The Mommy Makeover Page 6

  “Did either of you reach your goals?” she asked.

  “Not even close.” And not for Candice’s lack of trying. “I’m sorry for being blunt. I forgot she’s your friend.”

  She released a caustic laugh. “She isn’t my friend. She’s Stormy’s friend’s mother, and that’s the extent of our relationship. I appreciate the fact that she’s willing to watch Stormy while I’m at work, but we’re not close enough to have afternoon tea or go out for happy hour together. We don’t run in the same circles, and that’s fine by me.”

  He found Erica’s attitude very welcome. Many of the women he’d trained before cared more about scaling the social ladder than mastering the stair climber. “She doesn’t strike me as the kind who’d get along with many women.”

  “Or men,” she added. “Stormy told me yesterday that she’s getting divorced.”

  That was news to Kieran, not that he cared aside from the fact that it would only feed her determination to worm her way back into his life. “Great. Now she can live happily ever after with her husband’s money.”

  They shared in a laugh before Erica checked the clock on the wall. “It’s getting late. I need to—”

  “Wash your hair.” He smiled and she smiled back. “I’ll get out of your hair then, pun intended. But first, one more question.” One that had piqued his curiosity as well as his concern. “Why are you so set against Stormy playing sports?”

  “It’s complicated,” she said as her gaze wandered away.

  He roosted on the arm of the sofa. “I’m a fairly smart guy, so I can do complicated.”

  Kieran could tell Erica wasn’t too keen on explaining, but after a few seconds she said, “Stormy was born with a heart defect. She’s had four corrective surgeries in the past ten years.”

  Damn. He hadn’t expected that. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “Because Stormy doesn’t want anyone to know she’s anything but normal, so please don’t mention it to her.”

  He could certainly understand why a child would feel that way, but he couldn’t fathom why someone as nice as Erica Stevens had had more than her share of problems. It damn sure wasn’t fair, not that life always was. “What’s Stormy’s health status now?”

  “According to her doctor, she’s cleared for normal activity,” she said. “This is the first year she’s participated full-time in P.E. since she started school.”

  “If that’s the case, sounds to me like softball would fall into that category.”

  “Yes, that’s probably right. But I still worry about her.” The concern in her tone made that very apparent to Kieran.

  He came to his feet again. “Look, softball is one of the safer sports as long as the proper equipment is used. My sister played for years and never suffered more than a few scrapes from sliding into second base. And I can help Stormy practice, maybe play some catch with her to see how she does.”

  “I’m sure you’re much too busy to worry about that.”

  In a way, she was right. But for some reason, he felt he had to do this for her daughter, especially now that he knew what she’d been through. “I can schedule some time for her. I could pick her up from school, take her to the batting cages and then meet you at the club.”

  She sighed. “Kieran, I honestly do appreciate it, but I can’t afford to pay you anything right now. I still owe you for the sneakers.”

  “You can pay me with a massage.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re serious about that?”

  Oh, yeah. “I told you yesterday I could use a good one. Is a hundred dollars for an hour of your time about right?”

  “That’s what I charge, but that’s not what I make. The spa takes forty percent of my earnings as commission.”

  That royally sucked for her. Something occurred to Kieran—an alternative plan that would save them both time. “You wouldn’t have to pay the commission if we didn’t do it at the spa, correct?”

  She frowned. “Where do you propose we do it?”

  “I have a place at the club you can use. Just bring your oil and your candles and your magic hands.”

  “You mean we’ll do it under the table?” Her smile and dimples came out of hiding. “No pun intended.”

  “Under the table, on the table, it doesn’t matter to me.”

  The innuendo suspended the conversation for a few seconds before Kieran turned the topic back to business, something he should’ve never strayed from in the first place. “Meet me at the club around six-thirty tonight and be prepared to work your butt off. We’ll work out the massage details sometime next week.”

  She braced her hands on the back of the chair, her cheeks slightly red from the blush that he’d obviously put there. “That’s my plan, to work my butt off. Literally.”

