What a Woman Needs (14 page)

B
RYAN
packed up the Manley Maids’ cleaning kit, and gave the kitchen one final survey. Maggie’s glue had been a nightmare, and the glitter all over the floor hadn’t been fun, but the two of them had worked hard to get it all up while the picture she’d made him had dried on the countertop. He’d weighted the corners down so they wouldn’t curl and insisted Maggie sign her name when it was dry.

She’d beamed at him when she’d done it, and Bryan knew he’d always treasure the crooked, pink concoction. Maggie Hamilton was going to be a hard one to forget. All of the Hamiltons would be. Just like Tommy and Mark when they came barreling through the kitchen again, dragging a mud-caked rope with them and leaving muddy footprints from the back door through the kitchen, and if he hadn’t been standing in the doorway to the family room—the gateway to the rest of the house—those footprints would have continued onward.

“Halt!” He thrust out his arm. “Who goes there, soldiers?”

The boys looked at each other, confused for a moment, then big smiles crossed their faces, and they snapped to attention.

“It is I, Sir Markus. I’ve come to tell the queen that her royal dog has escaped.”

“Dog?” Tommy rolled his eyes. “It’s Her Majesty’s
prisoner
who’s escaped. He’s running through the neighbor’s garden.”

Sherman. Again.

Bryan set the cleaning toolbox on the counter. “Lead on, men.”

It was an afternoon of torture. He’d been in great shape for the last film, hadn’t thought he’d been too out of it now, but chasing after an Energizer Bunny dog and two young boys showed him just how wrong he was.

The damn dog had learned a few tricks since the fence escapade, and it took Sir Markus’s and Sir Thomas’s “army” of friends to round him up.

Bryan and the dozen ten-year-olds finally surrounded Sherman at a neighbor’s pool, advancing on him, tightening the circle. Unfortunately, at the center of that circle was the pool itself and Bryan had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well.

Especially when Sir Thomas decided to lead the charge of the lightsaber brigade.

Seven kids went into the water. One dog came out.

And scampered away with a quick shake, a yip, and too much spring in his step.

Bryan fished the boys out, wrung out T-shirts and shorts, gave them a quick lesson on poolside warfare for the next time, then led them out the back gate after the damn dog.

The damn dog was having a field day. Literally. There was a field at the edge of the neighborhood, but it was the last bastion of safety before the busy road.

“Okay, guys, here’s the deal.” Bryan called the boys into a huddle. “Tommy, Johnny, Kevin, and Kyle: you guys flank to the right.”

“What’s a flank?” Kyle asked.

“You’re going to go around to the right.” Bryan pointed to a dogwood. “See that tree? I want you to go behind it and come up to that stump. Then walk in quietly, drawing closer together as you come in. You other boys circle in from the other side. We’re going to trap Sherman between us just like we did the last time.”

Mark told the others about the compost pile incident—complete with Bryan’s header into it. “Bryan saved the day
and
the dog. It was awesome!”

Okay, so he’d own the compost-pile header if the boys thought it was awesome.

The subsequent shower and seeing Beth afterward had been pretty awesome, too.

Bryan glanced at Sherman. The dog was on his haunches, tongue lolling out the left side of his mouth, that grin-like curve to his snout mocking them. “Okay, guys, walk slowly to your positions.”

Sherman shifted when the boys fanned out, eyebrows quirking. Bryan hadn’t even realized dogs
had
eyebrows.

The dog looked back and forth between the two groups of kids. Each time Sherman turned his head, Bryan slid forward a few steps. At one point, Sherman glanced in his direction, so Bryan froze.

The dog shifted nervously. Bryan looked at the boys out of the corner of his eyes. They were almost in place to start moving forward. If he kept Sherman focused on him, the boys could get close enough to tighten the circle so the dog wouldn’t have a chance of escape.

Tommy waved his arm. Mark did shortly thereafter, too.

Bryan nodded and the boys walked in slowly.

Sherman got to his feet. Shit.

Bryan fanned out his arms, trying to make himself look bigger. Animals responded to bigger threats by cowering.

Of course
this
damn dog didn’t.

Sherman, practically dancing on his tiptoes, turned in a circle, his little stub of a tail going rigid when he saw the boys. Bryan used the opportunity to take a few more steps forward.

The dog looked over its shoulder—which gave Tommy and Mark the chance to advance.

Bryan wanted to tell them how proud he was of them for figuring out the tactic, but he didn’t want to spook Sherman any more than he already was.

He took another step when Sherman looked back at the boys. Then another. He was within three feet of the dog when one of the kids stumbled.

