He knew by the expression on her face that he’d said the wrong thing. What surprised him was that she hadn’t already blasted him with that little viper tongue of hers. But no, she just sat there staring at him, her jaw tight, her lips closed, her breathing quickening with every breath. He had found out from living with her for two months now that Blythe was far more dangerous when she was quiet than when she was vocal.
“How are you killing me this time?” he asked. “Boiling me in oil? Tossing me into shark-infested waters? Or perhaps feeding me to a man-eating plant?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t think you can fool me. Every time you get that look on your face, I know you’re fantasizing about ways to murder me.”
Blythe’s lips twitched ever so slightly as she tried not to smile. Damn the man! He had a knack for making her angry, but an even greater talent for making her laugh.
“You really don’t want to know the answer to your question. It’s better for you not to know my fantasies.” And it was better for her if he didn’t know them, because more often than not, she wasn’t plotting his demise, but daydreaming about making love to him.
He reached across the table and took her hand. She stiffened at his touch, but didn’t try to pull away from him. His big hand completely encompassed her smaller one.
“I’d like to know all your dreams, all your fantasies, especially if they involve me.” He stroked the top of her hand with his thumb, loving the feel of her soft skin. She was soft like that all over, even softer and more delicate in some places. Places he wished he could touch right now.
“I tried to share one of my dreams with you, but you—”
“Questioned your ability to be a mother and a businesswoman.” He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her sweet flesh with tender passion. “I try damn hard not to be such a chauvinist, babe, but sometimes I fail.”
She couldn’t bear the way his lips burned into her skin, hot and damp and exciting. “If you can run a multimillion-dollar business and be a good father, why couldn’t I run a florist and a nursery and be a good mother?”
He inserted his tongue between her index and middle fingers, moving it slowly in and out. Blythe jerked her hand away, stunned by the sensuality of his caress.
Smiling, knowing damn well how he’d made her feel, Adam looked at her with his piercing black eyes, and Blythe tingled from head to toe. How was she going to be able to resist this man for six more months, when every time he came near her, she wanted to throw herself into his arms?
“You’re right,” he said.
“I am? You mean you agree with me?”
“Sure. In order to be good parents, both of us will have to make concessions, and there will be times when we will have to put our child’s needs before our business concerns. Me—” he pointed to himself, and then to her “—as well as you.”
“We haven’t really discussed exactly how we’re going to go about sharing custody of—” The baby moved again. Blythe forced herself not to cover her stomach with her hand. “I mean, well... How can we possibly have equal custody the first six months to a year if I plan on breast-feeding?”
Breast-feed? Had he heard her correctly? She hadn’t said anything about breast-feeding. Adam glanced at her high, round breasts and swallowed hard.
The night he’d made love to her in his condo, he had caressed her beautiful little breasts. He had teased her tight pink nipples and tormented them with his mouth until she had cried out for mercy.
Since their wedding night he had wanted to see her breasts, to feel them, taste them.
“You’re going to breast-feed our baby?” he asked.
“Yes, I am. Dr. Meyers says it’s much healthier for me and the baby, and it’s something I really want to do.”
“I think that’s wonderful. But I never thought you would. I mean, most women don’t. Not anymore. Do they?”
“Some women do, and not always the sweet, docile, old-fashioned type you might expect.” Blythe scooted back her chair and stood. “Independent, intelligent women breast-feed their babies, too, you know. Just because I have a mind of my own, a business of my own and ideals of my own, doesn’t mean I’m not capable of being maternal.”
Before she exited the kitchen, he grabbed her shoulder. She halted, but didn’t turn to face him.
“The baby will live with you for the entire first year.” Lowering his mouth to her ear, he whispered. “I’ll want to visit, every day, and maybe even watch you nurse our child.”
The image of him standing beside a rocking chair where she sat with their baby at her breast flashed through Blythe’s mind. Her breasts tightened. Her nipples pointed. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment.
Adam slipped his arm around her. She shivered.
