Page 1 of Touch Me

Chapter One

“More plane! More plane!”

I stare at the blond-haired demon standing at my feet, hislittle arms raised, those big brown eyes imploring.

“Come on, kiddo. How can you want more? In the last hour,we’ve pretty much flown to New York and back. And boy are my arms tired.” Iwhip out the punch line with a wacky grin, only in this case, it’s true.

Little David blinks those eyes at me, but it’s the tremblinglower lip that reels me in. And in that moment, I know he’s going to grow up toget anything he wants. Starting, apparently, now.

Without warning, I swoop down to snag him around the waist.He squeals and giggles as I go round and round in a wild circle, probablymaking both of us dizzy, while he blows raspberries in a two-year-old’s attemptto sound like a plane.

At least this is making up for skipping my morning workout.The one at the gym, anyway. I toss a sultry smile over David’s head as Ryansteps into our living room, then leans casually against the archway thatdivides the living area from the dining room. The light from behind him giveshis chestnut hair even more of a reddish hue, and his cornflower-blue eyessweep over me as I continue to spin the little imp. And with each rotation,Ryan’s eyes find mine, his mouth curving more and more into a teasing half-smile.

I know every line and angle of his chiseled face. Whichmeans I know that he’s thinking exactly the same thing that I am—if it weren’tfor the kid in my arms, we could be repeating this morning’s workout rightthen.

And that’s reason number five-hundred and seventy-six on mylist of why it’s too soon to be a parent.

“You’re a natural,” Ryan says as I lower David to theground, then point him toward the television, where a DVD of Backyardigans—courtesyof Nikki’s extensive kid-vid collection— is already playing.

As David succumbs to the lure of the television, I cross myarms and face my husband. “Why are you insulting me after we had such a nicewake-up call this morning?”

“Wake-up booty call?”

“Ryan!” I jerk my head toward David.

“Pretty sure I haven’t scarred him for life.” He startsacross the living room toward me. “And it wasn’t an insult.”

“I’m many things, but a natural at childcare, I’m not.”

“Quick study, then,” he amends, and I can’t counter that. Imay not be a mother, but there are enough kids in my life that I’ve learned thebasics. Like making sure to tire them out before nap and bedtime. And to neverunderestimate the power of that most ultimate of all babysitters—thetelevision.

“It’s easy to earn an A when you’re not living the finalexam,” I say as I move into his outstretched arms. He draws me closer, and Itilt my head to look up at him, studying his face.

“Would it be so bad?”

“I don’t know. But what does it matter? We’re aunt and uncleto a whole gaggle of kids, which means we have the luxury of giving them backwhen they get on our nerves.”

“Definitely a perk,” he says. “But what if we couldn’t givethem back? Would that be so terrible?”

I’m not crazy about the turn the conversation has taken, butI only realize that I’ve taken a step back when he tightens his arms to pull meback into place.

“Jamie.” His voice is low. Tender. “Would it?”

This time when I step back, he releases me, and for amoment, I see a flicker of frustration play across his chiseled face. I shrug.“I’m not saying kids aren’t fun to have around, but we aren’t even close toready. Not for having one twenty-four seven.”

“Aren’t we?”

We’ve had this conversation a number of times, the topicfloating into our marriage here and there like shiny soap bubbles dancing inthe air. Fun to look at, but nothing serious. And so very easy to pop.

Today, his voice doesn’t float.

I turn away, my attention on David, as if I’m thinking hardabout Ryan’s words. I’m not. Instead, I’m regretting telling Emery that I couldbabysit.

Emery Newton is a single mom who works as the assistant toEli Jones, an Oscar-winning actor turned hotel magnate who lives two housesdown the beach from me and Ryan. Eli’s been out of the country for a fewmonths, so Emery and her son moved in so that she could house-sit.

When she called last night to ask if I could watch Davidwhile she went on a breakfast-to-dinner date, I said I’d be happy to oblige. Ihope she’s already hot and heavy with the guy, because I’ve only been at thisfor two hours, and I’m already exhausted. If I’m going to suffer throughbabysitting, I want it to be for something with more pizazz than a lazy brunchand a stroll through the surf.

“Kids sleep, too, you know,” Ryan says, interrupting mythoughts.