Blythe lathered her body with the jasmine-scented soap she’d used for years. When her hand touched her breasts, she sighed, unable to stop herself from remembering the feel of Adam’s hands on her body, the delicious torment of his mouth. No, the Adam who had made love to her wasn’t imaginary. He’d been real—as real as the man who wanted to marry her and be a father to their child.
Rivulets of steamy water cascaded down Blythe’s petite body. She laid her hand over her flat stomach. Adam was right. They had to do what was best for the baby. She just wasn’t sure marrying Adam was the best thing to do.
The lines of print on Adam’s morning paper ran together, a blurry mix of black and white Closing his eyes, he rubbed them with his thumb and index finger, pinching the bridge of his nose.
He had to stop thinking about Blythe! The woman was driving him crazy Ever since the night they’d made love, she’d been creeping into his thoughts, taunting him with the memories of those passionate hours they’d spent in his bed. After over two months of trying to figure out exactly what had happened and why, Adam was no closer to discovering the truth than he’d been the morning after. He and Blythe didn’t like each other, had never liked each other. From the moment they’d met, Blythe had been defensive and hostile. Although he occasionally found her smart mouth and I-am-woman attitude amusing, Adam usually considered Blythe Elliott a royal pain in the butt.
And if anyone had ever asked him, he would have told them that, despite finding Blythe extremely attractive, he’d never risk having a relationship with her. So, what had happened that night? He had looked into those beautiful hazel eyes and been lost. In those few brief minutes before they’d both lost control, he’d seen a side of Blythe he’d never known existed. The soft, feminine side of her, the side of her that wanted and needed a man. And he had wanted to be that man more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.
If only he’d used protection the first time they made love, as he did the other two times, then they wouldn’t be faced with the dilemma of Blythe’s pregnancy. He blamed himself, not her. Even though he’d had no idea she was still a Virgin, the fault had been his. Not once, since his divorce, had he had unprotected sex. Not until Blythe Elliott. had wrapped her arms around him and driven him insane. In ane with desire.
Adam laughed. Who would have believed that little Miss Blythe, with her cropped-off cinnamon hair, her freckled lose, her sassy mouth and air of independence would have aid him low? He’d known his share of women, but no one quite like Blythe.
For the life of him, he couldn’t picture Blythe as a mother. She was a fidgety little ball of fire. He didn’t see anything naternal about her. But like it or not, she was going to have his baby, and it was up to him to make sure she became the est mother possible.
He hadn’t thought much about fatherhood, not since the lays when he and Lynn had tried to have a child. He hadn’t planned to ever remarry. The first experience had been far oo painful. He’d loved Lynn, bad set her on a pedestal, had given her everything her heart desired. And she had betrayed him with another man. After eight years, the pain was gone, but the bitterness remained. Sometimes he wondered if it would ever go away.
Maybe he and Blythe were well suited, after all. He didn’t trust women and she didn’t trust men. But how would they ever get beyond the distrust and become the kind of parents their child deserved?
The first order of business, after Blythe became his wife, was for them to learn how to be friends. Once they divorced and shared custody of their child, they would need to be able to present a united front, to make decisions jointly.
He was willing to do whatever was necessary for the sake of the baby. The child was what mattered. His child.
His and Blythe’s.
Four
Blythe had taken her own sweet time making a decision about marrying Adam. She hadn’t allowed him to bully her, despite his constant harassment. The way he’d ranted and raved, pleaded and coaxed, you’d have thought he wanted to marry her more than anything else in the world. Blythe knew better. Adam Wyatt, old-fashioned macho jerk that he was, thought he was doing the honorable thing. He didn’t any more want to be married to her than she did to him.
But there was a child involved. And in the end, the baby they shared seemed far more important than what either Adam or she wanted.
Today was her wedding day. She was three months pregnant and already beginning to show just a little. Although no one else would notice the change in her body, she was all too aware of it. Her once flat stomach protruded just the tiniest bit. Her breasts had filled out some, and her face appeared slightly rounder.
