The Tender Trap

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The Tender Trap Page 15

by Beverly Barton


  Blythe turned slowly and smiled at Adam. “Would you mind terribly if we name him Elliott ? I was an only child and my father’s name died with him.”

  “I don’t know, babe. Elliott sounds so...so...”

  “So what?”

  “So prissy.”

  “It does not! It sounds distinguished and sophisticated.”

  “Elliott, huh?”

  “Elliott Adam Wyatt,” she suggested.

  A warm satisfied feeling spread through Adam when she spoke the name she had chosen for their child. Her father’s name. And his name.

  “If Elliott Adam Wyatt is hungry, then we’d better feed him,” Adam said. “Do we have paper plates? Some napkins? Something to drink?”

  “I have a feeling that if Elliott takes after his father, I’ll spend the whole first year of his life doing nothing but feeding him and changing his diaper.”

  “I can’t do much to help with the feeding, until he starts eating baby food, but I can change a diaper, if you’ll show me how.”

  She wanted to ask Adam if he was going to be around often enough to take on diaper duty, but she didn’t want to spoil the moment.

  She reached under a counter and pulled out a sack of plastic cups, utensils and paper plates. “I’ll take care of this,” she told him. “You get us some colas out of the refrigerator over there.” She pointed at a minirefrigerator, not much bigger than an ice chest, which had been placed in the corner near a row of coolers containing an array of colorful flowers.

  “You’re not supposed to be drinking colas,” Adam said. “Caffeine isn’t good for Elliott.”

  “I can drink the decaf kind,” she told him.

  He retrieved two cans from the fridge, making sure Blythe’s contained a decaffeinated drink, then popped the lids and set the colas on the small round table where she had placed their slices of pepperoni, black olive and mushroom pizza. They’d both been surprised to learn they liked their pizza the same way.

  She chatted away about this and that, mostly about the weeks and months ahead until the baby’s birth. Part of the time he actually heard what she was saying and took part in the conversation. The rest of the time, he watched her talk and eat and laugh, and wondered how it was possible that just looking at her turned him inside out. What was it about Blythe that made her so irresistible?

  He cleaned up after they ate, tossing everything into a plastic trash bag. Blythe protested that she could wash the utensils and cups for reuse.

  “Why the hell would you use disposable stuff and then wash it for reuse?” he asked.

  “Because I’m thrifty,” she replied.

  “I’ll buy you some new plastic cups, forks and spoons,” he told her. “I’m throwing these away.”

  “Suit yourself. I’ve got to repot a couple of Christmas cactus that Cindy accidentally knocked off their display shelf earlier.”

  “If you’ll show me what to do, I’ll help you.” He dropped the garbage bag by the back exit, then turned and followed her out to her work counter.

  “You can get that bag of potting soil—” she pointed under the work counter “—and lift it up here.” She patted the wide wooden top.

  He followed her instructions, then sat down on the stool beside her. “What now?”

  “Are you sure you want to do this? It’ll mean getting your hands all dirty.”

  Blythe eyed Adam’s immaculate white shirt, and wondered just how long it had been since CEO Adam Wyatt had played in the dirt. As long as she had known him, he’d been perfectly groomed, often wearing a suit and tie.

  She stuck her hand into the bag of potting soil and pulled out a clump of dark, rich dirt.

  “Just because I’m the boss of Wyatt Construction doesn’t mean I don’t still get my hands dirty occasionally.” He watched her packing the dirt in her fist and wondered what she was doing. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she was up to something. “When I was a kid, I worked alongside my father’s employees, doing the hard, backbreaking Work. I wasn’t afraid of a little dirt then, and I’m not now.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, her tone playful. Drawing back her hand, she aimed and threw the clump of potting soil at Adam.

  The dirt hit him on the chest, the clump falling apart upon impact. Particles flew upward and caught in his chest hair exposed by his unbuttoned collar; the rest fell down the front of his white shirt.

  “Want to play, huh?” He eased off his stool.

  Blythe jumped off her stool and ran around to the other side of the work counter. “Do you realize I’ve never seem you dirty?”

