What a Woman Needs

by Judi Fennell

  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.

  Chapter Sixteen

  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.

  She stood up. “Bryan, can you keep an eye on Maggie? I’ll be right back.” She was so done with this crap.

  • • •

  WHOA, there, kiddo! You almost knocked me off my seat.” Bryan straightened up and settled Maggie on his knee, trying to get his wind back as he watched her mom climb down the bleachers. Well, to be truthful, her mother’s backside as it swished down those bleachers had a hand in stealing his breath, but Maggie had done the rest of the job with a knee to his gut.

  “You came, Bryan! Just like you said you would.”

  Her smile finished the wind-stealing job. “Well, sure I did. Why say it if you’re not going to do it?”

  Maggie kissed his cheek, removing the residual air from his lungs. “Jason said you wouldn’t. That you were too busy to come. I told him he was wrong and now you showed him.”

  He ran a surprisingly shaky hand over her hair. “I always stand by my word, Maggie. You can count on that.”

  Oh God, what was he doing? He shouldn’t be here, telling her she could count on him, or dispensing fatherly advice to Mark or compassion to Tommy. Holding Maggie in his arms and on his knee, happy as shit to have her there. And being close to Beth . . .

  One of her friends had a hungry look in her eyes, and the other was starstruck, but he only had eyes for Beth. He’d seen her sitting in the stands the moment he’d gotten out of his car in the parking lot. Like a beacon, the sun had shone on her hair and it’d called to him. He’d seen her smile light up her face and it was as if she’d bewitched him; he’d half floated across the grass to get to her.

  He would have floated all the way up the bleachers if not for the ref’s whistle and Tommy and Mark’s words. Their argument had pulled him out of the fog he’d been in ever since the boys had asked him to come today when all he’d been able to think about was being with Beth and her family.

  The stands around them erupted in cheers, and Bryan dragged his gaze off Beth as she walked on the track to watch the boys high-fiving another kid who was walking around with the soccer ball tucked proudly under his arm.

  “Oh, look, Mrs. Harte! Ben made the goal!”

  The woman—Jenna?—finally stopped staring at him and started cheering. “Go, Benny!”

  Her son looked up and shook his head.

  “Crud. I forgot he doesn’t like that name,” his mom muttered.

  “Most boys outgrow
their nicknames before their moms do. My grandmother still calls me—” Bryan shut his mouth. That was personal. He didn’t need it bandied about in the media. Besides being embarrassing, his grandmother would be hurt if people made fun of her nickname for him. And “Baby Bry-Bry” wasn’t something he wanted to be known by. Only Gran could call him that and get away with it.

  He had to admit he liked when she did. Usually it was when he had her wrapped in a big hug and she’d whisper it in his ear. “You’re my favorite, Baby Bry-Bry.”

  He knew it wasn’t true, that she called each one of them her favorite, but it’d always made him feel special. Wanted. Loved. He’d needed that in the years after their parents had been killed.

  “What’d she call you, Bryan?” Maggie tugged on his collar.

  “A special nickname just for me. It’s private, Maggie.”

  “I don’t have a private nickname. Kelsey calls me Mags. Jason calls me runt.”

  “Older brothers can be annoying. I know, I have two.”

  “I have three brothers. Tommy and Mark don’t call me names, only Jason. And Kelsey. But that was only ’cause she was ’barrassed because she didn’t want you to know she likes you.”

  He could see the interest perk up in the women. Great. Kelsey wouldn’t appreciate this gossip getting around any more than she’d appreciated Maggie’s glee-filled disclosure.

  “You shouldn’t have told me, Maggie. You knew it’d hurt her.”

  Maggie’s lips twisted and she stopped patting his arm. “I guess.”

  “Did you apologize to her?”

  “No.”

  “I think you should when we get home.”

  Maggie’s face lit up with a smile exactly like her mother’s and it was one more reason for the air in his lungs to take a hike.

  “Are you coming home with me? I thought you didn’t want to live with us?” Maggie’s voice raised an octave and a few decibels. The two women’s interest suddenly was no longer on the game.

  Great. Beth didn’t need this kind of gossip getting around. “Just like some people go to an office, or a restaurant, or stores to work—”