“Why did you do that?” she asked, wishing he’d put her down, infuriated at the idea that they were making spectacles of themselves in public.
“Do what?” he asked innocently.
“Tell the whole world that we’re having a baby. Together.”
“We are having a baby,” he said. “Together.”
“I know we are, but you didn’t have to announce it to the whole world, did you?”
“Are you ashamed that you’re carrying my child?”
“Yes! No! I’m not ashamed of anything. I’m just embarrassed that you proclaimed loud and clear that I’m pregnant, and then carried me out of the restaurant with dozens of people watching. What about our reputations that you were so damn worried about?”
“The fact is you are pregnant, and everyone is going to know in a few months.” When the valet parked the car and opened the passenger door, Adam placed Blythe in the seat. “Besides, we didn’t want Mr. Dennison to think his delicious food had made you sick, did we? And I did tell them that you were my future wife.”
Closing the door, Adam went around and slipped behind the wheel.
“For your information, Adam Wyatt, there is no connect time of day to have morning sickness. It’s just a term they use to describe the nausea that can hit a pregnant woman day or night.” Blythe slapped at his hands when he double-checked her safety belt. “And I’m not your future wife! I haven’t agreed to marry you”
“Will you stop hitting me? I’m getting sick and tired of your slapping me every time I try to help you.” Adam started the engine and spun out of the parking lot.
“Then stop trying to be so helpful.” Blythe crossed her arms over her chest and sat there sulking. Dinner in Huntsville with Adam had been a mistake. When he’d stopped by her apartment to pick her up, she should have told him then and there that she wasn’t going to marry him. If she had, the whole fiasco with dinner never would have happened.
Hell! Adam thought. He’d never known such a disagreeable woman. Didn’t she realize that he’d been concerned when she rushed away from the dinner table, that he was still concerned? She was sick because she was pregnant. And he was the man who’d gotten her pregnant.
If only she’d stop resisting him and allow him to help her. Was it going to be like this the whole time she was pregnant, throughout their entire marriage? If so, things weren’t going to be easy for either of them. He wasn’t used to catering to a woman’s whims, and it was more than apparent that Blythe was unaccustomed to a man taking care of her.
Neither of them spoke a word on the ride from the restaurant to Blythe’s home on the second floor of a neat, but not so modern, apartment building in southwestern Decatur. By the time Adam got out of the Lotus and made his way around to the passenger door, Blythe had already opened the door and stepped outside onto the sidewalk. She held her house key in her hand.
Oh, yeah, he’d forgotten. She didn’t want him opening doors for her, or ordering for her in the restaurant, or doing anything that hinted of old-fashioned good manners.
Blythe gasped suddenly. The night sky swam around and around her. Groaning, she clutched the car door. “Not again.”
She hated for Adam to see her like this. Sick and weak. He’d think she was just another helpless female. And that was the last thing Blythe Elliott would ever allow herself to become. Helpless. Her mother had been totally helpless. A weak female who wouldn’t fight back when her big, macho husband ordered her around, ridiculed her and turned her into a virtual slave. Blythe couldn’t remember her mother ever standing up to her husband. What she did remember, all too well, were the nights she had lain awake for hours listening to her mother’s pitiful sobs. She had sworn to herself that no man would ever control her life.
Blythe took a step forward, swayed, then reached out into thin air for support. Adam grabbed her, pulling her up against him.
“Dizzy?” he asked.
“A little,” she admitted. “Let’s just stand here for a few minutes. I’ll be all right.”
“You should be inside lying down.”
Over her verbal and physical protests, Adam lifted Blythe in his arms and carried her upstairs to her apartment. He jerked the key out of her hand, unlocked the door and carried her inside, feeling for the switch. Finding it, he flipped on the light.
Glancing around the living room, Adam sought out the sofa, a brown-and-tan striped country couch filled with checked, floral and striped throw pillows. A brown-and-coral star quilt hung over one sofa arm.
Adam shoved aside the battered antique oak child’s table serving as a coffee table and laid Blythe down on the sofa. When he reached for the quilt, intending to cover her, she glared at him.
“It’s September, Adam. I hardly need any cover.”
He sat down in the large, brown wicker chair to the right of the sofa. “Can I get you anything? A glass of water? A cola? A shot of whiskey?”
“Plain water will only make me sicker,” Blythe said, adjusting a cushion behind her back, already feeling a bit better. “And I don’t keep any whiskey in the house. Alcohol isn’t good for pregnant women. But I’ve been drinking sparkling water.”
“Is there some in your fridge or do I need to run to the store?”
“There’s some in the fridge, but I don’t want you waiting on me.” Blythe tried to get up, but Adam shoved her gently back down onto the sofa.
“You’re doing all the hard work of carrying this baby. I think the least I can do is take care of you a little.”
“I don’t want anyone taking care of me. I’m a grown woman. I can take care of myself.”
Blythe crossed her arms over her chest, a gesture she repeated often and one Adam found more and more irritating.
“I hope you’re not going to act like this for the next seven months,” Adam said. “If you do, our marriage is going to be unpleasant for both of us.”
