a ten-year-old kid, but that amount didn’t even cover an hour of Kieran’s standard fee. “Tell you what. I’ll give your mom a three-month membership for free. How’s that?”

Now she looked completely dejected. “After school I go to the spa where she works, and I heard her tell the ladies that someday she wanted to hire a personal trainer, when she had some extra money. That’s why I have to do this for her.”

Kieran wasn’t sure how he was going to handle the situation without totally crushing her. But before he could come up with a strategy, she added, “I just want her be happy again, like before.”

The abject sadness in her voice had the impact of a punch in the chest, right around the area of Kieran’s heart. “Before what?”

He saw the first hint of tears in Stormy’s eyes. “Before my dad died six years ago. She still misses him. I miss him, too.”

Her tears didn’t fall, but something deep inside Kieran did. If he had even a scrap of common sense left after her heartfelt pleas, he’d turn her down gently and turn her away. But despite the shrewdness he’d developed over ten years as a business owner, regardless that he’d grown cynical when it came to people’s intentions, along came a child to remind him that not everyone had questionable motives. Not everyone had been blessed with an easy life, either.

She sent him another pleading look. “If you need more money, I can give you what my grandparents send me for my birthday and Christmas. I can save more lunch money, too. I could sell my bike if I have to.”

Even though he might regret it later, Kieran couldn’t refuse her now. He also couldn’t have her giving up everything, either. Not when it seemed she’d already given up too much.

After he took the bills she still clutched in her hand—money he planned to return to her later—he said, “This should be enough for a month.”

Finally, she smiled. A smile that was bound to break more than a few teenage boys’ hearts in a few years. “Since I can’t get her to come to the gym, you can come by our house tonight and surprise her.”

Apparently she was intent on running the show, and his schedule. He still couldn’t help admiring her resolve. “What about tomorrow night?”

She took another drink of the juice. “She works late on Friday, but she comes home early on Thursdays because it’s pizza night.”

Unfortunately he’d already agreed to have dinner with his family at his sister’s place this evening. But so what if he was a little late. His mother, a living monument of compassion, wouldn’t only understand; she’d congratulate him. He’d just stop by Stormy’s house first, which led to another question: “Where exactly do you live?”

She pulled out a piece of folded paper and handed it to him. “This is my address and my phone number, but don’t call first. I want it to be—”

“A surprise.” One he hoped didn’t earn him a boot on his butt delivered by a mom who might not take too kindly to her kid “buying” her a fitness program—unless Candice had cooked up some scheme with one of her wealthy friends, using a child as a pawn in an effort to bring him back into her life again. He wouldn’t put it past her to stoop that low. Only one way to find out.

Kieran studied the address and found that the neighborhood wasn’t far from his parents’—an area that included strictly middle-class housing, not manicured mansions. Apparently his suspicions about Candice’s manipulation were unwarranted for a change.

After he tucked the paper away in his pocket, Kieran considered how he would react if his nieces approached someone they didn’t know, and opted to issue a mild caution. “I’ll be there, as long as you promise not to give out your personal information to strangers from now on.”

She grinned again. “I promise, but you’re not a stranger anymore.”

He came to his feet and pushed the chair beneath the table. “You probably should find Lisa’s mom now, in case she’s looking for you.” Before she came looking for Stormy and found him.

Stormy stood, rounded the table and gave him a quick hug. “Thank you, Mr. O’Brien.”

When he noted the gratitude in her expression, he recognized he was doing a good thing. “You’re welcome, and you can call me Kieran.”

“My mom’s name is Erica.” Her smile faded into a frown. “You are going to come, aren’t you?”

No way would he let her down now. If he could give this little girl and her mother some peace of mind, he saw no real reason not to make an attempt. “I’ll be there around six, if that’s okay.”

“That works great.” She turned and began to walk backward, another bright smile plastered on her face. “This is going to be the best pizza night ever!”

Erica Stevens had never seen such a pretty pizza delivery boy. Pizza deliveryman, she corrected. A buff, patently gorgeous man with longish wavy dark hair and near-black eyes. Over six feet of pleasantly disreputable-looking, prime male flesh standing on her doorstep, wearing a pair of jeans and a black polo covered by a beige jacket—and not a pizza box in sight.

Of course not. The pizza never arrived in less than an hour, let alone five minutes after she placed the order. And generally speaking, pizza delivery guys were lanky high school students, not action heroes come to life.

For the sake of caution, she kept the screen door latched securely, at least until she knew exactly who he was and why he was there. “May I help you?”

“Are you Erica?”