It was all the reason Sherman needed to bolt.

Luckily, he made the mistake of trying to run past Bryan, and Bryan dove onto him.

And landed in a pile of rabbit pellets.

At least it wasn’t deer or horse, but still . . . This damn dog had caused him to need a shower twice.

“We got him! Great job, Bryan!” Mark called out, the boys all high-fiving each other in their great team effort as Bryan held the squirming, smelly Jack Russell as his prize.

He tucked the dog under his arm and hooked his thumb into the collar so the menace wouldn’t try some twisting movement and escape again.

The group marched back to the house, Roman legion style. Beth had rounded up the girls—who were now speaking to each other, it appeared—and held out a tray of cookies. “Conquering heroes must be rewarded. Thank you, men.”

They descended on the cookies as one would expect a horde of hungry ten-year-olds to do. Good thing Bryan didn’t want any; chasing after Sherman showed him he better lay off the sweets.

Especially Beth.

“And what do I get, m’lady?” So much for that. She looked so darn cute “bestowing” the cookies upon the boys and he was, after all, holding the prize pooch.

Kelsey looked at her mother. Damn. He really shouldn’t have asked that question around her daughter after that conversation on the porch. Especially when Beth blushed.

“I, um, could make more?”

Kelsey rolled her eyes. “Mo-om.” She took Sherman from Bryan. “You have to give the knight a kiss. Don’t you know anything?”

Oh, Beth knew all about kissing. Bryan could attest to that. And getting one from her here, in front of all these witnesses was
not
the best idea.

But Kelsey wasn’t going to give up. Not with that pointed look at Bryan.

So he reached for Beth’s hand, went to one knee, and gave her the quickest, most chaste kiss he could manage—despite wanting to tug her down and roll on the grass all night long, kissing her until the sun came up tomorrow.

Instead, he got his head back into reality, stood up quickly, then bowed to both Maggie and Kelsey. “And now, my ladies, if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to finish.” Those muddy footprints weren’t going to clean themselves.

“Hold on, Bryan.” Beth tapped her sons on the shoulder. “Boys, there’s a mess in the kitchen with your names on it. How about if you two march yourselves inside and take care of it? That’s not Bryan’s job.”

The boys stuffed their cookies into their mouths and did what she asked.

Bryan raised his eyebrows at Beth. “No arguments?”

She shrugged. “What can I say? They’re conquering heroes. They saved Sherman.”

Maggie tugged on the hem of Beth’s shirt—which pulled the scoop neckline down low enough for Bryan to get a glimpse of cleavage.

Fifteen seconds more of torture.

“Mommy,
Bryan
saved Sherman. He jumped on top of him. Kyle told me.”

Bryan chucked her under the chin. “No, Maggie. It was a team effort. Everyone did their part. I just happened to be there when Sherman ran. We
all
saved Sherman.”

Maggie crossed her arms. “Nuh-uh. You did. Kyle said so. You’re just being modish.”

The look Beth sent him said she wanted to hug him. He hoped it was for more reasons than giving her sons the credit.

“Kelsey,” she said, breaking the look between them that had gone on a heartbeat too long to be proper, “please take Sherman into the laundry room. He needs a bath.”

“So does Bryan.” Maggie pinched her nose. “Pee-ewww.”

Which was how, once more, Bryan found himself naked in Beth’s bathroom.

This time he took his time. Last time, he’d been so uncomfortable at the intimacy, but now, after having her in his arms, after the effect she had on him . . . he wanted any intimacy he could get. The gazebo had only whetted his curiosity.

He shouldn’t have kissed her. Shouldn’t have tortured himself that way. Just like he shouldn’t be torturing himself now, imagining her in here with him, lathering the soap all over her body, rubbing against her under the water as it beaded on her skin, lifting her foot to hook it around the back of his thigh, pressing her breasts and nipples against his chest, and, oh hell, he was going to come in her shower if he didn’t stop this train of thought.

He lowered the water temperature and decided
not
to linger. The pink towel Maggie had insisted he use yet again helped defuse the situation, and by the time he could open the door to her bedroom, he had himself under control.

Except now he was staring at her bed.

The images returned full force and so did his erection. God, he wanted her. Wanted to lay her down on that bed and kiss her from her gorgeous eyes to that pert nose and sexy-as-hell lips. Down to her chin, then trail his tongue beneath it, down her throat, tickling the hollow of her collarbone before feasting on her breasts. He wanted his hands on them, his lips, his tongue, taking her into his mouth and driving her crazy with desire.