Adam had offered to pay for whatever kind of wedding she wanted. White gown and a dozen bridesmaids, he’d told her, if that would make her happy. The offer had been tempting, the realization of every little girl’s fantasy wedding, but she had declined. After all, theirs wouldn’t be a real marriage, so this wouldn’t be a real wedding, just a legal procedure to make their child legitimate and thus protact the child and themselves from being socially ostracized.
Adam had offered her a honeymoon, a trip anywhere in the world she wanted to go. She’d declined that offer, too. Honeymoons were for lovers, which she and Adam would never be again.
Ultimately, they had agreed on a small, very private ceremony at Joy’s father’s home in the Delano Park area of Decatur, with Joy and Craig standing up with them. Blythe had no family, since her mother’s death in an airplane crash six years ago. And she hadn’t felt comfortable inviting any of her other friends and acquaintances, women who would never understand how she’d gotten herself into such a predicament.
Adam had promised not to invite any friends or business associates if she would agree to a reception honoring their marriage sometime in the next few weeks. Reluctantly, Blythe had accepted Adam’s deal, dreading the thought of being put on display and wondering how many people would guess the reason she and Adam had married.
“Are you ready?” Joy asked, holding out Blythe’s bridal bouquet of pale pink roses.
Forcing a smile, Blythe accepted the flowers. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to marry Adam, but we’ve made our bargain and signed all the legal documents. The only thing left to do is make it official.”
“You know, marrying the father of your child isn’t the worst thing that could happen to you.”
“It is when the man is Adam Wyatt.”
Joy patted Blythe on the back. “Poor Blythe, being forced to marry a wealthy, handsome man who just happens to be one of the nicest guys I’ve ever known. He’s considered the best catch in the entire state of Alabama.”
“Lucky me.” Blythe squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and glanced at the closed bedroom door. “Your opinion of Adam greatly differs from mine.”
“That’s because my opinion of men in general greatly differs from yours. If you expect the worst from a man, then you’ll never trust him. You’ll always be waiting for him to make a mistake. If you and Adam have any hope of cementing some kind of bond for the sake of your child, then y’all are going to have to learn to trust each other.”
“His wife hurt him terribly, didn’t she?” Blythe asked.
“Craig says that when he first became Adam’s lawyer, about a year after the divorce, he’d never seen a guy in so much pain.” Joy straightened the collar on Blythe’s pale pink silk suit. “For a couple of years after the divorce, he drank too much, had too many one-night stands and pretty much became impossible to be around.”
While the tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, Blythe laughed. “Please tell me that I’m not making the second biggest mistake of my life.”
“You’re not making a mistake,” Joy assured her. “Marrying Adam is probably the smartest thing you’ve ever done. By the time your baby is born, I have a feeling that the whole experience will have made you and Adam better people.”
Music drifted upward from the parlor downstairs. Blythe had asked Joy to choose something appropuri
ate, but definitely not the wedding march. She’d had no idea that Joy would hire a harpist and violinist. The music was far too romantic for a shotgun wedding.
Joy opened the door that led out into the upstairs hallway. “Ready?”
“No, but let’s go ahead and get this over with.”
Joy, dressed in a lavender silk suit similar to Blythe’s and carrying a small bouquet of violets, preceded Blythe down the staircase, across the foyer and into the front parlor of Franklin Daniels’s Victorian home.
Craig stood beside Adam, both men in black suits, a pink rosebud boutonniere in Adam’s lapel. Blythe held her head high as she entered the parlor, her gaze focused on the open Bible the minister held in his hands.
The harpist and violinist created the sweet, pure strands of “Ave Maria.” Tears lodged in Blythe’s throat and shimmered in her eyes. When she handed Joy her bouquet, Adam reached out and took Blythe’s hand in his. His flesh was warm, his grip gentle yet strong. Her hand trembled.
Adam brought her hand to his lips, kissing her tenderly. She glanced up at him. He smiled, then lowered his head and whispered in her ear. “Everything will be all right. I promise.”
