If he could be patient and gentle and kind, would she allow him to take care of her? Would she ever learn to trust him? Or would the next seven months be a constant struggle of wills?
What did he expect from Blythe? From himself? From their marriage? Sitting there, holding her, his body hard with desire, Adam cursed himself for a fool. He had been snared in a tender trap of his own making, and he had no one to blame but himself.
Five
“Blythe, where the hell are my brown socks?” Adam raked through the drawer that contained dozens of pairs, tossing socks right and left in his search. “Didn’t you wash the darks last night?”
Dammit, he wasn’t accustomed to living like this, at the mercy of a very undomestic woman. Since his divorce, he’d had a daily maid, Pearl, who cleaned, did the laundry, the marketing and various mundane chores.
“Look on top of the dryer,” Blythe yelled from her bedroom. “I didn’t have time to fold anything.”
Grumbling under his breath, Adam trudged barefoot from his bedroom to the laundry room. A large wicker basket filled with an unfolded load of towels and washcloths sat atop the dryer. Beside the basket lay a pile of socks. Rummaging through the heap, he found his brown ones.
Three weeks of wedded bliss had just about been the death of him. But what the hell had he expected? A marriage in name only that began without a proper wedding night could hardly bode well for days of contentment and nights of passion.
He was a married man who had had to give up his condo, his maid and his sex life. And for what? For an overly emotional little redhead who wouldn’t share his bed, seldom had his meals ready when he came home from work and couldn’t be bothered with folding and putting away his socks!
Passing by Biythe’s room, he halted and watched her struggling to put her thick mane of short cinnamon hair in order. She forced the brush through it time and again, huffed loudly and threw the brush on the floor.
“Having problems?” he asked.
She jerked her head around and glared at him. “Did you find your socks?”
Holding up the objects in question, he nodded. “You wouldn’t have to worry about the laundry if you’d just agree to let Pearl do it when she’s here.”
“That wasn’t part of our agreement,” Blythe said. “We agreed to share all the daily household responsibilities, didn’t we? How can we do that if you hire a maid to do your part?”
“She’d do your part, too.” Bracing his hand on the door frame, he lifted his foot and slipped on one sock. “It’s obvious you’re not exactly efficient as a housewife, so why should we torture ourselves with my cooking and your lack of time and interest in being a homemaker?”
“I do my share of the cooking, thank you.” Blythe stepped into her black leather flats. “But I told you before we got married that I will never be the fetch-your-pipe-andslippers type of wife, not even for the brief duration of our marriage.”
Adam put on his other sock. “Is folding my socks when it’s your turn to do the laundry asking for too much? Is preparing a decent meal the nights it’s your turn to cook asking for too much? I don’t think so.”
“I do prepare decent meals! What was wrong with the dinner I cooked last night?” She planted her hands on her hips and glowered at Adam.
“For one thing, it wasn’t ready when I came home. And for another thing, our dinner consisted of two microwave chicken dinners and some chocolate chip cookies.”
“So?” Her stance and facial expression issued him a dare.
“So, if it has slipped your notice, I’m a pretty big man with a big appetite. One little microwave dinner and a few stale cookies wouldn’t fill my hollow leg, let alone appease my hunger.”
“The cookies were not stale.”
“All these domestic problems could be solved like that—” he snapped his fingers “—if you’d be reasonable and let me get Pearl out here every day. I’m paying her salary to do practically nothing, just keep my condo dusted.”
“This isn’t a big house and there are only the two of us. We don’t really need a maid. If you’d just compromise a bit, make a few concessions—”
“What you want is for me to change my life to suit you,” Adam said.
“I’d say it was the other way around.” Blythe shoved him out of the way as she walked out of her bedroom and into the hall.
“It’s my turn to fix breakfast this morning,” she said. “I hope a bowl of Shredded Wheat, a banana and coffee suits you. And it’ll be decaf, unless you want to fix yourself a cup of instant.”
Adam groaned silently, but didn’t say a word. Blythe hurried down the hallway and toward the kitchen. He knew the breakfast she had planned was more nutritious for her and the baby than what he liked—bacon, eggs and biscuits—so he endured their healthy meals, then woofed down his favorites at lunch every day.
Adam had hoped against hope that Blythe might surprise him and turn out to be more interested in making a home for them than in her thriving florist shop. He should have known better. He’d figured her out when they first met two years ago—she was like his mother and his ex-wife.
From the time he’d been a small boy, he had listened to his parents’ daily arguments over his mother’s lack of interest in their home while she had devoted herself to her secretarial job—a job which eventually led her to a managerial position and marriage to her boss. She’d had no qualms about walking out on her husband and ten-year-old son.
Adam would never forget his father’s continuous roar of rage and disillusionment. “I work myself to death trying to build a construction company so I can give you and Adam a good life, and what kind of thanks do I get? Sandwiches instead of hot meals. A son who comes home to an empty house. And a stack of dirty laundry all the way to the coiling.
“My mother had to work in the fields, picking cotton, and she did all her washing on a washboard, but she still took care of my pa and five kids. She cooked two hot meals every day. So don’t you whine to me about not having time to be a good housewife while you pursue a career!”