She’d been in the moment with him in that gazebo. She’d wanted him. She’d been smart to not let it go too far—for both their sakes—because he’d wanted her badly. She couldn’t
not
have known that.

He tightened the pink towel around his waist, hoping for some relief to the pressure, but the friction of the cotton across the sensitive head only made him ache more. He wanted Beth and he was starting to worry that he might not be strong enough to withstand the temptation.

Bryan shook his head. That was ridiculous. He had thousands of women—gorgeous, sexy model types—throwing themselves at him. He could have whomever he wanted.

But he only wanted Beth.

He whipped the towel off, half hoping for the sting of a sharp end to catch him in the thigh and pull his focus off the fact that his dick was hard and throbbing and wanting to be buried deep inside her. Beth. Widowed mom. Of five.

For the first time, that thought wasn’t scaring the shit out of him.

He grabbed his boxers off the bed and snapped the waistband tight on his abs, hoping the sting would deflect what he was feeling. Nope. Nothing. Still hard as a rock. He grabbed the shorts then. Her
husband’s
shorts.

He took his time stepping into them, imagining Mike doing the same thing. After he’d made love to Beth.
That
ought to cool him down.

It didn’t. It only made him want her more.

He was losing his mind. Being here was getting to him. He needed a break. Neutral ground. Something else to focus on.

He shoved his arm into the T-shirt—also Mike’s—and dialed Sean on his cell.

“Hey, Bry, what’s up?”

His dick, but if he said so, Sean would never let him hear the end of it. And
not
hearing about it was exactly the reason he was calling his brother in the first place. “You need anything done at that estate of yours? I have some time to kill and wouldn’t mind the workout.”

“You’re volunteering to help? Free of charge or were you expecting me to pay you? I can’t afford movie star rates these days.”

That was Sean, always getting a dig in somewhere. His brothers
were
happy for his success, but it was too easy for them to poke fun at his lavish, unsuburban lifestyle.

“Consider it sweat equity.”

He’d already invested a chunk of change to be a partner on the estate his brother was planning to turn into an exclusive resort. Liam was in on it, too, and as soon as the will was probated, the property would be Sean’s. Then the real work would begin. Right now, Sean had gotten lucky enough to be assigned there by Mac, so it worked out all the way around. Especially if it got Bryan out of Beth’s home for a few hours and gave him some breathing space.

I
THINK
you should bring him to happy hour.”

“Oooh, great idea, Jenna. That way we could all meet him.”

Beth raised her eyebrows at her two friends who were acting more like Kelsey’s contemporaries than grown women. Jenna and Kara wanted to ogle Bryan. They were both happily married, but it was no secret that Bryan Manley was on each one’s Hall Pass List.

Their poor husbands. When the Hall Pass List had come up in conversation, the guys had gone along in good fun, but now, when the number one guy on each one’s list was actually in town and in her house . . .

“He’s not a trophy to be displayed, Kar.” She watched Mark run down the soccer field and winced when he got clipped on the ankle. By his brother. It figured. The two of them
were
literally two peas in the same pod.

“Then, sweetheart, you haven’t been watching him enough. What do you do when he’s bent over fluffing your pillows? Walk away?”

The blush blazed over Beth’s face and she dug into her knapsack for the boys’ extra water bottles she always packed on the off chance that they’d go through the other one. “He’s not a piece of meat.”

Jenna didn’t even make a pretense of watching the game. But then, her son Ben was on the bench at the moment. “Honey, he’s a prime specimen of beefcake and you can’t tell me you haven’t noticed. That blush you’ve got going on is speaking volumes, even if you’re not.”

“Fine. Yes, he’s a good-looking guy. I get it. But he’s not here to be ogled, and you two aren’t paying him to be here after hours, so, no, I’m not going to invite him to happy hour.”

It was a tradition in the summer. Every Friday night someone hosted a party. They called it happy hour among themselves—called it family hour for the kids because, really, it wasn’t a good idea to teach kids that happy hours were a normal occurrence. Plus, the school would have a conniption when the teachers read the kids’ summer journals.

“Come on, Beth. At least ask him. What’s the worst he could do, say no?”

No, the worst would be if he said yes. Bryan had been out of her house at four o’clock on the dot the last two days. He showed up right at eight, took his hour lunch—down to the minute—and then left the moment he could. Actually, she’d told him he could leave earlier if he had things to do, but he’d only looked at her and said he’d work until four.