  “Is that right?” Adam reached inside the bag and pullmed out a handful of soil. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen you dirty, either.”

  “Stop and think about what you’re doing,” she cautioned as she began backing away from him. “I’m a pregnant lady.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He rounded the edge of the wooden counter. “You’re a playful pregnant lady.”

  “Now, Adam—”

  He tossed the dirt ball, hitting his target—her shoulder. Dirt flew across her neck and up into her hair. Sputtering, she shook her head, then dashed toward the open bag sitting on the countertop. Before Adam could grab her, she snatched up another handful of dirt and threw it, hitting him on the side of his head.

  “Babe, I guess you know this is war.” He picked up the bag and headed directly toward Blythe. “Ever had a dirt bath?”

  Squealing, she ran into the back storage room and tried to close the door, but Adam was too quick. He grabbed her, jerked her up against him, then lifted the sack of dirt over their heads and turned it upside down. Three-fourths of the soil cascaded over Blythe; a fourth of it covered Adam.

  He dropped the empty sack to the floor and looked at Blythe, her face streaked with dirt stains. She was looking up at him and laughing. He pulled her into his arms.

  “Did you know that you’re beautiful when you’re dirty, Mrs. Wyatt?”

  “So are you, Mr. Wyatt.” She lifted her arms and slid them around his neck. “Why’d you shower us with the whole bag of dirt?”

  “I thought if we got dirty enough, we might have to go home and play in the whirlpool bath together.”

  She wriggled against him. “Yeah? Well, what would you say if I told you I’d rather stay here and play in the dirt with you?”

  “Babe, you’d better not be tempting a guy unless you’re serious.”

  Blythe glanced out into the florist shop at the work counter behind the screened partition. “I’ve heard that people can make love just about anywhere, under any conditions.”

  Adam took her mouth in a kiss that left her breathless. She clutched his shoulders when he lifted her off her feet, then wrapped her legs around his hips. Cupping her buttocks, he walked out of the storage room and directly to the work counter. Without breaking the kiss, he deposited her on top of the counter and unzipped her green knit maternity top.

  In her haste to undo his shirt, she popped several buttons. He raised her arms and pulled her top over her head, then took off his open shirt and threw it on the floor. He kissed the swell of both breasts while he unhooked her bra. She unbuckled his belt and undid his slacks.

  Blythe wanted him. Here. Now. Like this. She ran her hands over his chest, stopping to torment his tiny nipples. Adam groaned, then lifted her up and jerked her knit maternity slacks and lace panties down to her knees. Grunting, panting, groping, they undressed and came together in a wild, raw fury. Adam surged into her with a fierce hunger, his desire too strong to temper it with gentleness. She responded with an equal passion, taking him as surely as he took her. Nothing mattered to either of them except the hot, demanding need that drove them harder and harder until the world shattered around them and shook them to the very depths of their souls.

  Later—much later—Biythe lay awake in her bed at the cottage, Adam asleep at her side. Here she was in a no-win situation, in love with a man who had married her for one reason and one reason only. Sh
e had snared him in the tender trap.

  Blythe cried silently, afraid of what the future held for her and Adam—and little Elliott.

  Ten

  Adam took one last look at the blueprints for Blythe’s house, then folded them and slipped them into the cardboard tube. He’d take them home to her tonight so she could make any changes she wanted. Tomorrow he’d drop them by the architact and have him incorporate Blythe’s suggestions into the plans.

  The plans for her dream house. The house he had promised to build her. The house where she and their son would live after the divorce.

  When he had married Blythe, he had thought of their divorce as nothing more than part of their bargain. Now he found himself plotting ways to postpone the end of their marriage. Maybe he could renegotiate terms, persuade Blyrthe to wait until Elliott Adam Wyatt’s first birthday before going through with the divorce. After all, the first year of their son’s life was crucial—to the child and to them. In that first year, Adam and Blythe could bond with the baby and surround him with constant love and attention.