Okay, maybe he was a new hire at the restaurant, they had prepared her order in advance and the box was still in his car because he wasn’t sure he had the right address. “Yes, I’m Erica. Are you the pizza deliveryman?”

He leaned a shoulder against the white column supporting the porch and slid his hands into his jeans’ pockets. “No. I’m your birthday present.”

Erica’s gaze immediately drifted to his jacket’s pocket etched with the words Bodies By O’Brien. Surely not. Then again, she wouldn’t put anything past her coworkers down at the day spa. “Please tell me you’re not a stripper.”

He cracked a dazzling grin, his teeth flashing white against the shadow of stubble surrounding his mouth. “I’m a personal trainer. My name’s Kieran O’Brien, owner of Bodies By O’Brien, which is a health club, not a strip club. Or a pizza joint.”

None of this made any sense to Erica. Not the circumstance or her slightly warm reaction to his smile. She had the strongest urge to step onto the porch, strip off his jacket and see if his physique lived up to her expectations. Instead, she tugged her oversize sweatshirt down to conceal her obvious physical flaws. “First of all, my birthday is a couple of weeks away.” Her thirty-first birthday, which she’d just as soon forget. “Secondly, I don’t want a personal trainer.”

He shifted his weight slightly, showing the first signs of discomfort. “Not according to the party who hired me. In fact, she said you’ve mentioned you’d like to have a trainer. That’s why she’s giving my services to you as a birthday gift.”

Erica should’ve known she would rue the day she’d admitted that to Bette, the self-appointed salon matriarch. “I truly appreciate the gesture, but honestly, I’m a massage therapist at a busy day spa and I work crazy hours. I don’t have a lot of extra time on my hands.”

“You don’t have any breaks?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

“I usually don’t get home until after 6:00 p.m., and I work Saturdays. The rest of the time I spend with my daughter.”

He scrubbed a palm over his chin. “What time do you go into the spa in the morning?”

She could predict where he might be trying to lead her, and that was a road she didn’t care to take. “I arrive around 9:00 a.m., but I don’t do mornings well, Mr. O’Brien.”

“It’s Kieran, and a good workout gets the adrenaline going to carry you through the rest of the day.”

“That’s why they invented coffee.”

“I never touch the stuff. I prefer a natural endorphin high.”

She preferred a double espresso mocha cappuccino with whipped cream. But she did remember those endorphin days fondly, during a long-ago time when she’d been an avid gymnast. Back when she hadn’t been toting thirty extra pounds and the weight of serious responsibilities on her shoulders. “Again, I’m not a morning person.”

Kieran inclined his head slightly and leveled his gaze on her. “If you try it, you might like it. But if mornings won’t work, we could come up with another plan that suits your schedule. No sweat.”

And if she agreed, Erica assumed sweating would be a major part of the deal. She was already beginning to perspire despite the forty-degree November weather, and he hadn’t even put her through a workout—at least not beyond the dubious one playing out in her imagination. “As tempting as that sounds, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. But I’ll be sure to let Bette know that I appreciate the thought.”

Now he looked confused. “Sorry, but I don’t know anyone named Bette.”

This was getting stranger by the minute. “Then who sent you?”

“You’re here, Mr. O’Brien!” came from behind Erica right before Stormy unlatched the screen and rushed onto the porch. Suddenly, it was very clear how this man ended up on her doorstep, although the details were still sketchy.

“I take it you two know each other,” Erica said, after her daughter finished giving Kieran O’Brien a voracious hug.

Stormy grinned, looking altogether pleased with her little surprise. “Happy birthday, Mom!”

She had no clue how Stormy could have possibly hired this man. Personal trainers were costly, and her daughter simply didn’t have any real monetary resources. “It’s not my birthday yet, and would you care to explain how you managed this, young lady?”

“Lisa’s mom told me about Mr. O’Brien today when she took us to the gym. That’s when I hired him.” She glanced up at Kieran with pure adoration. “Isn’t that right?”

He patted her cheek. “That’s right.”

Erica was surprised that Candice Conrad, who’d barely given her the time of day aside from arranging playdates for their daughters, had some role in this plan. Or Candy, as her friends called her. Ironic, considering the woman had probably never eaten an ounce of chocolate in her entire life. Or if she had, she’d managed to surgically remove the effects. But that wasn’t exactly fair. After all, Candy dropped Stormy off at the spa almost every afternoon after school. For that reason, Erica should be a bit more benevolent. Then again, Candy had obviously taken it upon herself to impose her own fitness standards on poor, overweight Erica.

