Sucking in her breath, Blythe tried again to fasten her jeans, but they just wouldn’t meet. Adam chose that precise moment to knock on the door and walk in. Glancing at her unbuttoned jeans, he grinned.
“Looks like we’ll have to get you some maternity clothes pretty soon,” he said.
“No, we won’t.” Blythe jerked down her sweater to cover her waist. “These jeans were always a bit snug.”
“They’re very becoming. I like the way they fit you.”
Placing her hands on her hips, she glared at him. “Did you want something? Was there a reason you came barging in here, uninvited?”
Did he want something? Yeah, he wanted a wedding night. Was there a reason he’d come to her room? Yeah, foolishly, he’d thought she might thank him for having everything completely redone, just for her.
“Uninvited?” Adam asked. “Do I need an invitation to come into your bedroom?”
“You certainly do and you know it. If we’re going to live together, then you’ll have to learn to respect my privacy.”
Adam huffed, letting out a deep breath. Hell, so it was starting already! How was he going to live through seven months of this? Marriage to a shrew hadn’t been one of his lifelong dreams.
“I won’t come in here again without an invitation,” Adam said. “I just came this time to tell you that I’d poured us some sparkling apple juice and put on a CD. I thought you might want to come out to the living room and sit and talk awhile.”
Blythe wished she hadn’t overreacted. What had she thought he wanted? To ravish her? To sweep her off her feet and carry her to his bed, against her will? “Talk about what?”
“Just talk.” Adam shrugged. “We could set up some house rules, things like my not coming into your bedroom uninvited.”
“All right. I suppose we do need to decide on the best way to keep from annoying each other.”
Barefoot, Blythe followed Adam out to the living room and sat down on the big, overstuffed sofa. He handed her a champagne flute of sparkling apple juice, then lifted his own glass.
“How about a toast?”
Blythe nodded agreement.
“Here’s to tolerating each other for seven months and trying our best to become friends for the sake of our child.”
Blythe sipped the drink. Was there any hope for Adam and her? Could they become friends? Was it possible? “I’m sorry I snapped your head off about coming into my room. It’s just that I don’t want—”
“There’s no reason for you to be afraid of me, Blythe. I don’t have any sinister plan to seduce you, if that’s what’s worrying you.” Adam finished off the sparkling juice quickly and set the glass down on the coffee table. “What happened between us the night after Melissa’s christening party is as much a mystery to me as it is to you.”
She willed herself not to blush. Damn her redhead’s complexion. “You know this isn’t what I wanted. I mean, you and me stuck with each other like this.”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” he said.
“So am I, but I guess it’s too late for either of us to be sorry.” Blythe tucked her feet up on the sofa. “After Joy got pregnant with Melissa, I realized how much I wanted a child of my own. I wasn’t planning on getting married, so I assumed I would never get pregnant. Boy, was I wrong.” Blythe tried to laugh, but the sound came out a mixture of gasp and sigh.
“We’re not the first two people to get caught in the tender trap, and we won’t be the last.” Adam sat down beside Blythe, resting one arm across the back of the sofa.
“The tender trap,” Blythe repeated the phrase. “That’s what we are, aren’t we, Adam? Trapped. Trapped by our own stupidity.”
“Trapped by our desire.” His voice was deep and low. He stole a glance at Blythe, who stared at him, her eyes filled with tears.
“We must never let our child know that we felt trapped because of her,” Blythe said. “She must always feel loved and wanted, no matter what.”
“Don’t worry. I want only what’s best for our child,” Adam assured her. “That’s what this marriage is all about, isn’t it? Doing what’s best for the baby.”
“Yes, that’s what this marriage is all about.” Blythe smiled. “So, if we’re going to be living together for the next few months, we might as well go ahead and set up some rules. Right? We’ve taken care of all the legalities, so we might as well get down to deciding how we’re going to live from day to day.”
“There’s no need for you to try to handle the housecleaning with a full-time job,” Adam said. “I can bring Pearl in to take care of things.”
“Someone to do the cleaning isn’t necessary. I’ve never had a maid and I don’t want one. We can take care of things ourselves, don’t you think? Or do you believe housecleaning is women’s work?”
“I think I’d prefer having Pearl come in and do the work, but if you don’t want her, we’ll compromise and I’ll bring her in once a week, to do the heavy stuff. Temporarily.”
Blythe gave him a cold, disapproving look. “All right, but what about the cooking?” she asked. “I think you and I should take turns, if that’s okay with you.”
“I’m not much of a cook,” Adam said. “I thought you’d take care of that. I assume you know how to cook, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know how to cook.” And before we end this marriage, buddy boy, you’ll know how to cook, too, Blythe thought.
“Good, I’m looking forward to a home-cooked meal every night,” Adam said.
Blythe smiled, the gesture a phony pose. It was starting already, just as she knew it would. He wanted the little woman to have his dinner waiting for him when he came home from work.
“I’ll gladly put dinner on the table every other night,” Blythe told him. “On the other nights, it will be your responsibility. And don’t worry, you don’t have to cook, unless you want to. Takeout will be fine with me.”
Adam grimaced, but nodded agreement. “All right. Fine. We’ll compromise on meal preparations.”
