The Mummy Makeover / Mummy for Hire: The Mummy Makeover / Mummy for Hire

“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.

Chapter Two

“I need to ask a favor, dear.”

Just when Kieran had claimed a spot on his sister’s sofa to let his mother’s Armenian cooking adequately digest, he’d been called into action by the tiny woman with a big heart. Normally he never refused Lucine O’Brien anything, but he could think of one thing in particular he wouldn’t do for anyone, not even his mother. “If you want me to call Kevin and tell him he needs to be at lunch Sunday, forget it, Mom.”

She wiped her hands on her apron and perched beside him on the cushion’s edge. “I wish you two got along better.”

Here it came, the blood-is-thicker-than-water speech. “The problem I have with Kevin has to do with his bad choices, and he’s chosen not to come around. I can’t change him, and neither can you.” After spending most of his life cleaning up his twin brother’s messes, Kieran had given up on that lost cause several years ago.

“Could you just hear me out, honey?”

Driven by family loyalty, he reached for the remote and muted the TV. “Okay, I’m listening.”

She shifted slightly to face him and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m worried about Kevin. I don’t think he’s well.”

Nothing new there. Kevin had been born the sickly twin and their mother still worried about him incessantly, even after thirty-plus years. “Why do you think that?”

“He seems tired to me,” Lucy said. “And pale.”

“He’s tired because it’s a big job, traveling all around the country to interview sports figures.” And having a woman in every port, Kieran thought. Probably every airport, too.

She laid a hand on his arm. “I’d still like you to visit him and see for yourself.”

That wasn’t something Kieran had the time, or the desire, to do. “Let Mallory check on him.”

“Did I hear someone mention my name?”

Kieran glanced back to find his sister strolling into the den, a rag sporting the remnants of strained carrots thrown over one shoulder. “Damn, you have good ears, Mallory.”

“Watch your language, young man.”

His mother’s tone alone had been known to instill fear in many a tough guy, including his four brothers and her own husband, who was snoring like a power drill in the nearby lounger. “Sorry,” Kieran muttered like a reprimanded twelve-year-old, not a thirty-four-year-old man.

“I was asking your brother to see about Kevin,” Lucy said. “He somehow believes you should have that responsibility.”

Mallory perched on the sofa’s arm. “Whit and I had dinner with Kevin a couple of months ago, as a matter of fact, so it’s your turn.”

Kieran couldn’t quell his suspicions—justifiable suspicions. “I’m guessing he did something that required reinforcements.”

“Actually, he wanted us to meet his new girlfriend,” Mallory said.

“The pro cheerleader?” The same cheerleader Kevin had used as a replacement for his former fiancée, Kieran surmised.

His father snorted loud enough to rouse the neighborhood hounds. “Nothing wrong a’tall with a cheerleader. They tend to be a limber lot.”

When Kieran and Mallory laughed, Lucy brought out the visual guns again and aimed them on their father. “Go back to sleep, Dermot O’Brien, before I make you walk home.” She turned her attention to Mallory. “Is she a nice girl, dear?”

“She’s very nice and she’s not a cheerleader.”

“Are you sure she wasn’t hiding her pom-poms?” Dermot chimed in, earning him another frown from his wife, and a grin from his kids.

“Actually, she’s a pediatric resident,” Mallory said. “Whit thinks the relationship has potential, but I believe the jury’s still out.”

His sister, always the attorney. “She’s definitely not Kevin’s typical girlfriend,” Kieran said.

“With the exception of Corri,” Mallory added.

“And look how he treated her.” Although Kieran had tried to temper his tone, the ever-present animosity filtered out. But he still hadn’t forgiven his twin’s careless disregard for a genuinely nice woman.

“That worked out for the best,” Lucy said. “Otherwise, Corri would never have married your brother Aidan.”

And Kieran had tolerated enough Kevin talk to last a lifetime. Leaning over, he picked up his empty glass from the coffee table and without another word, set out for the kitchen, Mallory trailing behind him.

“You should give Kevin another chance,” his sister said, as he set the glass in the sink. “I think you’ll find he’s changed.”

Kieran leaned back against the counter. “Because he’s dating a woman who can put two sentences together before applying more lipstick?”

“Because Aidan and Corri have forgiven him, and so should you.”

That was news to him. “What he did to Corri was only one episode in a long line of screwups.”

“Nobody’s perfect, Kieran. Seems to me you should stop and consider that, otherwise you’re never going to have a long-term relationship.”

Must be “grill Kieran night.” “In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve had a couple of long-term relationships, including one that ended a few months ago.”

“Almost a year ago, and exactly what happened with that relationship, dear brother?”

“It just wasn’t—”

“Perfect?”

Damn, she was majorly annoying him. “We weren’t compatible. She liked opera, I liked baseball. She liked Thai food, I prefer good old American beef. End of story.”

Mallory sent him a serious scowl. “She was also extremely beautiful and built like a fashion doll. Have you ever been attracted to anyone who wasn’t the epitome of physical perfection?”

Erica Stevens briefly flashed in his mind, catching him off guard. He had to remember she was a client—a prospective client—and off-limits. Regardless, he had to admit she was attractive in a wholesome kind of way. And if she decided to accept his offer, he’d have to ignore that attraction. “I don’t know what point you’re trying to make, Mallory, but I wish you’d make it so I can go home.”

“My point is, you’re too rigid, too quick to judge. You live your life by a set of strict rules—”

“What’s wrong with that?”

She held up her hand to silence him. “Life isn’t perfect, Kieran. People aren’t perfect. You should try to relax, open your mind to all the possibilities. Being more spontaneous couldn’t hurt, either.”