Adam accidentally ran into the large wooden dollhouse displayed on a low table at the side of the kitchen door. Cursing under his breath, he resisted the urge to kick the table. He opened the kitchen door.
“You don’t have to worry about our marriage being unpleasant,” Blythe said. “There’s not going to be—”
“I can’t hear you,” Adam called out from the kitchen. “Wait till I come back in there to talk to me.”
He had never been in Blythe’s kitchen before and the sight that met his eyes came as a surprise. The cabinets had been painted in bright shades of country red, blue and gold. Four mismatched wooden chairs surrounded a small wooden table covered with a wild floral print cloth.
Opening the refrigerator, Adam retrieved a bottle of peach-flavored sparkling water and carried it back into the living room. He unscrewed the lid. Kneeling beside the sofa, he offered the drink to Blythe.
She accepted. “Thanks.”
“What were you saying when I was in the kitchen?”
She took several hearty sips of the water. Her stomach growled. She glanced up at Adam. He grinned. She couldn’t stop herself from grinning back at him, the action purely involuntary.
“I can’t marry you.”
He stared at her for several minutes, a strange look on his face, then he stood up and paced around the room.
What did she mean, she couldn’t marry him? They hadn’t even discussed the plans he’d made. Once she understood that their marriage would be a cut-and-dried business deal, she’d change her mind.
“I’m going to be a part of this pregnancy and a part of my child’s life whether or not you and I marry.” He stopped pacing, but didn’t face Blythe directly. Instead he looked at the warm terra-cotta-colored wall behind the sofa. “Our getting married is for your benefit more than for for mine.”
“What do you mean it would be for my benefit?” Blythe sat up straight.
“Well, you’d be a married pregnant lady instead of an unmarried one.”
“Big deal.” Blythe shrugged. “This is the 1990s, not the 1950s. Unmarried women have babies all
the time.”
“Not my baby, they don’t. And not in Decatur, Alabama.”
“Do you want to marry me because you think it’s the honorable thing do to?” Blythe asked. And when he didn’t respond, only stared at her with an incredulous look, she bristled. “You’re a throwback, Mr. Wyatt, to when a man ruled his household with an iron fist, taking care of the little woman because she didn’t have sense enough to take care of herself.”
Adam balled his hands into fists. “Dammit, Blythe, don’t put words in my mouth and don’t assume you know the kind of man I am.”
“My little girl doesn’t need a father who considers her weak and helpless and makes her feel like less than a complete person.” Blythe slid her legs off the sofa, her feet touching the floor.
“You have me confused with somebody else.” Adam punched his fist into the palm of his other hand, the smacking sound reverberating loudly in the quiet room. “No daughter of mine would ever be weak and helpless, and I would never make her feel less than a complete person. My daughter will know that she’s the most special child in the world, and that I’d do anything for her.”
“My daughter won’t need some man to take care of her!” Blythe jumped up off the sofa, her green-flecked hazel eyes glowering at Adam, daring him to touch her.
“Will you listen to yourself? You aren’t thinking rationally. Our child, girl or boy, will need you and me to take care of her or him. Babies need constant care.”
Blythe cursed her own stupidity. The flush of anger and embarrassment that crept up her neck and stained her cheeks infuriated her. Of course she knew babies needed constant care. Adam simply didn’t understand what she’d meant. Typical man!
“I see no advantage in our getting married” Blythe stood between the sofa and the coffee table, staring Adam straight in the eye. “If I’d known you would try to take charge of my life and my baby, I never would have told you that I was pregnant.”
“Well, you did tell me, and I’m glad you did.” Adam took a tentative step forward, then stopped when he saw her edging back toward the sofa. “What we both need to do at this point is think about what’s best for the baby.”
“And just what do you think is best for the baby?”
“Parents who are married when he or she is born. Parents who have worked out an amicable joint custody. A mother who doesn’t bad-mouth the father all the time and a father who shows respect for the mother.”
In theory, she agreed with Adam, but couldn’t help wondering if he really meant what he’d said, or if he was simply adept at telling a woman whatever she wanted to hear. “I see.”
“Do you, Blythe? Do you honestly see what I mean?”
Adam made another attempt to approach her. Easing farther away from him, she halted when the back of her legs encountered the sofa. Rounding the edge of the coffee table, he stopped and watched as she toppled down onto the cushions. He sat on the edge of the table, reached out and took her trembling hands into his. She tried to pull out of his grasp. He held tight.
“I don’t think we can live together. We’d never get along, and our bickering constantly would be bad for the baby.” Blythe tugged on her hands. “Please let me go.”
Adam ran his thumbs up and down the sides of Blythe’s hands. She sucked in her breath. He felt a tightening in himself, from his chest to his knees.
“We’ll have a marriage in name only,” Adam said. “I’ll go to Lamaze classes with you and see you through the birthing process. And after the baby is born and you’ve recuperated, we’ll get a divorce. I’ll support my daughter or my son financially. I’ll even build you and the child a house.”
“That’s all very generous of you. What do you get out of it?”
“I get to experience every aspect of fatherhood.”
“And?”
“I’ll want joint custody.”
“Exactly what do you mean by joint custody?” she asked.
