With a Little T.L.C.

“You’re pretty unforgettable,” she muttered softly.

“Am I?” he answered, his smile growing wider.

She hadn’t meant for him to hear that. Apparently all his flaws were in character because his hearing was pretty darn good.

Instead of lowering his hunky frame into one of the two chairs provided for visitors, he sat on the corner of her desk. Proving to her, as if she needed more proof after their one and only meeting, that he was a rule-breaker.

Now he sat a few scant inches from her. His tie was loose and the top button of his white dress shirt undone, allowing a couple of chest hairs to peek out. He’d rolled up his long sleeves revealing strong, tanned forearms. The gray fabric of his slacks pulled tight across his muscular thighs. His cologne added the deathblow to her composure. The wonderful masculine scent surrounded her, adding stomach flutters to her shoulder tingles.

On top of that, she could see the sexy five o’clock shadow on his cheeks and jaw. She glanced at the clock on her desk—6:30 p.m. Wasn’t it past time for him to go home and shave?

Realizing she’d been staring, Liz resisted the urge to shake her head and clear it. No point in giving a man like him more fuel for his over-inflated ego. She knew he’d asked her a question. Now if only she could remember what he’d said, she would answer appropriately.

As if he could read her mind, he asked, “What else do you remember about me?”

That he’d charmed her by teasingly threatening to lock her in the broom closet when she’d told him visiting hours were over. That he had dated one of the nurses and dumped her in a nasty, hurtful way. Liz didn’t especially like the woman but no one deserved to find the man they were involved with in bed with another woman.

“I remember that you left here with a beautiful blonde,” she said.

He frowned for a moment as if he was trying to recall. Then he nodded. “My secretary. She’d left her husband in the car. They’d brought a gift for my sister’s baby.”

Liz didn’t really care what kind of relationship he had with the woman. That was his business. She had a program to run. “Now let me ask you a question.”

“All right.”

“Are you really here to be a cuddler?”

“Yes.” He pointed to the completed, orange volunteer form he’d handed her when he walked into her office. “It says so right there.”

“Holding the babies?” she confirmed.

He nodded. “That’s my intention.”

“I just wanted to make sure we were talking about the same thing.”

Because it was tough to believe he would be interested in spending time with infants. The last time she’d seen him in the hospital he’d hit on one of the nurses, dated then dumped her. Ninety-nine percent of her cuddlers were nurturing women who loved holding babies. The other one percent were retired men looking for something to fill their time. Then in walks Joe Marchetti, a proven playboy and flirt. What was she supposed to think when he plunked his volunteer paperwork down on her desk?

“Do you know what’s involved, Mr. Marchetti?”

“Joe, Miss…”

“I beg your pardon?”

He looked at the gold, upright name plate resting on her desk. “Liz,” he said, then met her gaze. “Call me Joe.”

With every ounce of willpower, fortitude and any other character attributes she possessed, she resisted the power of the charming look he leveled at her. “All right, Joe,” she said with more calm than she felt. “I’ll ask you again. Do you know what’s involved?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

She leaned back in her chair, a move designed to look casual, professional, and in control. The first two weren’t a problem. The last was tougher to pull off. “I wouldn’t think a man like you would be interested.”

“Define ‘a man like you.”’

“An upwardly mobile businessman, single and—” She hesitated.

“And?” he prompted, one dark, well-formed eyebrow lifting with the question.

She’d been about to say attractive. “And busy.”

“That’s all true. Although I’d like to know how you knew I was single.”

The flirtatious manner was a big clue, although why she couldn’t say. Another lesson from her past experience was that flirting wasn’t exclusive to single men. Married ones could philander at the drop of a hat or the swish of a skirt too.

But she merely answered, “You’re not wearing a wedding band.” Then she held up his filled-out volunteer form. “And it says so here.”

He glanced at the sheet of paper and then his hand. She followed his gaze and didn’t miss the fact that his fingers were long and there was a great deal of harnessed strength in his hand and wrist.

“I’m getting the impression that you doubt my sincerity. How can you judge me based on one meeting?”

“When your sister was a patient here,” she clarified.

“After my niece was born,” he added, rubbing his ear again.

She grinned, remembering the incident. “You were breaking the rules. Visiting hours were over.”

“A simple ‘please leave’ would have sufficed,” he said, feigning indignation. “You didn’t have to yank my ear off.”

She couldn’t help laughing. “Aren’t we being a tad melodramatic?”

“Marchettis never do anything halfway. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Why would I need a warning?”

“Because you’re the nurse in charge of the cuddlers and I’m signing up to volunteer. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“You think so?”

“Yes.”

“Look, Joe. This program isn’t fluff and feathers. Children need the best possible start in this cold, cruel world. Statistics prove that babies stimulated by touch gain weight faster.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“They cry less, have more even temperaments, sleep better and are more likely to calm and console themselves without intervention.”

“I understand.”

“People who aren’t touched much as children don’t touch much as adults and the cycle continues. The volunteers work with babies from at-risk families. This program is designed to break that cycle.”