Regardless, Erica still had questions to ask Kieran O’Brien…alone.

After opening the door, Erica pointed inside. “You need to finish your homework before the pizza arrives, sweetie.”

Stormy scowled. “But, Mom—”

“No arguments, Stormy. I need to talk to Mr. O’Brien for a few minutes.”

“To set up the training sessions,” Stormy said with certainty.

To tell him thanks, but no thanks, something Erica chose not to mention at the moment. “We’ll see. In the meantime, your homework is waiting.”

Stormy walked back into the house in a huff and as soon as Erica was assured her daughter wasn’t within earshot, she turned back to Kieran. “I happen to know Stormy doesn’t have enough money to pay for your services.”

“Actually, she gave me all her allowance.”

A meager allowance her child must have been saving for quite some time. “What was that? Fifty dollars?”

He fished in his pocket and pulled out a few bills. “Eighty, to be exact.”

She rolled her eyes. “I suspect you make that much in half an hour.”

“Normally, but I’m willing to give her a cut rate. In fact, you can have this back now.” He opened her hand and laid the bills in her palm, then folded her fingers around them before releasing his grasp on her wrist. “In case she needs something special. Just don’t let her know I returned it.”

His simple touch threw Erica for a loop, almost enough to prevent her from speaking. “Why would you even consider doing this for free?”

“Because she seems like a good kid and this means a lot to her. You might want to think about that before you turn down the offer.”

He definitely had a point, although Erica wasn’t inclined to accept charity in any form. Yet she saw no harm in at least carefully considering the gesture before she told her daughter how much she appreciated her concern, but why she couldn’t commit to a fitness program right now. “Do you have a number I can call if I decide I want to do this?”

After he pulled a card from his jeans’ pocket, he gave her a long once-over that made her want to unbind her waist-length hair from the back of her neck, but that would only conceal her upper torso. “Give me a pen and I’ll write down my cell number,” he said. “It’s easier to reach me that way.”

She had no pockets in her tattered sweats, which meant she could leave him standing on the porch while she searched for a pen, or be courteous and invite him inside. Oh, what the heck. She’d write down the number and send him on his way.

Erica flattened herself against the door and waved him forward. “Come in while I find something to write with. The den’s to your right.”

Despite a solid effort to keep her eyes centered on his back, her gaze took a downward trek as she followed him through the small foyer. As predicted, his butt could only be deemed delicious. She seriously needed to get a grip.

In the den, Erica sidestepped over to the corner desk to prevent Kieran from getting a gander at her hips that had widened considerably since Jeff’s death. That extra width was a direct result of taking comfort from food to ease the sadness, and admittedly some latent anger over being left alone to raise her daughter. She’d basically remained in emotional limbo for almost six years, even if that wasn’t exactly logical. But neither was her fascination with the beautiful stranger who wandered around the room while she squirreled away the money in the desk drawer and rummaged for a pen, without success. No doubt her offspring had pilfered the last one.

“Mom! I need your help!”

Speaking of offspring…“I’ll be with you shortly, Stormy.” She sent a sheepish glance at Kieran, who’d paused his pacing to stand near the sofa. “When she wants something, she only knows one tone of voice—loud.” Like he hadn’t noticed that.

He sent her a curious look. “Is that how she came by her name?”

She leaned back against the desk and folded her arms across her midriff. “Actually, we were under a thunderstorm warning in Oklahoma the night she was born.”

“Mom, if you don’t come help me, I’m going to throw my math book out the window!”

“Hold your horses, Stormy! And bring me a pen.” She shrugged. “As it turned out, the name fits her well.”

A few moments later, Stormy walked into the room from the hall, her lopsided ponytail swaying back and forth like a pendulum. After smiling again at Kieran, she strode up to Erica and pointed a pencil at her. “Now can I get some help with my math?”

“I can try, Stormy, but I have trouble balancing a checkbook.” She did know enough, though, to realize her finances were rather slim these days.

“I’m pretty good at math,” Kieran said.

Stormy glanced back at Kieran, her eyes wide with wonder. “You are?”

“Believe it or not, I was an honor student in high school,” he said. “I was also a business major in college. I know math. Give me a shot and I’ll prove—”

“That you’ve got brains to go along with the brawn?” Erica blurted without thought.

He grinned. “Something like that.”

“My homework’s in the kitchen,” Stormy tossed out before skipping into the hallway. Apparently she had no qualms about taking Kieran on as a tutor.

Erica offered Kieran the pencil and an apologetic look. “You really don’t have to do this.”