Blythe wanted to get a few other things straight while they were discussing house rules. No matter what Adam had said, she thought he probably planned on sharing her bed every night. Well, he had another think coming!
“I won’t enter your room uninvited and you won’t come into mine,” she said.
“Agreed.”
“I usually go in to work around nine, so I get up at seven. We could have breakfast together, if you want.” Blythe couldn’t imagine what it would be like to sit across the breakfast table from Adam Wyatt every morning. “Of course, some mornings I can’t eat anything.”
“You mean you actually get morning sickness in the morning?” He chuckled.
She laughed, too. “Dr. Meyers said it shouldn’t last much longer.”
“I want to go with you for your next checkup.”
“That won’t be for a another few weeks.”
“I want to make sure I do everything possible to help you have a good pregnancy.” Adam would do anything and everything he could to keep Blythe safe and well and make sure nothing happened to their child. Despite the circumstances of the child’s conception, Adam wanted this baby. He’d never realized how much he wanted a child until that day, over a month ago, when Blythe had walked into his office and announced she was pregnant.
“I intend to go through natural child birth.” Blythe watched Adam closely for a reaction, but he just looked at her as if waiting for her to continue. “If you would rather not be my coach, then I’ll ask Joy. I know she’d be more than happy to—”
“You won’t need to ask Joy. We’re going to do this together, remember?”
Crisscrossing her arms over her chest, Blythe hugged her shoulders. Did she want Adam to share everything with her? She wasn’t sure. If he really was her husband, and not just in name only, it would be different. If their child had been conceived in love and not in passion. She could barely think of the word where she and Adam were concerned, but she would be lying to herself if she pretende
d that their one night together hadn’t been filled with passion. But love? No, there was no love.
Was a man like Adam Wyatt even capable of love? He was quite capable of passion and possessiveness and even protectiveness, but love? She seriously doubted it.
And what about her? She loved Joy and Melissa and truly cared for Craig. She had once loved her mother, loved her long after she had ceased to respect her. But love a man? Perhaps she was as incapable of love as Adam appeared to be.
But even if she and Adam could never love each other, they could love their child. Blythe laid her hand over her stomach. She already loved her baby. Her little girl.
Adam watched Blythe closely, noting the way she covered her slightly round tummy with her hand. What was she thinking? he wondered. Did she wish she wasn’t pregnant? Was she regretting her decision to have the baby? Once their child was born, would Blythe become the kind of mother his own mother had been and decide her freedom was far more important than a child? If that did happen, he would be there for his son or daughter, the way his father had been there for him.
“I suppose there are things we’ll just have to learn as we go along.” Blythe slid her feet off the sofa. “I’ve never lived with a man. I mean—”
“It’s all right,” Adam said. “Even though we’re living in the same house doesn’t mean we’re really living together. You don’t have to keep reminding me that there’s not going to be any hanky-panky.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Blythe stood. “I think I’ll say good-night. This has been a long day and I’m tired.”
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
Adam watched her walk down the hall and into her room. Her room. The room that he’d always used when he stayed at the cottage. The room he’d hired an interior designer to completely make over just for Blythe, following Joy’s suggestions.
Adam went into the guest room, the one that had been his own room when he’d lived at home, years ago. His father had remained in the house until his sudden death of a heart attack twelve years ago. Adam had never brought a woman to his father’s home, but now he’d be living here with his wife.
His wife!
Adam stopped, flung his clothes on the floor, dug his silk robe out of his suitcase and went into the bathroom shared by the other small bedroom. Taming on the shower, he stepped inside, threw back his head and let the warm water caress his body.
Drying off quickly, he rubbed the dampness from his hair and decided to wait until morning to shave. It wasn’t as if anyone would complain about the dark stubble covering his jaw. Blythe sure as hell wasn’t going to get close enough to even notice, let alone be irritated by the feel.
Adam switched off the lights in his bedroom and climbed into bed. Minutes ticked by, turning into an hour, then two. Adam tossed and tumbled. Dammit, why couldn’t he sleep? Just because this was his wedding night was no reason to torment himself. Knowing his wife was only a few yards away, across the hall, drove him crazy wondering what it would be like to make love to her again. Could it possibly be as good as it had been that first and only night they’d shared?
She didn’t want him. She’d made that perfectly clear. So what the hell was wrong with him? Why did he want a woman who didn’t want him, a woman he wasn’t sure he even liked?
Finally Adam dozed off, a restless, on-and-off slumber, punctuated with fragmented dreams. Dreams of Blythe lying naked in his arms, whimpering, begging him to make love to her, crying out his name in fulfillment.
Adam woke with a start, sweat coating his naked chest and arms. He needed a drink. Something to help him sleep.
He put on his silk robe and quietly opened his bedroom door. When he stepped out into the hall, he heard a peculiar sound. Sobbing. Hushed, choking sobs. Blythe? Blythe was crying.
He reached out, grabbing the brass knob of her bedroom door. Then he remembered she had told him never to enter her bedroom without an invitation. He leaned against the door, listening, hearing his own thundering heartbeat and the soft, muffled sobs coming from the other side of the closed door.