Nodding her head, Blythe squeezed Adam’s hand, and together they turned to face the minister.
Afterward, she could remember very little of the ceremony. Undoubtedly she’d said and done all the appropriate things because she heard the minister proclaim them man and wife. A wide gold band glistened on the third finger of her left hand; its mate circled Adam’s finger.
What she would never forget was Adam kissing her. Since he’d had to lift her off her feet, she’d instinctively grabbed him for support, surprised by his action. She had expected a quick, pleasant kiss, if anything. Instead she’d received and returned a long, tender yet disturbingly passionate kiss.
When Joy paraded Blythe and Adam into her father’s elegant dining room, Blythe gasped at the sight of the wedding cake, three and a half feet high, decorated with cream frosting and pink baby roses.
“Joy, what have you done?” Blythe asked.
“Just a little wedding cake and some champagne. Except the bride gets ginger ale.”
Joy smiled so happily that Blythe didn’t have the heart to chastise her friend. She couldn’t tell her that by trying to turn the event into something romantic, she was making the whole affair twice as difficult for Blythe.
“Have you got the camera, Daddy?” Joy motioned for her short, squat father to take some pictures, then she turned to Blythe and Adam. “Come on, you two, cut the cake.”
Joy ushered them over to the table. All the while Adam kept his arm around Blythe’s waist.
“After you cut it, Blythe, you feed Adam a piece and then he feeds you a piece,” Joy said. “Get some pictures of this, Daddy.”
Franklin complied, although he grumbled about Joy not hiring a professional photographer. Joy hushed him, whispering that Blythe had forbidden her to hire one.
“Come on, babe.” Adam lifted the silver knife, offering it to his bride. He covered her hand with his. “Don’t spoil this for Joy. She’s gone to a lot of trouble to make this day special for us.”
“I know.” Blythe smiled for the camera.
With his hands over hers, Adam and Blythe cut the cake, and obedient to Joy’s orders, took turns feeding each other pieces.
“Do you two have honeymoon plans?” Franklin asked.
“Not exactly,” Adam said.
“Not at all,” Blythe said.
“Well, that won’t do.” Franklin took another picture, one of the bride frowning at the groom.
“I explained the situation to you, Daddy.” Joy laid her hand on her father’s back. “Adam and Blythe aren’t having a honeymoon. They’re just going home and starting their life together.”
Blythe shivered, the thought of starting a life with Adam quite intimidating, the idea of living with him almost frightening. How would they handle the intimate day-to-day living arrangements? She hadn’t wanted to leave her home. It had taken her years to decorate the three-room apartment just the way she wanted it. Adam had asked her to move into his condo, but she hated the sleek, modern, glass-and-chrome masculinity of his place. And she knew staying in his home would constantly remind them both of the night they’d spent in his king-size bed.
When she had suggested that they not live together, Adam had adamantly rejected the proposal. He’d told her, in no uncertain terms, that he didn’t intend to miss one minute of her pregnancy from here on out.
So, they had compromised. Temporarily, at least. They would move into the house that had once belonged to Adam’s father, a neat little cottage on the outskirts of Decatur, not far from Mallard Creek and only a few miles from Joy and Craig’s home in a new, exclusive subdivision. The house had three bedrooms, so they could have their privacy, and although Adam would have a long drive into his Huntsville office, Blythe would be fairly close to Petals Plus in Decatur.
Her job had created another disagreement over terms. Adam had insisted there was no reason for her to work while she was pregnant. She had reminded him that she wasn’t simply an employee at Petals Plus, but the owner. They had agreed to disagree on several points, but in the end, they had again compromised. Blythe would hire a couple of part-time employees to help her on the days Joy didn’t work.
Glancing around the room, Adam noticed the way Joy and Craig and Mr. Daniels were looking at Blythe and him. “I think they’re expecting us to dance.” He grasped her by the arm.
“What?” She stared at him, dazed by the day’s events, her mind still a bit foggy with thoughts of what the future would bring.