“Not a problem,” he said as he jotted down his number on the card with the pencil and laid both on the desk.

“You don’t have any pressing issues awaiting you?” Like pressing his killer body against some willing woman.

“I have to meet my parents for dinner in about an hour, so I have some extra time.”

This man was much too good to be true. “What about your wife?”

“No significant other right now,” he said, seemingly undisturbed by her semi-interrogation.

Very interesting information, and somewhat problematic for Erica. If he’d been involved in a serious relationship, she could easily ignore him. Absurd. She could still ignore him. “If you insist on helping my child, I won’t complain. It will save me a lot of grief, but you’ll probably receive some in return.”

“I’m tough enough to handle a ten-year-old. And like I said, she seems like a good kid.”

We’ll see about that after the homework process, she wanted to say but instead led him into the kitchen where Stormy sat behind the small dinette table, rapping her pencil impatiently on her open book.

Erica tried not to stare when Kieran shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair that he then turned around and straddled. She tried not to ogle his prominent biceps. Tried not to gawk at the size of his hands, which he rested casually on the table before him. To say he met her expectations would be wrong. He more than exceeded them. What she wouldn’t give to get her paws on all that incredible muscle mass. Professionally speaking, of course.

Jerking herself back into hostess mode, she said, “Since you don’t drink coffee, is there anything else I can get you?” She’d offer him a brownie, but she’d already eaten the last one of the batch she’d made two nights ago.

He scooted the chair closer to the table. “I’m fine.”

She wouldn’t argue that point. “Just let me know if you need anything. I’ll be right over here.” Engaging in busywork while sending covert glances his way.

Erica absently swiped at the countertops with a damp cloth while Kieran went over a few problems with Stormy. Amazingly, her daughter hadn’t issued one complaint. On the contrary, she actually remained silent and listened for a change.

After wiping her hands on a dish towel, Erica turned and said, “You missed your calling, Kieran. You should have been a teacher.”

He looked up from the book and trained his dark eyes on hers. “No thanks. I’m better with weights.”

“And I’m finished,” Stormy said, then sat back and sighed. “If Mom would’ve helped me, we would’ve been sitting here until midnight.”

Erica playfully slapped Stormy’s arm with the towel and then checked the clock on the wall. “Time to wash up for dinner since the pizza should be here any minute. But first, you need to thank Mr. O’Brien.”

“Thanks, Kieran,” she said, as if she had the right to call him by his given name.

He pushed back from the table and stood. “No problem, Stormy. Good luck on the quiz.”

“I’m sure I can pass it now,” Stormy replied with clear confidence, topped off with a look of gratitude aimed at her new hero. “I’ll let you know how I did when I come with Mom to the gym.”

Unable to voice a response, at least not one that her daughter would care to hear, Erica ushered Kieran back into the den and once there, he paused at the shelves beside the fireplace to study a framed photo taken during her gymnast days. A picture depicting a much, much thinner version of herself. “That was my senior year in high school,” she said, feeling somewhat self-conscious. “I competed for a year in college before I got pregnant with Stormy.”

He turned his attention from the photo to her. “You were young when you had her.”

“Barely twenty,” she said. And ill-prepared for Stormy’s congenital heart defect, the reason she and Jeff had moved to Houston—to be closer to her doctors. She briefly wondered if Stormy had mentioned the condition to Kieran, then decided she probably hadn’t. Out of respect for her daughter, who wanted badly to be viewed as perfectly normal, she wouldn’t mention it, either. “I married the summer after I graduated high school, in case you’re like most people and believe the baby came before the nuptials.”

“My sister married young and she wasn’t pregnant, either,” he said. “Unfortunately, her marriage didn’t last long.”

“Mine didn’t, either.” Through no fault of her own. “My husband died in an industrial accident when Stormy was four.”

“She mentioned that,” Kieran said as he glanced at the picture of Jeff set out not too far away. “I’m sorry.”

So was Erica. Sorry that she’d had so little time to know her husband. Sorry that her daughter had had even less time to know her father. “Sometimes things happen we can’t control.”

He streaked a hand over the back of his neck. “Guess you’re right, but it’s still got to be tough to deal with.”

Erica decided to move past the sad subject. “Anyway, I intended to teach gymnastics after college. Circumstances forced me to find a more lucrative way to make a living, which is how I ended up as a massage therapist.” A decision she had made in the two-year delay in receiving Jeff’s employer’s minimal settlement, most of which had gone to pay off Stormy’s astronomical medical bills that weren’t covered after Jeff’s death.