Adam cringed when he thought about how ill-suited his parents had been for each other and how unrealistic their expectations for each other had been.
When he’d married Lynn, she’d been the old-fashioned girl his father had wanted him to marry. Sweet, obedient, even docile. But then again, Lynn had been only eighteen and fresh off a farm in Cherokee. But exposure to the good life that Adam’s money afforded her changed Lynn. And Adam had made concession after concession, trying to be the loving, supportive husband his father hadn’t been. He had been determined to save his marriage, to accept his wife’s right to a career, but he had drawn the line at infidelity.
Adam went into his bedroom and finished dressing, then joined Blythe in the kitchen. She had set the table, placed his banana by his cereal bowl and had poured his coffee.
“I can fix you some toast to go with that, if it’s not enough,” she said.
“I’d appreciate that.” He picked up the box of Shredded Wheat and filled the bowl. “Four pieces, with butter and jetty.”
Blythe scooted back her chair, stood and reached out for the loaf of bread on the counter. She placed four pieces in the toaster, then removed the margarine and grape jelly from the refrigerator.
She supposed she should have realized that a guy as big as Adam couldn’t be satisfied with the same size servings she was accustomed to eating. She’d have to remember, from now on, to prepare more food for him.
She wanted this marriage to work for its brief duration. She wanted to become friends with Adam. She wanted to have a cordial, cooperative relationship with her child’s father. And Lord knows, she had tried. But sometimes, Adam infuriated her so much she couldn’t see straight.
Of course, she had to admit that he was trying, just as hard as she was, to keep things on an even keel. She had suffered through his burned pork chops and he’d suffered through her variety of microwave meals. She’d laughed when his first attempt at washing clothes
had ruined the whole wash. He had laundered the darks and lights together, turning the white items a muddy, pinkish brown. And instead of commenting on her lack of housekeeping skills the first week of their marriage, he’d simply written his name in the dust on the coffee table.
Blythe buttered his toast, then spread a thin layer of jelly on each slice, placed them on a plate and handed them to Adam.
“There’s really no need for you to take time off from work to go with me to see Dr. Meyers this morning.” Blythe sat down at the table and peeled her banana. As she sliced it, she dropped the pieces into her cereal. “He’s not doing anything important this month. He won’t do the ultrasound until next month.”
“Next month is when we find out our baby’s sex, isn’t it?” Adam devoured a piece of toast in three bites.
“If we want to know.”
“Don’t you want to find out?” he asked.
“Yes, I suppose so. Especially if I were decorating a nursery.”
“I told you to go ahead and decorate the third bedroom. I’ll get someone in to move everything out and then you can do whatever you want to the room.”
“But that would be a waste of time and money since I...we won’t be living here.”
“I think you and the baby should stay on here after the—” Adam gazed directly at Blythe and found her staring at him. He swallowed. “After our divorce. Until I build you a house of your own.”
“That isn’t necessary.”
“Yes, it is. It’s part of our agreement.”
“Fine.” Blythe wondered if she and Adam were the only newly married couple who sat around at the breakfast table discussing their upcoming divorce.
They finished their breakfast in silence. Blythe gathered up the dishes and placed them in the dishwasher. When she turned around to gather up their cups and spoons, she bumped into Adam, who stood directly behind her. He held their cups and spoons in his hands.
His body pressed against hers. For several minutes she didn’t move, couldn’t move. She barely breathed. Every time Adam got this close to her, she lost all reason. She tingled from head to toe.
“I’ll finish up in here while you get ready,” he said. “We don’t want you and baby Wyatt to be late for your appointment.”
Adam glanced down between them toward her stomach. Blythe leaned backward, her legs pushing against the open dishwasher door. Maneuvering around her, he deposited the cups and spoons into the dishwasher, then slipped his arm about Blythe’s waist, pulling her intimately against him. He dropped one hand down to her stomach and spread out his fingers.
Why couldn’t things be different? he wondered. Why couldn’t his marriage be a love match? He had been Blythe’s first lover—her only lover, and she was going to have his child. But she wouldn’t have sex with him, wouldn’t let him make slow, sweet love to her the way he wanted to do. Three weeks of sleeping under the same roof with a woman he greatly desired had taken its toll on Adam’s nerves. How on earth was he going to endure seven more months of celibacy? Five months until the baby was born, then possibly two more months until they signed the divorce papers.
Blythe eased away from Adam, unable to endure his loving touch another moment. She knew he wanted to make love to her, that he was frustrated by her continued refusal to be his lover while they were married.
She didn’t dare let Adam make love to her again. Their marriage had already become too real to suit her. Despite being constantly annoyed by her bossy, overbearing husband, she lay awake at night wanting him. If she gave in to her desire, she could very easily find herself falling in love with a man who had every intention of divorcing her after their child was born.
Not that she wanted to stay married to Adam. No way. If she were to remain as Adam’s wife for too long, she ran the risk of losing her own identity, of giving in to his ideals. She wouldn’t do that. She’d spent her whole life becoming the independent woman her mother never had the courage to become.
She was not going to allow her overwhelming attraction to Adam Wyatt to undermine her principles.