  Kieran’s plan entailed keeping his hands to himself unless it involved personal fitness, not personal pleasure. He worried those plans could go awry.

  No denying it—something about Erica had him not only wanting to confess his sins, but wanting to engage in a few with her. Maybe it was her sense of humor, her vulnerability. Her killer red hair, innocent dimples and big blue eyes. Maybe it was more about her concern for her daughter’s health, the burden she’d borne since the loss of her husband. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t deny the attraction was stronger than it should be.

  After ten years as a personal trainer, Kieran O’Brien could count on one hand the female clients that had interested him enough to forget his code of ethics—one. Erica Stevens. And he’d be damned if he let that happen.

  Chapter Four

  Erica had endured stalled traffic due to two fender benders, construction on the freeway and crazy drivers with aversions to blinkers just to get to the club on time. Since her arrival in Kieran’s office, she’d suffered huge calipers pinching her skin in places that shouldn’t be pinched all in the name of body-fat calculation. She’d stepped on a state-of-the art digital scale…with her eyes closed. Now the real torture was about to commence—her measurements.

  “Raise your arms,” Kieran said as he stood behind her, close enough to create a bit of discomfort for Erica on several levels.

  She quelled the urge to say something snide, like how she hadn’t had so much fun since she’d had her wisdom teeth extracted. Instead, she remained still and silent while Kieran worked the measuring tape around her breasts. He only lingered briefly before going back to his desk to record the numbers on the dreaded clipboard that now held every last one of her intimate secrets. Okay, maybe not all of them. He still didn’t know the size of her feet, the smallest things on her entire body.

  When Kieran came back and lifted her T-shirt to measure her waist, Erica had a very conspicuous reaction—a frank covering of gooseflesh all over her body. She wondered if he’d noticed. She hoped not.

  “Are you cold, Erica?”

  Great. He’d noticed. She faked an innocent look over her shoulder. “Maybe a little.” A lie. In reality, she was rather toasty. Both hot and cold, like a malfunctioning kitchen faucet.

  “You won’t be cold when you start working out,” he said.

  “I have no doubt about that.”

  Erica had no doubt that the next measurement would be the most challenging. She held her breath when she felt the tape tighten around her butt, praying it was long enough to span her hips. When she felt it release, she experienced an overwhelming sense of relief.

  Kieran went back to jotting down the results and after he tossed the pen aside, looked up at her and grinned. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  Easy for him to say. “Can I see the results?” As much as she dreaded seeing the information, the suspense was nearly killing her.

  “Sure.”

  After drawing in another fortifying breath, Erica took the few steps to view the verdict. Her weight wasn’t as bad as she’d thought—it was worse. And heaven help her, she’d need a tent to fit her blossoming butt if she didn’t do something, and soon.

  She spun
around and nearly bumped into Kieran, who’d clearly been looking over her shoulder. “I want to lose thirty pounds by the first of December.”

  He moved to her side and leaned back against the desk. “Ten to twelve pounds would be a reasonable goal in a month’s time.”

  “By Christmas?”

  “Twenty pounds is possible, as long as you stick to a healthy diet.”

  Which meant the end of her favorite comfort food—brownies and ice cream. “I understand that’s part of it, and I’m willing to adjust my diet.”

  He folded his arms across his broad chest, bringing his bulging biceps clearly into view. “I’ll set you up an appointment with our staff nutritionist.”

  She shook her head. “Not necessary. I know what to eat and when to eat it. I was in training once upon a time, remember?”

  He pushed away from the desk. “Okay, but if you change your mind, let me know. Now it’s time to go to work.” He pointed at the double doors on the opposite side of the glass-and-chrome-appointed office. An office that rivaled any corporate raider’s workplace. “Let’s go.”

  Erica had a difficult time getting her feet to move. “Is that where you keep the whips and chains?”

