Page 3 of Touch Me

“I hate you. You know that, right?”

He twines his fingers with mine. “You love me.”

“Fine. You’re right. I hate myself. For loving you.”

He lifts our joined hands and kisses mine. Then he brushes astrand of hair off my forehead, his touch so sweet and tender it’s almosterotic. “Kitten, what are you scared of?”

“I’m not scared.” More like terrified. “And I don’t want togive up my career now that it’s finally taken off. You know how long I’veworked for this.”

“I do. And I also know this isn’t the eighteen hundreds.It’s not even the nineteen-fifties.”

I yank my hands free. “Don’t you dare patronize me. Notunless you’ve figured out how to be the one who carries another human insideyou for nine months.”

That gorgeous face goes perfectly flat, every emotion hiddenunder the surface. Except not from me. I know him well enough to see the sliverof hurt dimming those usually vibrant blue eyes.

I exhale, annoyed. But with myself, not him. “I’m sorry.Really. You’re not that guy, and we both know it. I’m just—”

“Scared,” he says. “I get it. But, Kitten, I don’t thinkthere’s a parent out there who hasn’t been at least a little scared.” He holdsout both hands again, and I take them, then move closer so that he’s sitting onthe stool and I’m standing between his legs, his thighs holding me in place.We’re at an angle, so I only have to turn my head a little to see that David’snow plopped on the floor, his entire upper body wriggling in time with thesilly song.

I turn back to Ryan. “I’m not saying no, I promise. I’m justsaying no to right now. Can you live with that?” I hope he can, because I can’tlive without Ryan. If he says no, I’ll surely cave, and a year from now we’llhave a baby.

And even though I love him, I’ll resent him for the rest ofmy life. I’ll hate myself for it—and maybe he won’t even know. But that’s whatwill happen. And little by little, it will poison everything.

“You’re thinking too loud.”

I smile up at him. “Bad habit.”

He slides off the stool, then cups his hands on my ass topull me close. “Kiss me.”

I tilt my head. “Kiss and make up? I don’t think that wasactually a fight.”

“Oh, Kitten, believe me. If you don’t kiss me, there willdefinitely be a fight.”

I hold back a laugh, but my whole body is tingling from thescent of him. From the pressure of his body against mine. I slide my armsaround his neck and rise up to claim his mouth. It’s both soft and hard, andthe moment his fingers twine in my hair and his tongue finds mine, that tingleturns into a torrent. A wild wave of need so intense that I really, reallywish that it was bedtime or nap time or any sort of away time for the kiddo.

But no. His mom won’t be back for hours, and that means Ihave to wait to get what I want. Ryan knows it, too, and when he gently pushesback, a wave of desperation crashes over me, and I have to fight the urge todraw him close, strip him bare, and scar the kid for life.

As if he knows what I’m thinking—and considering this isRyan, he probably does—he chuckles softly. I feel the low rumble in his chestmore than I hear it. Our eyes meet for a moment, then he eases behind me andrests his hands on my shoulders, the brush of his thumbs on the back of my necksending shivers up my spine.

His breath tickles my ear as he leans close, and I freezewhen he whispers, “I want one, Kitten. Not today. Not next week. But one ofthese days you need to stop being scared.”

I stay frozen, expecting him to walk on. To say somethingelse. To do anything but what he’s doing, which is standing behind me, his palmnow resting lightly on my shoulder.

It’s like a reverse staring contest, but it’s one I’mdetermined to win.

And as David stands up, then plops down on his bottom, thenlaughs his little head off before doing it all over again, Ryan bends over andkisses my head. Then he walks away from me, crossing the room to grab David andswing him up into the air, sending the little demon into peals of joyouslaughter.

Chapter Two

“He was an angel,” I tell a disbelieving Emery as we sipwhite wine on the deck and watch the sun set over the Pacific.

Said “angel” is curled up on the outdoor sofa, his thumb inhis mouth and his duck-covered blanket spread over him.

“A really rambunctious, adorable angel,” I amend, making herlaugh.

“They don’t call them the terrible twos for nothing. I oweyou big-time.”

I wave the words away, then top off our glasses. “Seriously,it wasn’t any trouble.” The weird part is that I’m actually telling the truth.And, yes, I may be a bit wiped out—and definitely not ready for one of myown—but little David and I’d both had a good time. Especially when Ryan joinedus in the shallow end of the pool, and we indulged in a rambunctious game ofSplash Ryan.