She didn’t know what’d happened. Why he’d gone from that knight-in-shining-pistachio-green-uniform to this . . . polite stranger. But for whatever reason, he’d decided to keep her and the kids at arm’s length. For herself, she was fine with that because she’d been thinking about him way too much, but the kids missed the camaraderie they’d shared. And she’d missed hearing the laughter.

The ref blew the whistle and Mark stormed off the field, his face as red as hers, but in anger. She was about to climb down the bleachers when his coach, Mr. Weston, put his arm around him and led him back to the bench, talking to him the whole time.

Beth’s heart ached. The kids needed a father. Mike would have known the right thing to say to Mark. Things the coach was probably saying, but would they mean as much coming from his friend Eric’s father instead of his own?

Once more, the wave of sadness that’d encompassed her after Mike’s death threatened to wash over her. The support group said the feeling would subside over the years, but would never truly go away. That the
what ifs
would always be hovering in the back of her mind.

She hated those scenarios. She couldn’t live in
what if
; she was in the here and now. As were her kids. So whatever words of wisdom Mark needed, she was realistic enough to know that the coach would have to be the one to give them to him.

Then she saw Bryan striding toward the field from the other side of the park. Still in his green uniform, the man was
still
a sight to behold, and those butterflies he’d ignited in her stomach in the gazebo woke up and paid attention, wings fluttering in her belly in anticipation.

But he didn’t head for her. For a moment, the butterflies’ wings drooped, but when he headed toward the bench, shook hands with the coach, then hunkered down in front of Mark and talked to him, the butterflies went nuts.

“And you think
that
isn’t a prize? What are you, blind?” Jenna fanned herself. “Seriously, Beth, can you not see
that
?”

That was the problem. She could and did see him. And it was getting harder to look away the longer he was around.

So she didn’t. She watched him with her son. The game went on around them, kids came and went on the bench, whistles blew, the crowd cheered or groaned, and Jenna was saying something to her every now and then, but Beth only had eyes and ears and every other sense focused on what was happening on that bench in front of her.

Mark’s slumped shoulders gradually eased. His back got a little straighter, his nods a little stronger. Then he re-tied his shoes and stood up, dancing from foot to foot, tugging on the coach’s shirt to get his attention.

Bryan stepped over the bench at one point and faded back a few feet to the edge of the track that surrounded the infield. He stuck his hands in his front pockets—which did very nice things to the backside of his pants, also something that was hard to look away from—and nodded when Mark looked back at him.

Mark finally got the coach’s attention, and they had a quick heart-to-heart. Mr. Weston glanced at Bryan, then nodded to Mark. Then into the game went her son.

Tears pricked the backs of Beth’s eyes. For that moment alone, Bryan was her Prince Charming.

“Oh my God. He’s heading this way!” Kara forced the words between her teeth. “Quick! Jenna! Do you have any gum?” She put her hand in front of her mouth and breathed.

“Seriously? You think you have a
shot
at kissing Bryan Manley now? Here? With Beth sitting next to us?”

This time Beth didn’t blush. This time she let Jenna’s words sink in. Rolled them around on her tongue to savor them.

If only . . .

No. She shook her head.
If onlys
were just as bad as
what ifs
.

“Hey.” Bryan climbed the bleachers, those pants hugging some powerful thighs and the shirt stretched across a mighty fine set of shoulders. All things she’d noticed about him the first time she’d seen him on screen, but now, seeing him here in the flesh . . . And that just added to the problem.

“What was going on with Mark?”

Her friends parted like the Red Sea, giving him the perfect chance to sit next to her.

Lucky for her, he took it. Or maybe not so lucky because one of those firm thighs was now pressed against hers and the scent of his day’s exertion was wafting around her, lingering on her tongue, daring her to taste him.

God how she wanted to.

But she wouldn’t. She had impressionable children to consider. And moms eyeing her with envy.

And a telephoto lens aimed at them from the bleachers on the opposite side of the field.

Son of a bitch.

“He had a few choice words for his brother for clipping him in the ankle. Coach wanted to nip that in the bud before it escalated.”

She wanted to nip something else in the bud, but was afraid that if she told him, it’d generate even more publicity that she didn’t want. “So what did you say to him?”

Bryan shrugged. “That Tommy clipped him by accident and he’s family. You do
not
insult or disrespect your family. You don’t do it to anyone, but especially not the ones who will always be here for you.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet.” Kara stuck her hand out. “Kara Leopold. I’m a friend of Beth’s. And this is Jenna Harte.”

“Nice to meet you.” Jenna didn’t miss the chance to touch him, either, and it surprised Beth how much she didn’t like it. “Our sons play soccer with the twins.”