  He had agreed to let her keep the child with her that first year, but he hated the idea of living separately from them. He would miss so many of his son’s firsts if he wasn’t with him every day.

  He had hinted to Blythe several times over the past few weeks, ever since they had actually begun to live as man and wife, that he wasn’t in any hurry to end their marriage. But whether she had simply not picked up on his subtle hints or had chosen to ignore them, she had made no reference to their divorce.

  He knew that a divorce was inevitable. Even though they had become friends, discovering they had quite a lot in common and could compromise whenever they disagreed—at least on most subjects—they were still the same two people they were when they’d married. He was still an old-fashioned guy who couldn’t change his macho stripes overnight. Hell, he doubted he would ever be able to stop trying to take care of his wife—and that was the one thing Blythe hated most. She often saw his attempts to take care of her, to make life easier for her, as his way of trying to dominate and control her. God knew, he didn’t mean it that way.

  He had come to realize that a woman didn’t have to be the perfect homemaker in order to be a good wife and mother. And there was something to be said in favor of a strong, independent woman with whom he could discuss business-related problems and know she would not only understand but often help him come up with solutions. Then of course, there was the incredible sex. He and Blythe couldn’t touch each other without catching fire.

  He had grown accustomed to her sleeping in his arms every night. He liked knowing she was there. Safe and secure. Of course they still argued, more often than not over silly things, or at least things that seemed silly in retrospect. She had finally forgiven him for hiring two employees for Petals Plus without her permission, but she warned him that she would never allow him to get away with something so underhanded again. He tried to rein in his protective, controlling tendencies as much as possible, but asking him not to try to take care of her and their child was like asking him not to breathe.

  And the crazy thing was he knew that a divorce wouldn’t change how he fell. As far as he was concerned, Blythe and Elliott would always belong to him. Even if she married someone else. Adam plunged his closed fists down atop his desk, tossed his head back and growled, the sound dark, furious and agonized.

  Blythe placed the Noah’s Ark lamp on top of the white chest of drawers, stepped back and smiled when she saw how perfect it looked. Turning slowly around and around, she hugged herself as she viewed the nursery from every angle. In the past seven weeks she and Adam had turned this third bedroom into a special world for Elliott. She had chosen pale pastel shades of blue, pink, yellow and green to accent the white furniture and had chosen to use the currently popular Noah’s Ark theme for the entire room. Naturally, Adam had spared no expense, and she had finally stopped reminding him that by the time Elliott was two months old, they would be divorced and she and the baby moved into another house.

  Adam didn’t seem inclined to discuss dissolving their marriage, and she knew the reason why. Elliott. Adam couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from his son. But how could she stay married to a man who only wanted to keep her in his life because she and his child were a package deal? Besides, even though she and Adam had become friends as well as lovers, he still infuriated her sometimes when he made decisions for her. She had to admit that he didn’t do it often—but he still did it!

  Maybe, if he loved her, she could learn to overlook his macho faults, since he truly was trying to do better. But he didn’t love her. The word had never been mentioned. He wanted her, or at least he had up to now. Every night she wondered if this would be the last night-the last time he made love to her. Surely he couldn’t find her desirable. Not now. She had once laughed when she’d told him she would eventually look like a Volkswagen Beetle, but now that she was round as a butterball, the thought made her cry.

  He’d made slow, sweet love to her last night, eliciting cries of pleasure. She loved the way he made love to her, and had become addicted to being touched by him. What would she do when he no longer wanted her, when the sight of her fat, ugly body repulsed him?

  Blythe swallowed down the tears nudging against her throat. Checking her watch, she realized how late it was and decided she’d take a nice warm shower before Adam came home. She had left work early today, leaving Petals Plus in Martha Jean’s capable hands. Now that the Christmas holiday season was over and Valentine’s Day was still a couple of weeks away, business had slowed down considerably.

  She walked down the hall, through her bedroom and into the master bath. Undressing slowly, she examined her body. Her breasts were swollen and very sensitive. Her stomach was huge. Of course, she was almost seven months pregnant and Elliott was growing by leaps and bounds.