  “Nope, just my own private facility. The whips are chains are upstairs in my apartment.” He topped off the comment with a grin.

  “You actually live here?”

  “Yeah. I decided it was easier that way. No fighting the traffic any more than necessary. It’s convenient, and has a great view of the city. I’ll give you the grand tour at some point in time.”

  “You could give me the tour now.” Not necessarily advisable, being alone with Kieran in his home even though she trusted he’d behave. She wasn’t certain she trusted herself.

  “We’ve done enough procrastinating already,” he said, his tone slightly scolding. “Time to get with the program.”

  Ah, the program. The real reason she was there. “Okay, if we must.”

  “Don’t look so worried. I’ll go easy on you tonight.”

  Oh, sure. Like he’d gone easy on her that morning during their jog.

  Kieran crossed the room and Erica hung back, enjoying the view of his confident gait, the slight swing of his arms, the breadth of his back encased in a black form-fitting T-shirt and, admittedly, his butt.

  After he threw open the doors and signaled her forward, she reluctantly joined him at the opening that revealed a fitness paradise, if one appreciated the myriad equipment. Erica recognized some of the machines that resembled steel monsters ready to swallow her whole, and some she didn’t. Regardless, she suspected he was going to instruct her on the use of each and every one, whether she knew how it worked or not.

  And that’s exactly what he did—put her through the proverbial ringer, moving from machine to machine. She pedaled, rowed, stepped and sweated with Kieran’s encouragement. But somewhere between the recumbent bike and the elliptical, he morphed from consummate cheerleader into demented drill sergeant. He only paused to hand her a bottle of water that he allowed her to drink for a few seconds before demanding she continue. And if she heard “Keep going, Erica” one more time, she might have to tie him up with the jump rope hanging in the corner so she could gag him with her sock.

  By the time she finished with the free weights, every bone, joint and muscle in her overworked body screamed in protest. And before he could order her onto another torture device, she collapsed and stretched out on the floor mat beneath her sore feet.

  Closing her eyes against the harsh fluorescent lights above her head, she muttered, “Enough,” with the last of her waning respiration. Luckily she’d seen several portable defibrillators scattered through the club, should her heart prematurely decide to throw in the towel.

  When she didn’t receive an immediate response, Erica forced her lids open to find Kieran hovering above her, an annoyingly sexy and somewhat devious gleam in his eyes. He wasn’t done with her yet, she feared. He confirmed her concerns by saying, “While you’re down there, let’s do a few crunches.”

  Even attempting a scowl took too much energy. “Let’s not.”

  He crouched down beside her. “Don’t wimp out on me now.”

  At this rate he was going to put her into an endorphin coma. Since he probably wouldn’t let up until she did his bidding, a compromise was in order. “I’ll do ten.”

  “We’ll see,” he said with all the cockiness of a man in complete control.

  She shoved her hands behind her neck and lifted her head, her face screwed up with the effort. She could only imagine how she looked at the moment—stray hairs plastered to her forehead, sweat drenching her T-shirt, fire-red cheeks as she battled her body’s continued resistance.

  “You’re not working your abs,” Kieran said.

  She fell back and groaned. “I am, too.”

  “No, you’re not.” He moved to the end of the mat and held her feet down. “Now try it.”

  She executed one whole crunch and asked, “Satisfied?”

  “Not yet.” He braced one palm on her knee and rested the other on her belly. “Give me ten more.”

  Erica struggled to answer his command, all the while trying to ignore the placement of his palm. A large palm lingering right below her belly button, sending all sorts of randy thoughts into her brain. Maybe crunches weren’t so bad after all.

  “Faster,” he barked out. “Tighten those muscles. Keep your legs slightly open. Don’t stop now. That’s it. You’re doing great. Work it, babe.”

  “Anybody home?”

  When Kieran glanced over his shoulder, Erica braced on her elbows and raised herself up enough to see an extremely attractive, exceedingly tall, brown-haired man dressed in business casual standing between the open doors.

