The Mummy Makeover / Mummy for Hire. Cathy Gillen Thacker

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.