  She caressed her tummy. Her son kicked. She could see the outline of his little foot pressing against her abdomen. “Hello, Elliott. Mommy’s feeling sorry for herself today. Daddy’s bringing home the plans for our new house, the house you and I are going to live in when Daddy and I get a divorce.”

  When tears filled her eyes, she wiped them away. “And when you’re a year old, you’ll live with Daddy part of the time. I won’t like not having you with me all the time, but I won’t ever let you know how I feel.”

  She finished undressing, turned on the shower and stepped inside. The warm water felt heavenly. She tossed back her head and let the spray hit her in the face and on her neck.

  As she lathered her body, she rubbed her belly and continued talking to her unborn child. “Your daddy’s a pretty nice man, you know? There was a time when I thought he was nothing but a ruthless, aggressive macho jerk. But that was before I really got to know him.

  “Oh, he’s not perfect. Sometimes he makes me so angry I could strangle him. He just can’t get it through his head that I’m capable of taking care of myself without any help from him.

  “And I know that he still wishes I’d change into some 1950s TV sitcom mom, who’d stay home and bake cookies all day long.” She patted her tummy. “I’ll bake cookies for you, don’t you worry. But I’m not going to stay home. I’ll take you with me to Petals Plus every day. You’ll like it there, surrounded by flowers. And in a few years, when you’re old enough to start kindergarten, I’m going to expand my business and start that nursery I’ve always wanted. And you’ll be there with me after school and in the summers, and....” Tears streamed down her face.

  Blythe stayed in the shower until the skin on her toes and fingers puckered and she had discussed all her confused emotions with her son. By the time she dried off and slipped into her robe, she was crying so hard that everything around her became a teary blur.

  Adam opened the front door, the house plans tucked under his arm. “Blythe? Hey, babe, where are you?”

  He didn’t smell supper cooking, so she wasn’t in the kitchen. No big deal. He’d order takeout later, a
nd they could snuggle in front of the fire.

  “Blythe?” He laid the tube containing the house plans on the dining room table, then headed down the hall. He glanced in the nursery, thinking she might be sitting in the white rocker where she often enjoyed resting when she came in from the florist shop.

  When he entered their bedroom—and that’s how he thought of it now, as their bedroom—he removed his jacket and tie and tossed them on the bed.

  “Blythe?” Where was she? He knew she was home. Her minivan was in the garage.

  He opened the door to the bathroom and found her sitting on the vanity stool, trembling as she sobbed. He rushed over to her, knelt on one knee and put his arms around her. She looked at him, her face wet with tears, her eyes red and swollen.

  “Babe, what’s wrong? Are you sick? Is it the baby? Is—”

  “Elliott is fine. And—” Sob. Sob. “—I’m not sick.” Sob. Sob.

  “Something’s wrong. What is it? Tell me? A problem at work?”

  She wiped her face with the back of her hand, sucked in a deep breath, let it out and glared at Adam. “You’re not supposed to be home yet.”

  “I left early,” he told her. “I brought the house plans. I knew you’d want to go over them as soon as I got them. You’re going to love this house. It’s everything you said you wanted.”

  Suddenly she burst into a fresh round of tears. Adam rubbed his hands up and down her arms, trying to soothe her. She squirmed on the vanity seat, cried even harder and turned her head away from him.

  “Blythe, you’re scaring me. Can’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

  Shaking her head negatively, she crossed her arms over her protruding stomach and hugged herself tightly.

  “Come on, babe. You know I’ll fix it, or at least try to,” Adam said. “Just tell me what I can do to make things all right.”

  When he tried to kiss her, she shrieked and shoved him away. Adam’s butt landed on the floor. Blythe jumped up off the vanity stool and ran out of the bathroom. He sat on the floor several minutes, trying to figure out exactly what had happened. For at least the hundredth time since he’d married Blythe, he thought about how he didn’t understand women, his wife in particular. The doctor had explained to him, Joy had cautioned him and Craig had warned him about how emotional and moody a pregnant woman could be. But Blythe had to take top honors. This stunt today totally baffled him.

 

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