  Kieran stood and swiped a hand over his forehead. “What’s up, Aidan?”

  “I had lunch with Whit today and he asked me to drop this by on my way home.” He held out a rolled paper tube and offered it to Kieran. “It’s the updated blueprints for the south location.”

  “We’re almost finished,” Kieran said. “If you want to wait around a minute, we can have a beer in the apartment.”

  “No thanks. Corri’s holding dinner for me.” The man leaned around Kieran and of all things, winked at Erica. “From what I heard a minute ago, I’ve interrupted something a hell of a lot more interesting than having a beer with your brother.”

  His brother? Erica dropped her head back on the mat and shut her eyes tight for at least the tenth time this evening.

  “She’s a client, Aidan,” Kieran said. “I’m training her.”

  “Training her for what?”

  “Shut up, Aidan.”

  Erica ventured a look to see the man grinning as he slapped Kieran on the back, hard. “Never mind. It’s none of my business. Carry on, and take your time.”

  With that Aidan left, closing the doors behind him while Kieran muttered a couple of expletives that were not nearly as shocking as his brother’s assumptions. And Erica, like any self-respecting, thoroughly mortified woman in the throes of exercise stupor, sat up and did the only thing she could do—laugh.

  It began as a slight chuckle before transforming into a raucous chortle. Kieran stared at her like she’d grown a second head as she held her aching sides and tried to catch her already labored breath. After a time, she finally composed herself enough to quiet down.

  “Are you done now?” he asked.

  She released one last chuckle, which earned her a serious glare from Kieran. “Sorry for laughing, but I found his assumptions pretty funny.”

  “Believe me, you wouldn’t laugh if you had to endure Aidan’s harassment. And take my word for it, he’ll be doing plenty of harassing in front of the whole family tomorrow during Sunday dinner.”

  Fond memories of a better time flitted through her mind. A time when she and Jeff had joined their families for weekend meals before Stormy was born. “You have dinner with your family every Sunday?”

  �
�Most Sundays,” he said as he propped the tube against one wall before walking to the nearby weight bench. “With all the siblings and their kids crowded into the house, sometimes it’s complete chaos. I like to take a break now and then.”

  “Exactly how many siblings do you have, aside from the three I know about?”

  “All total, four brothers and one sister, all but one married with kids.”

  Erica couldn’t begin to imagine having such a large family. “Wow. I only have one brother living large and single in Seattle, and I haven’t seen him in three years.”

  He picked up a weight and with one hand, worked it with ease, his biceps flexing with the effort. “What about your parents?”

  “My dad’s a farmer, my mother raised the kids and kept the house running smoothly. She lives to spoil my father. I don’t think either of them could survive without each other.” Erica didn’t look forward to the day when either of them had to find out if they could, in fact, survive.

  “Sounds like we have similar backgrounds.”

  “Guess you’re right.” She hugged her knees to her chest, trying hard not to stare at the continued play of Kieran’s muscles. “How many nieces and nephews?”

  He set the weight aside and casually draped both arms on the bar suspended over the bench. “At the moment, three nieces and three nephews, but that’s subject to change at any time. My brothers have made procreation a sport.”

  If they looked as good as Kieran and Aidan, she doubted they had any trouble picking willing teammates. “How do you keep up with everyone?”

  “I have a chart in my den. Every time someone pops out a kid, I fill it in.”

  She didn’t even use a spreadsheet for her finances. “Really?”

  He grinned. “I’m kidding. If you’re around enough, it’s not hard to keep up.”

  As much as she’d enjoyed getting to know more about Kieran’s life, reality set in when she glanced at the clock on the wall. “Stormy should be here any minute.”

  He strode back to the mat and held out his hand. “You’re finished for the night, so you can get up off the floor now.”

  After she allowed him to help her up, Erica kneaded the palpable knot between her shoulder and neck. “It’s times like this I wish I could give myself a good massage.”