“Ben and Nick.” Kara brushed some hair behind her ear and cocked her head just a tad, with a soft smile to her lips Beth had never seen before.

Oh, puhleaze. Really? The woman was happily married to her high school sweetheart, yet one smile—okay it
was
a devastatingly handsome one—from Bryan and she conveniently forgot that she was head over heels for the man she’d known since fourth grade?

“Nice to meet you, ladies.” Bryan was an expert at extricating himself from sticky situations—female situations; she’d seen that firsthand with Kelsey—and he put the experience to work now. “The guys and I had a conversation just this morning about having your brother’s back, so when I saw Tommy’s face, I was a bit surprised.”

“Tommy’s face?” Beth couldn’t hide
her
surprise.

Bryan nodded. “I saw the play and Mark’s reaction to it, though I couldn’t hear what they said. But then Tommy looked as if he was going to cry. With what we’d talked about this morning, well . . .” He kneaded the back of his neck. “I hope I didn’t overstep my bounds, Beth, but given the conversation, I thought I could add a little more to the coach’s speech.”

Beth didn’t know which to cry at first. That she was such an incompetent mother that she hadn’t noticed Tommy’s pain, or that Bryan had the words of wisdom for her boys she never would. She just hoped the photographer hadn’t snapped that shot.

What was she going to do about that photographer? Much as she’d like to, she couldn’t just pretend he wasn’t there. That never made them go away.

“No . . . no. It’s fine. I appreciate you taking time from your schedule to do this.”

“No problem. They asked me to come.”

They had? News to Beth. The boys weren’t as enthused about soccer now that Mike wasn’t their coach. She’d had to bribe them with the ice cream parlor afterward and a big speech about not letting their teammates down before they’d put on their uniforms for every game. Knowing Bryan would be here would explain why they hadn’t given her a hard time today. Her family was becoming a little
too
attached to Bryan Manley.

As was Kara, who’d sidled a little closer and turned her body just enough that Beth could almost swear she was thrusting out her chest—already an impressive size thanks to her husband’s anniversary gift for their twentieth. Not something Beth would have wanted, but Kara had been pleased with them.

Now, watching her trying to get Bryan’s attention and the overt interest she was showing, Beth had to wonder if the boobs had been an attempt at saving the marriage rather than enhancing it.

“Maggie!” Beth called over to the sandbox where Maggie was working on a miniature sand castle with her third
bottle of water. Beth had learned to bring at least six because Maggie had found her medium in wet sand. Beth swore her youngest was going to become an artist someday. Possibly a sculptor.

“What, Mommy?”

“Bryan’s here. Want to show him what you’re making?”

Yes, it was wrong to use her daughter to distract Bryan and get him out of the photographer’s line of sight, but nothing she could do would distract Kara. Beth had a feeling that if Kara’s husband walked up here buck naked it wouldn’t distract her. Another reason to get Bryan off that guy’s telephoto map.

Maggie popped up out of the sand, destroying the castle in the process, before taking off to race across the grass toward the bleachers. “Bryyyyyyaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnn!”

Darn, Beth had been hoping to get Bryan down there and away from not only the photographer but also Jenna and Kara’s temptation.
Not
that he was looking at all tempted. Tempting, yes. Tempted by them, no.

Then he looked at
her
and Beth was half tempted herself.

“You sure you don’t mind that I’m here?” he asked. “I know this is your time with the kids, but since the boys asked . . .”

“I don’t mind at all. It’s nice for them to have someone else cheer them on.” He thought she wanted this time alone with her kids? Didn’t he realize she had so much time with the kids that game time was for
her
? For the chance to interact with other parents while the kids were occupied and happy? There’d been so much sadness in their lives these past two years that being outside at the games, around friends, was a blessing.

“Bryan! You came!” Maggie climbed up the bleachers on all fours, looking like a scampering little monkey, then launched herself into Bryan’s unsuspecting arms.

The hug rocked him back so that he caught Maggie with one hand and braced himself with the other on the bleacher behind her and for a moment—a brief, tiny, moment of
what if
—Beth imagined that it’d gone around her and that he had the right to do so. That she had the right to expect and accept it.

Desire slammed into her gut so hard and fast it stole her breath. Good lord, she wanted that. Wanted Bryan to put his arm around her. To be hers. To
want
to be hers and stake his claim in front of everyone.

Including the photographer who was sure to be taking loads of shots of Bryan and . . . Maggie.

Oh hell no. She was not going to permit those photos to be published anywhere. Her daughter had a right to privacy, and Beth would be damned if she’d let some money-grubbing paparazzo take that away from her.