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THE MUMMY MAKEOVER

“I want you to put your hands on my chest and try to resist me.”

Erica returned Kieran’s smile. “Bet you say that to all the women you know.”

“Just do what you’re told without the commentary.”

She gave him a sharp, one-handed salute. “Yes, sir.”

He balled his fists against his chest. “Grab my hands, angle your body away and don’t let me move.”

“Fine, but don’t expect too much.”

“Keep going,” he demanded. “You’re not using your legs.”

Scowling, she regrouped and tried again, and he continued to prod her. “Push harder. Don’t let me back up. Pretend you’re fending me off because your life depends upon it.”

Erica unexpectedly stopped, straightened. Before Kieran could level his next command, she planted her mouth on his…

MUMMY FOR HIRE

“Are you available?”

Alexis blinked. “You mean single?”

“As a potential match.”

“For you?” Her brow rose discreetly as the meaning of his words sank in. “No. I’m not.”

Grady hadn’t got where he was by accepting no for an answer, especially when he wanted something as suddenly as he wanted this. “Sure about that?”

“Matchmakers at ForeverLove.com are not allowed to date clients, Grady.”

“We’re not talking about a date.” Or anything nearly that insignificant. “We’re talking about a match.”

“Same thing. And it’s out of the question.”

“Why?”

“This isn’t business, Grady, or at least it shouldn’t be. It’s your personal life.”

The Mummy Makeover

By

Kristi Gold
Mummy for Hire

By

Cathy Gillen Thacker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Available in August 2010 from Mills & Boon^® Special Moments™

Daddy on Demand by Helen R Myers & Déjà You by Lynda Sandoval

A Father for Danny by Janice Carter & Baby Be Mine by Eve Gaddy

The Mummy Makeover by Kristi Gold & Mummy for Hire by Cathy Gillen Thacker

The Pregnant Bride Wore White by Susan Crosby

Sophie’s Secret by Tara Taylor Quinn

Her So-Called Fiancé by Abby Gaines

Diagnosis: Daddy by Gina Wilkins

The Mummy Makeover

By

Kristi Gold

About the Author

KRISTI GOLD has always believed that love has remarkable healing powers and feels very fortunate to be able to weave stories of hope and commitment. As a bestselling author, National Readers’ Choice winner and three-time Romance Writers of America RITA^® Award finalist, Kristi’s learned that, although accolades are wonderful, the most cherished rewards come from networking with readers. She can be reached through her website at http://kristigold.com or at kgoldauthor@aol.com.

To my beautiful surrogate grandson, Connor Jarrett, for reminding me of the simple joys a child can bring to your life

Chapter One

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.

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.”

Stormy hesitated a minute before asking, “Do you still have that baseball glove somewhere?”

Only one of the many keepsakes Erica had clung to in order to preserve the memories. “It’s in the cedar chest. Why?”

“Because I’m going to need it.”

“Show and tell?”

Stormy rolled her eyes. “We haven’t done that since first grade. I’m going to need it because Lisa wants me to play softball with her next spring. We’re supposed to sign up in January.”

Serious concerns came crashing down on Erica. “First of all, the glove’s too small. Secondly, you’ve never played softball before. Are you sure you’re up to it?”

Stormy stiffened, looking determined. “I can run fast and I can throw harder than a lot of boys. My P.E. teacher says I’m a natural athlete.”

If that happened to be true, Stormy had come by it genetically. Aside from Erica’s gymnastics acumen, Jeff had been a talented football player. Yet for years her daughter had been held back by her physical deficits. She had no right to hold her back now, but still…“Before you sign up for anything, we need to check with Dr. Millwood. You can ask him when you have your appointment in February.”

“They’ll pick the teams before then, Mom.” Stormy unconsciously touched the top of the vertical scar peeking out from the parting in her pajama top. “Besides, he told me the last time I saw him that I could do anything I was big enough to do, and I’m big enough, and well enough, to play softball. I can practice with Lisa. It’ll give me something to do while you’re training with Kieran.”

The time had come to let her daughter down easy, at least on one front. “I promise I’ll consider the softball issue, sweetie. But I don’t think the training is going to work for me right now.”

“You aren’t going to do it?” Stormy said, both her tone and expression reflecting her displeasure.

“Maybe later.” Or never. “But I really love that you wanted to do this for me.”

Stormy pulled her legs to her chest, rested her chin on her knees and gave her a mournful look. “Daddy would’ve wanted you to stay in shape. He would’ve wanted me to play softball.”

