What a Woman Needs

by Judi Fennell

  Kelsey was right. There was enough glitter glue on the table to decorate Rodeo Drive. In pink.

  He hid his smile. He’d take a ton of ribbing on set when he hung whatever it was up, but he didn’t care.

  “I’m making you a picture, Bryan. To remember us by.”

  Now his throat did close up. Then he looked at the picture and it threatened to choke him. There were the five kids—Jason with the new hairstyle—with a beaming Beth behind them, her arms outstretched over the five of them.

  The symbolism was rife in that drawing and it was all Bryan could do to talk. “That’s a great picture, Maggie. I’ll be honored to have it.”

  Kelsey sighed.

  “But Kelsey’s right. We need to get this cleaned up before the glue dries on the table.” He had a feeling it was too late. He picked up a glitter glue stick and read the fine print. At least it was water soluble. “Kelsey, could you fill a bucket with warm water?” It’d give her something constructive to do and snap her out of the teenybopper phase she was reveling in at the moment.

  “Sure, Bryan. Anything else?”

  He bit his lip at the hero worship in her eyes. “If you can find a sponge with a scrubber thing on the back, that’ll help.”

  “I think we have some in the pantry.”

  “Great. Thanks.” He looked at Maggie. “Come on, Maggie. Let’s get this cleaned up before it dries. You want to be able to use it again.”

  “Mommy says you’re going on location. What’s that mean?”

  “It means I’m going to go to the place where we’re filming the movie.”

  “I thought movies got made in Hollywood?”

  “Not all. Sometimes it’s easier and less expensive to go to a location, like the seashore or the mountains or a city than to build it in Hollywood.”

  “Do you have telephones there?”

  “Sure. It’ll be as if we were filming here in town.”

  “With all the people and all the cameras just like when Daddy died?”

  He sucked in a breath. He’d heard the panic in Beth’s voice at the cameras, so he hadn’t expected Maggie to be so nonchalant about it, but then, she’d only been three. Maybe it hadn’t made as big an impression.

  “I told your mom I was sorry about that. I didn’t think people would care that I was here.”

  Maggie shrugged. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. You make me and Mommy smile. But Kelsey . . . she’s just acting weird. Maybe you could get her to stop being weird.”

  “Maggie!” Kelsey banged the bucket on the counter, sloshing water over the side, and sent a stricken look at Bryan right before she ran out of the kitchen. “I hate you!”

  “Stay here, Maggie, and start cleaning up. I’ll be right back.” He had to nip this in the bud before Kelsey let it grow to gargantuan proportions.

  Of course she’d run to her room. Great.

  Bryan heard her crying on the other side of her door and took a deep breath before knocking.

  “Go away, runt.”

  “It’s me, Kelsey.”

  There was silence. Then a sniffle. Then a hiccup. Feet dragging across the floor, then the lock turning.

  A distraught face appeared in the crack in her door. “Maggie doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

  “Can we talk, Kelsey?”

  She closed her eyes, then swung the door open. “I guess.”

  “Let’s go sit on the porch.”

  She nibbled her lip and preceded him down the stairs and out to the wooden rockers, hanging her head so her hair covered her face.

  “About what Maggie said—”

  “She’s a dork.”

  “She’s your sister and little sisters like to tease. Trust me, I know. I’ve got one.”

  There was the hint of a smile.

  “I don’t think you’re acting weird. What you’re feeling is normal for a girl your age. And I’m flattered. But I’m too old for you.”

  Her face was blazing, but she was definitely Beth’s daughter, facing him down with the same grit. “Yeah, I know. Plus, all the moms like you.”

  He refrained from pointing out that the moms were his age.

  “So do you like my mom?”

  He hadn’t seen that one coming. “Uh, well, yeah. Your mom’s a nice woman. And with what she’s been through, with what you’ve all been through, your mom’s a special lady.”

  “Yeah, but do you like like her?”

  How had this conversation veered down the path he hadn’t wanted it to go? He’d thought approaching Kelsey’s feelings would be the delicate part . . . “I like your mom a lot, Kelsey. But I’m not going to be here long. I have a movie coming up in a few weeks and I’ll be gone for months. Then there will be more. My career takes me all over the world. I can’t be here. And your mom deserves someone who’ll be around. Who’ll be there for her.”

  “Oh.”

  And he better remember this. Because for a while there in the kitchen with Maggie, and the other night in the gazebo, he’d let his mind wander. Imagine. Pretend.

  His professional life was all pretend; he didn’t need that in his real life. And the reality was, no matter how much he was attracted to her, no matter how much he was enjoying being with her and her family, Beth was a reality he couldn’t have.

  • • •

  BETH stepped away from the front door. She shouldn’t be listening in, but when she’d seen the two of them head out there, she’d been about to ask what was going on until Kelsey’s body language had kept her back. And then she’d heard what Bryan had said. He’d dealt with Kelsey’s crush beautifully.

  And what he’d said about her . . .

  He was right. Every word was right—he was going away. He couldn’t stay here and she had to remember that.

  But he liked her. She was “a special lady.” A tingle had run through her when he’d said that. A tingle she hadn’t felt in years—until the night in the gazebo.

  Bryan was leaving. He wasn’t hanging around. Tingles didn’t matter when it came to that. Her kids needed stability and so did she. Bryan’s lifestyle wasn’t good for any of them.

  Chapter Fifteen

  BRYAN 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 Sherm
an 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. Dow
n 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.”