Adam pulled Blythe into his arms. “One dance to please Joy, and then I think we can slip away.”
Blythe allowed him to lead her into a slow dance, his strong arms holding her close. She shivered. Every time she got near Adam, her body remembered the night of passion they had shared and reacted with a trembling desire she could not deny.
They moved slowly to the romantic tune, Adam smiling. at her as if he were happy, as if he hadn’t just married a woman who didn’t want to be his wife.
Adam knew that the wedding had been more difficult for Blythe than for him, even though the whole affair had been just one step above a root canal for him. If Blythe wasn’t so damned and determined not to like him, to keep him at arm’s length for the duration of their marriage, then he might be able to find the situation tolerable. As things stood, he now faced seven months, plus whatever time it took to get a divorce, of celibacy as well as a marriage of convenience to a woman who was bound to make his life hell.
But a man did what a man had to do. And that meant marrying the woman who was carrying his child.
Even if it killed him in the process, he planned to take care of Blythe, to make the next seven months as easy for her as he possibly could.
He just hoped she’d meet him halfway.
Blythe and Adam stood on the front porch of his father’s cottage. His dad had once told Adam he’d proudly purchased it for Adam’s mother a few years after their marriage. Adam unlocked the door, then turned around and lifted Blythe into his arms.
“What are you doing?” Narrowing her eyes, she puckered her mouth into a frown.
“Carrying the bride across the threshold,” he said, walking into the living room.
“You’re being ridiculous,” she told him. “You’ve let that silly wedding Joy gave us go to your head. Put me down!”
Adam lowered Blythe to her feet ever so slowly, allowing her to slide sensuously down his big body. Gasping, she jumped away from him.
He turned on the lights, revealing the tan-and-blue living room and adjoining dining area. The table held a bouquet of pink roses and a bottle of chilled sparkling apple juice.
“I suppose Joy did that, too.” Blythe glanced around at the large airy rooms, the clear, sharp coolness of the colors and the light oak furniture. Obviously, the home had been decorated to suit a man’s tastes.
> “The roses and the sparkling apple juice?” Adam asked. “No, they were my idea.”
“Oh.”
“I had your things put in the largest bedroom, the one on the left, with a bath to itself.” Adam took off his coat, removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, then tossed the coat and tie on the back of the sofa.
“Thank you. I think I’ll go change out of this suit and into some jeans.” Blythe had to get away from Adam, away from those dark eyes that seemed to be asking her questions she didn’t want to answer.
She opened the bedroom door and flipped on the wall switch. She gasped. What had happened to this room? She well remembered it from when Craig and Joy had lived here over a year ago, while their new home was under construction just down the road. This room had been decorated in brown and green, the furniture and accessories totally masculine.
Maybe she had misunderstood Adam and gone into the wrong room. No. Her clothes hung in the open closet, and her toiletries lined the top of the dressing table.
The room had been freshly painted a pale pink—her favorite color. The furniture was mahogany, each piece an antique. A pink-and-multipastel-colored quilt adorned the canopy bed. Lace pillows completely covered the headboard.
Blythe bit her bottom lip. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Damn him! Damn Adam Wyatt! Why had he gone and done something so totally romantic, so sweet and caring? He’d had the room completely redecorated—for her.
Brushing the tears from her eyes, she rummaged in the closet until she found a pair of old faded jeans and a short-sleeved, red cotton-knit sweater. She kicked her heels off, slipped out of her panty hose and sighed.
Just as she wiggled into her jeans, finding they wouldn’t button due to the slight increase in her waistline, Blythe heard music coming from the living room. A cool jazz rendition of “Summertime.” Goose bumps covered her flesh.
She couldn’t let things get to her—her romantic wedding, Adam carrying her across the threshold, this beautiful pink bedroom. No, Blythe would not allow anything to make her weak and vulnerable. Letting down her defenses was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place. Adam Wyatt’s reputation with women was no secret. He knew exactly all the right buttons to push to seduce a woman into doing whatever he wanted her to do.
The Tender Trap Page 6