A masterful manipulation if Erica had ever heard one, even if Stormy happened to be right. Nothing would have pleased Jeff more than to see his daughter excel at sports and his wife maintain a healthy lifestyle, and her weight. “I realize that, but I don’t want you to get hurt if you’re not ready for sports.”

Stormy climbed out of the bed and propped her hands on her hips. “Just because you’re afraid doesn’t mean I have to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid. I’m only concerned for your well-being, Stormy.”

“You are too afraid!” Stormy stomped her foot, something she had never done before. “Lisa says you’re paranoid, and she’s right. You’re afraid I’m going to get hurt and you’re afraid to let Kieran train you because you’re afraid of guys. You’re afraid of everything, Mom. And I’m afraid I’m going to be stuck in this house with you until I’m too old to have any fun.”

With that, Stormy spun around and headed down the hall, her hair wagging with a vengeance against her back.

On the verge of tears, Erica leaned back against the headboard and released a broken breath that bordered on a sob.

In some ways, Stormy was right—she was afraid. Her daughter would never know how many nights she’d stayed awake and watched each breath she took, fearful it could be her last. How afraid she’d been when she’d received the call informing her that her husband would never be coming home. That fear had admittedly driven her to be too overprotective, but she couldn’t stomach the thought of something happening to her baby girl, the most important person in her life.

One thing she did know—Stormy had been wrong about her fear of Kieran. She wasn’t afraid of him at all. She was afraid of how he made her feel in the short time she’d been around him. Afraid of acknowledging that she was highly attracted to a man, as if she was somehow being unfaithful to Jeff.

Still, she couldn’t imagine Kieran would persist if she didn’t go through with the training. At least she hoped not. She’d had enough trouble explaining her reasons for refusing to her daughter. She couldn’t battle them both.

“Stormy’s here, and someone else is here to see you, girlfriend.”

Erica stopped restocking the therapy room and took a quick glance at the clock before depressing the intercom on the wall. “My next appointment’s not due for another half hour, Megan.”

“He’s not here for a massage. He says he’s the dancing pizza man. Do you want me to call the cops?”

Erica’s heart did a little skip-beat rumba over the thought of seeing Kieran O’Brien again. Apparently an impatient Kieran O’Brien since less than twenty-four hours had passed since he made the offer. Oh, well. She might as well tell him face-to-face no thanks to the training, and be done with it. “Law enforcement isn’t necessary. I’ll come downstairs to meet him.”

And down the stairs Erica went, practically sprinting. She slowed her steps when she reached the second landing because she certainly didn’t want him to believe she was excited to see him. Yet when she paused at the bottom of the staircase and caught sight of him entering the salon area, she could barely catch a normal breath. She certainly wasn’t the only one who’d noticed him.

From the stylists’ stations lining both sides of the lengthy aisle, clients and beauticians alike snapped their heads around, risking whiplash. And those who didn’t simply studied him in the mirrors’ reflections, including Mrs. Weldon, a seventy-something Houston icon who’d come in for her weekly shampoo and style. Several mouths dropped open, and the once-boisterous conversations quieted to a low murmur, although Erica wouldn’t be surprised to hear a round of catcalls.

She couldn’t blame them one bit. Who wouldn’t notice a good-looking, well-built guy wearing a fairly fitted T-shirt that showcased his perfect torso and loose black workout pants that concealed what she could only assume were a pair of unbelievably toned legs and thighs? The unruly hair and eternally shadowed jaw only added to the perfect physical package. All he needed was a sword to complete the pirate persona.

Arms dangling at his sides, he continued forward without hesitation, with all the confidence of a man who possessed the catalyst that could bring a woman to her knees in worship—undeniable masculine beauty. He kept his dark eyes leveled on hers, causing Erica to clasp the front of her white coat closed to cover what he would definitely find lacking in her body.

When he reached her, Erica managed a weak smile. “What a nice surprise, Mr. Pizza Man. Are you here for a cut and style, or are you just checking the place out?”

“I came specifically to see you.” He glanced over his shoulder before regarding her again. “Can we go someplace more private where we can talk?”

This sounded like serious business, spurring Erica’s curiosity. If luck prevailed, he was taking back the offer, relieving her of the responsibility of declining. And for some reason, that filled her with a touch of regret. “We can go upstairs. I need to get the bed ready.” Would someone please save her from the Freudian faux pas? “I meant I need to prepare the room for my next client.”