Don’t scream, Blythe told herself. Remain calm. Allow Adam to open the door and help you get in his car.
After assisting her, Adam closed the door, rounded the hood and got inside his Lotus. He tossed the stack of booklets onto the floorboard. Leaning over he checked her safety belt, then patted Blythe’s stomach.
“Dr. Meyers seemed worried that you haven’t gained back the weight you lost when you had so much trouble with morning sickness. That’s not good for you or our baby.” Adam inserted the key into the ignition.
She was not going to hit him over the head with her purse. She was not going to tell him he had acted like a total fool in the doctor’s office. And she most certainly was not going to allow Adam to take charge of every aspect of her life during this pregnancy.
He had asked so many questions that even Dr. Meyers seemed a bit annoyed. What should have been a routine examination, turned out to be an hour of interrogation for her obstetrician and sixty minutes of unnecessary stress for her.
Adam backed his Lotus out of the parking place. “I’m taking you out for an early lunch, and I want you to eat a big, healthy meal. Where would you like to go?”
“I want to go to Petals Plus.” She spoke slowly and distinctly, forcing herself to remain calm. “Joy will want to go home by twelve, and this afternoon I’m interviewing potential part-time employees. Remember? It was your idea. Not mine. I think I can continue handling things without extra help for another month, until the Christmas season.”
“I’ll call Joy and see if she can stay another hour, and if you’d like I can do the interviews for you. You should probably go home and take a nap. Dr. Meyers said mothers-to-be need extra rest.” He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street.
“I get plenty of rest.” Blythe stared straight ahead, determined not to look at Adam. If she did, she might lose control and say some things she’d regret later. “And I will do the interviews and choose my own employees. You don’t know the first thing about running a florist shop.”
“You’re angry with me, aren’t you?”
Clenching her teeth, she closed her eyes and prayed for strength. “I am not angry.” She enunciated every word of her untruthful statement. “A little upset, perhaps, but not angry.”
“Look, I know I might have gone a bit overboard with all my questions for Dr. Meyers, but—”
“A bit overboard? Ha!”
“I think he understood that I’m a concerned father, who wants to be involved in every aspect of this pregnancy.”
“You’re involved, dammit! You’re involved! You watch every bite that goes into my mouth. You double-check to make sure I’m taking my vitamin and mineral supplements. You bought every book on the subject of pregnancy and childbirth ever printed and you expect me to read all of them, too.”
“Calm down. You’re getting upset over nothing.” Adam glanced at her and saw that her cheeks had turned a bright pink. She might deny her anger, but she couldn’t hide the evidence. “We’ll do whatever you want. I’ll drive you over to Petals Plus so Joy can go home, then I’ll run over to Court Street Caf6 and get lunch for us. You like their grilled shrimp and rice, don’t you?”
Letting out a long, deep breath, Blythe relaxed her shoulders and nodded her head. How could she stay angry at a man who tried so hard to please her? “You don’t have to eat lunch with me. You’ve already taken off work all morning.”
“I want us to have lunch together,” he said. “We can discuss the reception.”
Blythe groaned. “Is the reception really necessary?”
“It’s going to look odd if we don’t have one. After all, my friends and business associates will expect it. And so will yours. Since we had such a small, private wedding, a few people will feel snubbed if we don’t have a large reception.”
“Next week, huh?” Blythe dreaded the thought of being put on display in front of Adam’s friends.
“It’s all set. My secretary sent the invitations out last week. I told you. Don’t you remember?”
“Yes, I remember,” she said, then mumbled under her breath, “but I’d like to forget.”
Adam drove past Lloyd’s Drugstore and up Second Avenue, parking directly in front of Petals Plus. Blythe didn’t wait for him to open her door. She got out and headed straight for her shop, leaving him to follow.
“How’s mother and baby?” Joy asked when Blythe stormed in, Adam right on her heels.
“We’re fine,” Blythe said. “But the father isn’t!”
“Uh-oh. What happened?” Joy glanced from Blythe to Adam. “Let me guess. You went in with Blythe to see Dr. Meyers and you questioned him on every aspect of Blythe’s care.”
“Oh, he did that all right.” Blythe stomped into the back room, threw down her purse on the battered wooden desk and jerked her bright pink smock off the brass peg. As she walked out of the storeroom-makeshift office, she slipped into her smock.
“Ask him what he knows about the fetus at the end of the third month.” Crossing her arms over her chest, Blythe patted her foot on the floor.
Staring wide-eyed at her friend, Joy smiled. Grinning, Adam shook his head.
“Go ahead,” Blythe demanded. “Ask him!”
“Pacify her,” Adam said. “She’s upset with me because I acted like a possessive, protective husband and father.”
“Oh, I see,” Joy said. “Well, tell me, Adam, what do you know about your baby?”
“I know that she—or he—is about three inches long and weighs less than an ounce, but already she—” he glanced at Blythe, who had uncrossed her arms and stuck her hands into the two deep side pockets in her smock “—or he—has fingernails and toenails, the bones have begun to calcify, the sex organs are developing and so are the tooth buds in the mouth. The muscles of the—”
The Tender Trap Page 8