He could picture their child at her breast, and he could see himself. lifting the sleeping infant from Biythe’s arms and laying him—or her—down in a cradle. Then he would turn to Blythe, her breasts still bare, swoop her into his arms and carry her to their bed. He could see droplets of sweet naother’s milk beading on her nipples. He’d lower his head and capture them with his tongue.
His body shook with desire. He cursed under his breath. His sex hardened painfully, pulsating against Blythe’s buttocks. There was no way he could disguise his arousal, no way he could keep her from feeling his desire.
He wanted to take her. Here. Now. Standing up. From behind. She was so tiny, he could lift her effortlessly.
“I—I have to go to work, and...so... do you,” Blythe said breathlessly.
He surrounded her petite body with both of his arms, laying his left hand over her slightly protruding belly and cupping one of her breasts in his right hand. “We could both go in a little late today, if—”
“No.” Quivering, she shut her eyes tightly, knowing she had to break away from Adam, from the rich, ripe heat of his big body. “We’re already taking the afternoon off for my sonogram, we can’t—”
“We can do whatever we want to do.” He rubbed her budded nipple through her long-sleeved cotton pullover, and nearly exploded when she moaned and threw her head back against his chest.
“Don’t do this,” she pleaded. “No sex. You promised.” No love. No permanent marriage. No happily ever after. No sex! If she gave in to her desire, Blythe knew she’d wind up getting her heart broken, and she would walk away from this pretend marriage in love with a man who didn’t love her.
Slowly, reluctantly, Adam released his hold on her. He took a step back, separating their bodies. Still, she didn’t turn around, only stood there motionless for a few minutes, willing her wobbly legs to move.
“Don’t forget to drink plenty of water before I pick you up this afternoon,” he said, his voice amazingly calm for a man who was dying a thousand deaths at that precise moment. “Remember that Dr. Meyers said the fuller your bladder the better. The pressure on the uterus will make the baby more active.”
“Yes, I remember. I’ll be ready to leave at two o’clock. Joy’s coming in at one.”
Blythe rushed out of the kitchen, snatched her purse off the hall tree and jerked open the front door. The quicker she got away from Adam, the better. There was only so much temptation a woman could take. And Adam Wyatt was temptation personified.
Blythe couldn’t believe what Adam had done! Of all the overbearing, manipulative, bossy stunts he had pulled, this was the topper. How could she possibly be in love with a man like him? Just when she thought he was changing, just when he’d shown her the open-minded, understanding side of his personality, he’d gone and done something like this.
Blythe stared at the two women who stood in front of her work counter, both of them obviously waiting for her instructions. The older woman was probably fifty, neatly attired in slacks and sweater, her blond hair draped about her ears in a short pageboy. Martha Jean. That was her name. But for the life of her, Blythe couldn’t recall the woman’s last name.
Blythe forced a smile on her lips
as she nodded at Martha Jean, then turned to the younger woman, a plump brunette with enormous brown eyes and a cute button nose. Cindy Burns.
“I’m sorry, ladies, but I really wasn’t expecting you, and I’m not sure how to deal with this situation,” Blythe said.
When she had arrived at Petals Plus ten minutes ago, both women had been waiting outside for her. After introducing themselves, they told her that her husband had interviewed and hired them the day before and told them to show up for work today.
Blythe was proud of the way she had thus far handled the situation. She had calmly invited the two women into Petals Plus, hung up her jacket and purse in the storeroom office and had put on a pot of decaf coffee to brew.
“We understand completely, Mrs. Wyatt,” Cindy said. “Mr. Wyatt explained that this was a surprise for you, hiring us to help you around here now that you’re pregnant.”
“Oh, I see. Yes. Yes.” Nodding her head, Blythe’s forced smile made her face ache. “My husband is constantly surprising me.”
“I think that’s so wonderful.” Martha Jean sighed dramatically. “You’re so lucky to be married to Adam Wyatt. He’s so handsome, so successful, so—”
“Rich,” Blythe said.