He rewarded her with a grin. “I knew what you meant.”

She waved a hand toward the staircase. “Right this way.”

Erica would have preferred to follow behind him, but since he had no idea where he was going, she had no choice but to lead the way and hope he wasn’t totally turned off by her derriere. After they reached the top floor, she navigated the mazelike hallway while chatting incessantly about the various therapies going on behind closed doors, from European facials to peppermint body wraps.

After drawing a breath, she paused at the place that housed the wet area. “We have his-and-hers saunas, but the owner only installed one whirlpool. I’m hoping she eventually adds another to allow for segregating the genders.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with men and women hanging out in the same hot tub,” he said, the first words he’d uttered since she’d begun the tour.

Spoken like a guy. “Some women would prefer not to mingle with men while in their swimsuits.” She would be one of them.

“You have a point.”

She also had an appointment in less than twenty minutes, and that sent her to the end of the corridor. “This is my domain,” she said as she opened the door.

Kieran followed her inside, and while she stood at the head of the narrow bed, he walked around the room, investigating all the trappings that came with the job. After a time, he turned and leaned back against the bureau. “You know how to set the mood.”

“Excuse me?”

He took another visual jaunt around the area. “Soft music, candlelight, massage oil. A lot of bare flesh.”

“Middle-aged executives with hairy backs.”

His smile arrived, but only halfway, with full effect. “Now you’ve gone and ruined it for me.”

She moved to the opposite side of the room, putting the bed between them. “It’s not that kind of a massage parlor, Kieran. It’s therapy, although I will do a Swedish massage if someone prefers more relaxation than rehabilitation.”

“You mean if they’re wimps.”

She pulled a set of sheets from the cabinet behind her before facing him again. “Some people would prefer not to have their pressure points manipulated.”

He moved closer to the bed. “I don’t mind a good manipulation of my pressure points now and then.”

If he was like most men, he had one particular pressure point in mind. Not that she was totally averse to the prospect. “I’d be glad to give you a good therapeutic massage.” And hoped she survived it. “Just stop at the front desk on your way out and make an appointment.”

“You can’t work me in today?”

“I have a client coming in shortly, remember?”

“Define shortly.”

She took another quick glance at the clock. “Fifteen minutes or so.”

“What can you do for me in fifteen minutes?”

Surely he wasn’t serious. “I’d barely get past your neck.”

“Some other time then.” He planted his palms firmly on the bed’s unmade surface. “I’d definitely want my back done.”

She smiled. “Is it hairy?”

“No. Want to check it out?”

Boy, did she ever. “I trust you. Now please tell me why you’re really here.” Other than to make her relatively large work space seem very small, especially when he leaned over and propped his folded arms on the table while angling his body away.

“I thought I’d plead my case about the benefits of physical fitness,” he said.

So much for him withdrawing his services. “I know all the benefits, but I also know that my time is at a premium these days.”

“Did you stop to consider how much your daughter wants you to do this?”

“She mentioned that to me last night.” Under no uncertain terms.

“She’s the one who convinced me to try again with you.”

Apparently her daughter had borrowed someone’s cell phone. “I’m sorry she called and bothered you.”

“She didn’t call. She came to the gym again this afternoon with the Conrads and asked me if I could give her a ride over here.”

That was worse than a phone call. “She did what?”

He straightened and raised his hands as if to ward her off. “Before you decide to march into the waiting room and ground her, you need to hear me out.”

A grounding was definitely in Stormy’s future, but she agreed to hear him out first. “I’m listening.”

“Stormy’s worried about your health and your happiness. She honestly thinks that a fitness program will help you with both, and she’s right. You can’t fault her for wanting what’s best for you.”

No, Erica couldn’t. In fact, she was deeply touched by her child’s concerns, even if she didn’t care for Stormy’s persistence. “I understand why she’s worried, but I’m still not sure I can go through with this.”

“Yes, you can, with my help. In a month’s time, you’ll wonder why you waited so long to get with the program.”

In a way, she recognized he was probably right and almost voiced that when the sound of a shrill ring interrupted both her thoughts and the conversation.

After Kieran tugged the cell from his pocket and flipped it open, he muttered a harsh, “Yeah.”

Trying not to eavesdrop, Erica straightened a few things on the shelf as Kieran spoke to the party on the other line. But she couldn’t ignore the bitterness in his tone when he said, “I don’t have time for this right now.”