At least now he had some ammunition. “As a matter of fact, I did something spontaneous today. I agreed to provide personal training to a woman, free of charge.”

Mallory gave him a cynical smile. “She must be exceptionally gorgeous.”

“She’s a widowed mom, and I really didn’t pay that much attention to her. We just met a couple of hours ago, at the request of her daughter.”

She laid a hand against her throat. “Mr. Macho didn’t notice a woman? She must be in her golden years.”

“She’s thirty,” he said, surprised by his defensive tone. “And if you’re that damn curious, she has long red hair, light blue eyes. She’s short, but then she’s also a former gymnast. She has great dimples. One’s more prominent than the other. I couldn’t tell much about her body because she was wearing baggy clothes, but from what I could see, I’d guess—” He halted his assessment when Mallory chuckled. “What’s so funny?”

She laughed again. “You. I could’ve sworn you said you didn’t notice her, and you’re describing her in more detail than my husband would probably describe me.”

Kieran hated to admit she was right, so he wouldn’t. “Where is Whit, anyway?” he asked, only then realizing his brother-in-law had been missing since the last of the O’Brien siblings and their significant others had left for home.

“He’s changing the twins’ diapers in the nursery,” she said. “And just a word of advice, Kieran. When you’re helping this woman with her fitness regime, you might want to look beyond the superficial. You might find that the old adage about skin-deep beauty is true. If you keep an open mind, she could be the perfect girl for you.”

Time to set his sibling straight. “First of all, I don’t get involved with clients. And secondly, she hasn’t agreed to the training sessions yet.”

Smiling, Mallory pulled the rag from her shoulder, tossed it aside and checked her watch. “Sorry to end this conversation, but the girls will be hollering for their bedtime feeding and Whit can’t help with that.”

Thank God for babies with an aversion to bottles. “Fine. I’ll see you later.”

Mallory started away but paused to face him again. “Before I go, let me add that I’m confident you’ll find a way to convince your new client…What’s her name?”

“Erica.”

“You’ll have Erica engaged in a strenuous workout in record time.”

Kieran had serious doubts about that, even though he couldn’t claim a lack of disappointment if she did turn him down, for reasons he didn’t care to explore. “Take my word for it. If Erica decides to get with the program, it won’t be because of me.”

“Are you still awake, Mom?”

At the sound of her daughter’s voice, Erica bolted upright and snapped on the lamp to find Stormy standing in the bedroom doorway. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she studied her child while fighting an edge of panic. Thankfully she didn’t see any indication that Stormy was in distress. No ashen cast to her round face. No blue tinge to her lips. No labored breathing. In fact, she looked precious in her pink satin pajamas with the rag-tag brown stuffed dog named Pokie clutched in her arms. But still Erica asked, “What’s wrong?”, a typical reaction resulting from all the nights something had been wrong.

Stormy frowned, as she’d been prone to do lately when she felt her mother was being too protective. “I’m okay, Mom. I just can’t sleep.”

Erica started to remind Stormy it was a school night and encourage her to try harder, but she recognized that in a scant few years, her daughter’s reliance on her would begin to fade more and more, as it should. In the meantime, she would cherish these moments when she could still chase away her daughter’s concerns. While they were still everything to each other, before boys and best friends claimed most of her baby’s time.

On that consideration, Erica scooted over and patted the space beside her. “Climb in.”

Stormy bounded across the room and jumped onto the bed, her strawberry-blond curls bouncing. A beautiful bundle of exuberance despite what she’d endured in her short lifetime—both numerous surgeries and the loss of her father.

After Stormy settled in, Erica draped an arm around her thin shoulder and pulled her close. “Did you have a bad dream, sweetie?”

Stormy shook her head. “I was just thinking about Daddy.”

Erica’s heart took a little tumble at her child’s wistful tone, and she wondered if Kieran helping Stormy with her homework had somehow prompted those memories. “I’m sure Daddy’s thinking about you, too.”

“From heaven,” Stormy said. “Do you think Daddy’s an angel, like Grandma says he is?”

Erica dearly wanted to believe in angels, but over the past few years, Jeff’s presence had begun to fade, even though she still resided in the house they’d leased when they’d moved to Houston to be closer to Stormy’s doctors. “If Grandma says it’s so, then it’s probably so.”

Stormy pulled the blanket to her chin as if she intended to stay awhile. “Tell me the story, Mom.”

Erica didn’t have to ask which story she meant; she’d recited it often enough. “You mean the night you were born?”

Stormy grinned and nodded.

Even though she wanted to go back to sleep to prepare for the busy day ahead, Erica didn’t have the heart to tell her child it was much too late for telling stories. Instead, she tapped her chin and pretended to think. “Let’s see. Best I recall, it was a typical Oklahoma spring. We were under a severe thunderstorm warning and—”

“That’s where I got my name,” Stormy added.

Erica sent her a mock scowl. “Do you want to tell it?”

“I was a baby, Mom,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t remember that night.”

Erica remembered every precious—and precarious—moment. “Anyway, I thought you might be born at home because it took your dad forever to find that baseball glove he’d bought you.”

“Because he thought I was going to be a boy.”

This time Erica decided not to scold her over the interruption. “That’s right. But the minute you were born, he took one look at you and fell in love.” She still remembered the awe in Jeff’s eyes the moment Stormy came into the world, followed by the fear.

Stormy smiled again. “And when he heard me cry, he said I was going to be a country music singer.”

That cry had come much later, one little detail Erica had chosen not to share with her daughter. She also hadn’t told her how close she and Jeff had come to losing their precious baby, whose heart had begun to fail only hours after her birth, leading to the first of four corrective surgeries. “He said you were either going to sing or umpire baseball games.”