“Well, yes, I’m sure he’s rich, but I was going to say that he was so much in love with you. All he talked about during our interviews was you. How you worked too hard. How the Christmas season was such a busy time of year for you and that he worried you would overdo.”
“He made sure we understood that you were our boss, not him,” Cindy piped in. “And that he expected us to make things easier around here for you.”
“Well, Cindy, Martha Jean, since I’m the boss...” She had been about to fire them both, to tell them to hit the road, that her husband’s little surprise had backfired. But she looked into their eager faces, into two sets of sparkling eyes and didn’t have the heart to dismiss them.
“Yes?” Cindy asked.
“Did Adam...that is, Mr. Wyatt...tell you that your jobs are only part-time and just temporary?” Blythe noted the surprised looks on their faces. “I’m sorry if he led you to believe otherwise, but I run a small business and I can’t afford two full-time employees.”
“Oh, my.” Martha Jean giggled. “For a minute there I was worried. You needn’t concern yourself with that. Mr. Wyatt said we will be on his payroll and our checks will be sent over every week by special messenger. I’m to work for you five days a week, especially every Saturday, so you can have free time to spend with your husband, and Cindy is to work part-time, to fill in when needed. Mr. Wyatt said you would let us know when our off-days will be.”
So nice of Adam to leave some small decision for her to make. While her mind was still reeling with the announcement that Adam would be paying for one full-time employee and one part-time employee, the bell hanging over the inside of the front door chimed when the door opened. All three women turned to see who had entered the florist shop. Joy stopped abruptly, looking at Cindy and Martha Jean, then she glanced at Blythe, widening her eyes and arching her eyebrows in a questioning gesture.
“Please, come on in, Joy, and meet Cindy and Martha Jean. They’re my two new employees. Adam hired them yesterday.”
“Oh, dear me.” Joy plastered a fake smile on her face when she approached the two ladies. “Nice to meet y’all.”
“Well, Cindy, why don’t you finish decorating the Victorian Christmas tree in the display window,” Blythe said. “The ornaments are in the gold boxes in the storeroom.” Cindy nodded and rushed to hunt the boxes. “And Martha Jean, you answer the telephone and handle any customers who drop in while I’m in conference with Mrs. Simpson.”
“Would you like for me to check on that coffee first and get you a cup if it’s ready?” Martha Jean asked.
“No, thank you. Maybe later. But feel free to help yourself.” Blythe grabbed Joy by the arm and dragged her toward the small bathroom connected to the workroom.
Once inside the bathroom, Blythe closed the door, sat down on the closed commode seat and crossed her arms over her chest. “What am I going to do? I can’t fire them. They’re too nice, too eager, too thrilled to have a job.”
“You should have already hired another part-time worker,” Joy said. “You promised Adam weeks ago that you would.”
“Are you taking his side?” Blythe glared up at her best friend. “After all he’s done to me?”
“I’m not taking anybody’s side. I’m just pointing out that if you’d kept your promise, Adam probably wouldn’t have taken matters into his own hands.”
“You are taking his side!”
Joy leaned over and grabbed Blythe by the shoulders. “Any other woman in the world would be thrilled to have a husband like Adam, doting on you, trying every way possible to make life easier for you.”
With her mouth puckered into a childish pout, Blythe shrugged. “Don’t you dare start pointing out his good points. Not now, when I’m so angry with him I could spit.”
Laughing, Joy released her hold on Blythe. “He’s getting to you. Admit it. Adam isn’t the chest-beating Neanderthal you thought he was. And he is nothing like your stepfather. Absolutely nothing.”
“No, he’s nothing like Raymond.” Blythe stood up. “But he isn’t perfect, either. He’s way too bossy. And he’ll never give up hoping he can change me into Susie Homemaker.”