Kieran replaced the photo and said, “Can you still do back flips?”

Erica smiled in response to his winning grin. “Only if I want to hurt something vital.”

“After I’m done with you, you’ll be able to tumble again.”

She only planned to tumble into bed—alone—as she did every night. “Don’t count on me doing even a simple cartwheel.”

“Then you’re going to go through with the training?”

Oh, he was good. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you haven’t ruled it out yet.”

“Not yet. Obviously I haven’t been able to lose the extra pounds on my own. And believe me, I’ve gained more than a few extra pounds.” As if he hadn’t noticed that in spite of her loose clothing.

“Some weight gain is understandable,” he said. “You’re not sixteen anymore. Body weight increases with age.”

Her body had expanded more than she’d thought possible, and on a five-foot, two-inch frame, it wasn’t pretty. “That’s true, but come to think of it, I doubt a few training sessions will make all that much of a difference.”

“A couple hours a day, five days a week, will get noticeable results.”

She did a quick mental calculation. “You’d have to be darn good to whip me into shape in five sessions.”

“That’s for an entire month, which means at least twenty sessions. And I am good.” He said it with all the assurance of a man who had no qualms about selling his skills, and not necessarily those limited to the fitness field. “But a lot will depend on your commitment after we’re finished working together. I’d be willing to throw in a six-month membership at one of my clubs.”

Erica would rather drink salt doused with vinegar than walk into a room full of nubile young women. “I’m not overly fond of gyms these days.”

“The sessions will have to take place at the gym.” He took a quick glance around the small den. “Unless you have your own equipment around here somewhere.”

She had a stationary bicycle gathering dust in the garage, but that was the extent of her equipment. “No, I don’t. But I really hate the thought of working out with a bunch of people looking on.”

“That’s not a problem,” he said. “I have my own fully equipped, private area that I’d be glad to let you use until you’re more comfortable.”

“How convenient.” Both for him and all the other women he’d probably enticed into an intimate workout. Erica could just imagine it now—a few free weights, a few minutes on the rowing machine, a lot of cardio under the supervision of a guy who probably had the means to send a heart rate to maximum level in minimal time. The vision bouncing around in her head gave a whole new meaning to the term push-ups.

Shaking the unwelcome fantasy away, she said, “I’m still not ready to agree to this.”

Oddly, he looked almost disappointed. “Suit yourself, but you’re missing a prime opportunity. I don’t make this offer to just anyone.”

“You’re doing it for my child, remember?”

“Yeah, but I see potential in you.” He raked his gaze down her body again—slowly. “A lot of potential, if you have the guts to see this through.”

The challenge in his sexy voice and seductive eyes made her want to twitch and throw herself at him like some crazed hormonal harpy.

Erica led him out of the den and strode to the door, holding it open before she agreed for all the wrong reasons. “Tell you what. I’ll let you know in a few days.”

“Don’t take too long,” he said as he stepped onto the porch. “I’ve got a business to run and my time is in demand.”

She just bet it was.

Erica felt a brush against her ankle and looked down to find the family cat winding his way through her legs. She bent, picked up the gray tabby and held him like a baby. “I was wondering where you were, Diner.”

Kieran frowned. “Diner?”

“We found him behind a diner where we stopped for lunch on our way back from a trip to Oklahoma. He was scrawny and underfed, so we brought him with us, took him to the vet and got his mind off the girls.”

“You had him neutered.”

“Yes. Amazing how a simple procedure can improve a male attitude.”

He looked pained. “Do you apply that practice with all men?”

She laughed. “Only alley cats, so don’t worry.”

“That’s good to know. Otherwise, I might rescind the offer.” He stepped off the porch and began to back down the walkway. “I expect to have an answer in two days.”

A demanding kind of guy, which might have ticked Erica off if he hadn’t smiled again. “Fine. I’ll call you in two days.”

“You do that.”

While Erica remained planted firmly on the porch, Kieran turned and strolled to the sleek black sports car parked at the curb. She couldn’t make out the model in the dark, but she presumed it probably cost as much as her modest three-bedroom house. And although she should go back inside, she waited until he was safely seated behind the wheel and well on his way down the street.

As tempting as Kieran’s proposal might be—as tempting as he was—she didn’t need any one-on-one program to help her lose weight. She could buy a DVD and some hand weights. She’d take a daily walk to get reacquainted with endorphins. She’d stop eating to fill the void.

But tonight, before she crawled into her vacant bed, Erica planned to treat herself to several slices of pizza. At least that would take care of one craving.