The Mummy Makeover / Mummy for Hire. Cathy Gillen Thacker

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