“So what’s wrong with being Susie Homemaker? That’s exactly who I am, and I love it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being a homemaker, in not having a career outside the home, if, like you, that’s what you want. But I love my little florist shop, and someday I intend to own a nursery, too. I’d go nuts staying home all the time.”
“So what do you intend to do with Adam Junior?” Joy pointed to Blythe’s stomach.
“Since I’m the boss, there’s no reason I can’t bring the baby to work with me.”
“Every day?”
“Yes, every day.”
“And what if Adam Junior gets sick, what will you do then?” Joy asked.
“I’ll stay home and take care of him. Of her! Dammit, Joy, will you please stop referring to my daughter as Adam Junior?”
“You’re going to need full-time help after the baby comes, so why not break in your helpers now? That way they’ll be able to—”
“Joy, what are you doing here?” Blythe eyed her friend suspiciously.
“Don’t ask me. You’re the one who dragged me into the bathroom.”
“Don’t play coy with me. Adam sent you over here, didn’t he?” Blythe pointed her finger in Joy’s face.
“I came by to get you to fix some greenery to go across my mantel.” Joy smiled pleasantly. “I want small red velvet bows. No, make that plaid satin bows—”
“He knew I would be upset and he sent you over here to plead his case, didn’t he?” Blythe planted her hands on her hips.
Joy slipped her arm around Blythe’s shoulders. “Relax, will you? You won’t be in any shape to get that sonogram done this afternoon if you stay this tense.”
Blythe dropped her arms to her sides, relaxing just a bit, but she refused to look at Joy. “You honestly don’t see anything wrong in what he did, do you?”
“I didn’t say that. I think Adam should have discussed it with you, first, before he hired Cindy and Martha Dean—”
“Martha Jean,” Blythe corrected.
“Whatever.” Joy squeezed Blythe’s shoulder. “But that’s why he called me before he left the house. He realized he might have made a mistake. He was worried about how you would react.”
“What did he think I’d do, shoot them?”
“No, I believe he was thinking more in terms of your shooting him when he comes to get you for your doctor’s appointment today.”
“Well, go right out there to the phone and call him and tell him that he’s safe. He was right. I do need some help around here at Christmastime, and I’ll really need somebody after the baby’s born.”
“Now you’re being sensible,” Joy said. “Why don’t you go call him and tell him yourself.”
“I can’t. I don’t intend to speak to him for at least a week. Maybe longer.”
Shaking her head, Joy laughed and laughed, then opened the bathroom door and stepped outside. She glanced back at Blythe. “Have you ever asked yourself why Adam puts up with you?”
Adam didn’t dare touch Blythe when the nurse, Helen Thrasher, showed them into the room where the sonogram would be done. He wanted to put his arm around his wife, show her his care and affection on such an important day for the two of them. But he knew when to leave well enough alone. Blythe hadn’t spoken to him since he picked her up at Petals Plus. Of course, Joy had forewarned him, so he’d prepared himself for the silent treatment. Or so he thought.
“Please come in, Blythe, Adam.” Dr. Meyers inclined his head toward the smiling young woman sitting across the room. “This is Whitney Lawrence, the technician who’ll be in charge of your sonogram.”
Nurse Thrasher handed the technician the videocassette that Blythe had brought with her so that they could have a record of the sonogram to take home with them.
“Now, Mrs. Wyatt, if you’ll just lie down here, we’ll get started,” Whitney instructed.
“Adam, you can sit down there—” Dr. Meyers indicated a folding chair beside the examining table “—and hold Blythe’s hand while you two get the first look at your son or daughter. Now, you did tell me that you want to know the sex of the child, if we can determine it, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Blythe and Adam replied in unison.
Dr. Meyers smiled. “Hoping for a girl or a boy?” he asked.
“A girl,” Blythe said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Adam said.
Whitney Lawrence lifted Blythe’s blouse and lowered her skirt, exposing the rounded swell of her stomach. Adam watched in utter fascination as his wife’s belly was revealed. He hadn’t seen this much of Blythe since the night they made love.
The Tender Trap Page 11