“The child spends part of the time with you and part of the time with me. We can work out the details any way we think is best for the child.”
Blythe looked down at her hands. Adam released them.
“I don’t want to marry you, and if you’re honest with yourself, you don’t want to marry me. Despite the fact that we slept together, we don’t really like each other.”
“Maybe we could learn to like each other.” Adam stood, pushing the table back with his legs. “If we gave each other half a chance and really got to know each other, we might learn to be friends.”
“I doubt that will ever happen.”
“Why not?” Adam grinned. “A few months ago neither of us would have believed we’d ever become lovers, and look what happened.”
Blythe groaned. “The best I can promise is that I’ll think about it. I’ll consider everything you’ve said.”
“How long will you need to think about it?”
“How long?”
“Yes, how long?” he asked. “We don’t have all the time in the world, you know. I don’t want us saying I do when they wheel you into the delivery room.”
“I won’t allow you to boss me around or make my decisions for me. And I won’t sleep with you.”
“If I agree to those stipulations, will you marry me?”
“I don’t know. I have to think about it.”
“I’ll give you until Saturday night. I’ll pick you up for dinner and we’ll make wedding plans.” Adam walked across the room, opened the front door and turned around, looking back at Blythe. “I have a couple of stipulations when we get married, too. You won’t try to exclude me from anything that concerns our child, and you won’t see any other men for the duration of our marriage.”
Blythe’s mouth fell open. “You don’t want me to see other men?” She laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “In a few months I’m going to look like a Volkswagen Beetle and you’re afraid I’ll be painting the town red with other men.”
“My first wife made a fool of me.” Adam took a deep breath. “Even if our marriage isn’t going to be a real one, I don’t relish being made a fool of again.”
“What about you? Would you... I mean, since we won’t be having sex, would you go to another woman?”
“I think I can manage celibacy for the next seven or eight months,” Adam said, hating the very thought and hoping Blythe wouldn’t make them adhere to that particular rule.
“Then we both agree to no other sexual partners during the duration of our marriage, right?”
Adam tried not to grin. Did she realize exactly how she’d phrased her question? No other sexual partners didn’t exclude them from having sex with each other.
“I promise,” he said. “No other sexual partners.”
“All right,” Blythe agreed. “I’ll consider your proposal, but I don’t promise you an answer by Saturday night.”
Adam closed the door, walked to his car, got in and drove away, whistling all the while.
His arms surrounded her as she laid her head on his shoulder. She felt the heat in him, the strength and masculine power. Relaxing against him, she whispered his name.
“Adam.”
Cocooned in the warmth of his embrace, Blythe found herself longing for more-wanting and needing to take this big, gentle man into her body. To know once again the sheer joy of his possession.
When his lips covered hers, she sighed with pleasure, lifting her arms to circle his neck.
“Sweet, lovely Blythe.” He traced the planes of her face with his fingertips, allowing his hand to travel downward, over her neck and collarbone, easing the sheet away from her naked breasts.
She cried out when he caressed her. “Please, Adam.”
“Slower this time, babe,” he said. “We’ll make it last all night.”
The jarring ring of Blythe’s alarm dock intruded on her dream, rousing her from the hazy sweetness of a moment that had seemed so real.
She slapped the clock, shutting off the alarm. With her eyes still closed, she threw back the
covers and stretched.
She didn’t want to awaken and face the reality of another day. She wanted to stay in her dream, in that safe, secure place where no one existed except Adam and her.
Byethe’s eyes flew open. She jerked straight up in bed. What was she thinking? Had she lost her mind? Again? She’d been reliving that night at Adam’s condo. The night they had made love. The night she’d gotten pregnant.
Jumping out of bed, she slipped her feet into her pink leather house shoes and headed straight for the bathroom. What she needed was a shower and strong cup of coffee to dear her head and erase any foolish notions about Adam Wyatt.
Then she remembered. No caffeine, Doctor’s orders. Well, maybe she could pretend the decaf she’d been drinking would work as well as regular coffee. Being pregnant certainly had its drawbacks. In her case, Adam Wyatt was one of the biggest drawbacks.
Turning on the shower, Blythe stripped out of her pink teddy, pickled up a washcloth off the small stack she’d placed on the back of the commode, and stepped beneath the warm water.
These dreams had to stop! she told herself. Ever since that night—the night she’d gone completely mad—she’d been dreaming about Adam Wyatt making love to her. And as if it weren’t bad enough that she dreamed about him, she’d catch herself, at odd times during the day, thinking about him, remembering the things he’d said. Remembering the way he’d touched her, and the way she’d touched him.
For the life of her, she couldn’t understand what had happened to her that night. One minute she and Adam had been arguing, as usual, and then the next minute they were making love. And she’d wanted him. Wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. Instead of making her wary and defensive the way other men often did, indeed the way he normally did, Adam had made her feel completely safe and secure in the heat of their passion.
For all his strength, he had been a tender, caring lover. Even the first time, when they’d practically ripped off each other’s clothes, his wild passion had been tempered with a sort of savage gentleness.
That night she had come to know a different Adam. Now she wondered if that man even existed, except in her imagination.
The Tender Trap Page 5