Adam knocked softly. No response. The crying stopped. He knocked again, a little harder.
“Yes?” Blythe sounded like a little girl, her voice whispery and childlike.
“May I come in?”
“No, I... What do you want, Adam?”
“I heard you crying. I just want to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’m all right!” Her voice, though shaky, was much stronger.
“How do I know you are?”
“Oh, all right, then, come in and see for yourself.”
Adam eased open the door. Blythe sat in the middle of the bed, holding the sheet up to her chin. The room was bathed in moonlight that filtered through the white lace curtains at the windows.
Adam walked over to the bed, turned on the nightstand lamp and looked down at Blythe. Her hair was tousled, her eyes swollen, her nose red. Dear God, how long had she been crying?
“You’re not all right. What is it, babe? What’s wrong?” He wanted to reach out and touch her, to put his arms around her and comfort her. He didn’t dare.
“How can you ask me what’s wrong?” She held on to the sheet as if those few yards of pink satin were the only thing keeping her safe. “I—I’m pregnant and married to you.” She gulped down a sob. “And stop calling me babe!”
Adam shrugged. “You sound as if that’s a fate worse than death.”
He sat on the bed beside her. She edged slowly away from him, inch by inch, until her back was against the headboard.
“I know I should be grateful. Joy as much as told me so. You were considered the best catch in the state of Alabama. Did you know that? And I caught you.” Tears filled Blythe’s eyes. “I caught you in the tender trap. That is what you called it, isn’t it? Well, it doesn’t feel very much like a tender trap to me, does it to you? It feels like a steel trap crushing the life out of me.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.” What the hell was he supposed to say or do? His wife had been sitting there for hours bawling her eyes out because she was married to him.
“It’s not your fault,” she said.
“Then whose fault is it?” he asked.
“Okay, so it is your fault. And my fault, too. This is my wedding night and all I can think about is—” Good grief, she’d been about to say that all she could think about was the night they’d spent together making love.
“All you can think about is what, Blythe?”
“Is that a wedding night shouldn’t be like this.”
“What should a wedding night be like?”
Tears created two damp trails down her cheeks. She loosened her hold on the sheet in order to wipe her face with her fingertips. Adam sucked in his breath when he saw the hot pink teddy she wore. Damn, redheads weren’t supposed to look good in pink. Blythe did. Right now, she looked good enough to eat.
Blythe sobbed harder and harder. “Happy.... Wedding nights...should—” Sob. Sob. Sob. “—be happy.”
“You’re right, a wedding night should be happy.” To hell with not touching her! Adam pulled Blythe into his arms. She went without a fight, her body stiff as a board. “What can I do to make you happy?”
She stared at him, her vision blurred with tears, her body quivering. “I’m not going to have sex with you. No sex. That was part of our bargain.”
“Okay, sex is out. So what else could I do to make you happy?” Adam grinned.
Pulling away, she glared at him, then hit him on the arm as hard as she could. “This isn’t funny.”
“Ouch!” Adam grabbed her and kissed her on the nose. “You don’t think this situation is funny? Well, I do. Here we are, married less than twenty-four hours and all we’ve done is argue, except when you’ve been crying. I offer to make you happy by having sex with you and you turn me down without telling me what else I could do for you.”
“You can’t do anything for me, but leave me alone.”
“
Well, I can’t just walk out of here and let you cry the rest of the night.”
“Why should you care?”
“Your being so upset isn’t good for the baby.” He’d said the first thing that had come to his mind, an explanation he thought Blythe would accept without an argument.
“Oh.” He was right of course. But she felt even more like crying now that he’d reminded her—reminded her that the only thing that mattered to him was the baby.
“So, what can I do to make you and our baby happy tonight?”
“You could pop us some popcorn, open us some more of that sparkling apple juice, and sit up the rest of the night with me watching the Dracula marathon they’re showing on TV this weekend.” What on earth had made her suggest something so idiotic to Adam? He’d think she was crazy. It didn’t matter that if she had been home alone this Saturday night, that’s exactly what she would be doing.
“You like old horror movies?” Adam asked.
“I love them.”
“Me, too.”
“Yon’re kidding?”
“Come on, babe, I’m fixing to make you a happy woman.” Standing, Adam offered her his hand.
“Give me my robe.” She pointed to the foot of the bed. “And don’t call me babe.”
He tossed her the hot pink-lavender-and-teal floral robe. Blythe slipped into it, tied the belt and jumped out of bed.
When the first pale glow of dawn spread across the sky, Blythe lay in Adam’s arms on the living room sofa. She slept peacefully, cuddled close to his warmth. A bowl of popcorn kernels rested on the coffee table, along with two empty glasses. Black-and-white images flickered across the television screen as Dracula seduced a beautiful young victim.
Adam stroked Blythe’s arm. She was so tiny, so fragile. And the most exasperating female he’d ever known. But there was something vulnerable about Blythe Elliott. No, not Blythe Elliott. Blythe Wyatt. And there was a lot more to his new bride than met the eye. Beneath her defiant, independent-woman facade, beat the heart of a lonely, unhappy little girl.
The Tender Trap Page 7