When be got up and walked into their bedroom, he found her sitting in the middle of the bed, huddled in a ball, her feet tucked up under her and her arms wrapped around her stomach.
He sat down beside her and smiled. She glared at him. Okay, so smiling was the wrong approach. He frowned. She glared even harder. He winked at her.
“Are you making fun of me?” she asked, her voice edged with the residue of her tears.
He reached for her, but she leaned away from him. He let his hand drop to his side. “I’d never make fun of you, babe.”
“I guess I’m pretty funny-looking, aren’t I? I’m fat as a pig. No, I’m fat as a hog. And my face is as round as a balloon, and my fingers are so swollen I can hardly slip my rings on and off, and...I’m just huge and ugly and...” The tears started again. Filling her eyes. Trickling down her cheeks.
So that was the problem, Adam thought. She was feeling unattractive because of the advanced stage of her pregnancy. She had gained only a few pounds over what Dr. Meyers recommended, but on her petite frame it did seem more. Her slender face had filled out. She even had a bit of a double chin. And since her bones were so small and delicate, her legs and arms remained slender while her belly dominated her whole body.
He grasped her by the shoulders and refused to release her when she tried to pull away. He forcefully turned her around to face him, but she bent her head and looked straight down.
“You don’t know, do you?” He lifted her off the bed and onto his lap, then placed his arm around her waist. “You really have no idea how beautiful you are to me.” He loosened the tie belt and spread apart her pink satin robe, revealing her enlarged breasts and big tummy.
She gasped and tried to pull her robe closed, but Adam would have none of it. “Don’t try to hide your body from me when I love to look at it.”
“How can you possibly love looking at me when I’m so big and fat and—”
“Don’t you dare say that you’re ugly.” Adam slipped the robe off her shoulders, letting it puddle around her hips. “You’re beautiful. Your body has changed to accommodate that big boy growing inside you.” He caressed her stomach. Her breathing accelerated. “But those changes don’t make you ugly. How could any man look at a woman whose body was ripening with his child and not see the most beautiful sight in the world?”
She draped her arms around Adam’s neck, buried her face in his shoulder and cried softly while he rubbed her back. “You’re such an old-fashioned man,” she said. “You know that don’t you? You’re like some damned knight in shining armor, always trying to protect and defend and rescue me...whether or not I want to be rescued.”
“I’m trying to do better.” He nuzzled her neck, then kissed her ear. “Honest, babe. I am trying.”
“Don’t you dare apologize for being so wonderful to me!” She wrapped herself around him, her fat belly pressed against his flat stomach, and kissed him, devoured him, consumed all the heat and passion he felt.
Easing her down on the bed, Adam hovered over her, staring at her with desire burning in his eyes. “You are the most exciting, desirable woman I’ve ever known.” His hands moved over her body with an almost reverent homage. “Let me love you, Blythe. Let me show you just how beautiful you are to me.”
She gave herself over to his masterful touch, glorying in the wild and marvelously wonderful sensations spiraling through her. His mouth found and savored each special, sensitive spot on her body. His lips feasted on her breasts. His tongue painted a hot, moist trail downward, zeroing in on its target found hidden between the folds of her femininity. When he touched her there, she moaned, lifting her hips up off the bed.
Making love to a woman had never been this important to Adam. He needed to give Blythe the sweetest loving she’d ever known and prove to her that she was irresistibly to him. And heaven help him, that’s exactly what she was. He hadn’t been able to resist her—those big hazel eyes, that full, pouty mouth, that hot woman’s body, delicate and yet strong.
The heart of her body was sweet, intoxicating and smelled of jasmine and musk. He loved the taste of her, loved listening to her panting moans, and loved the feel of her body quivering under his tongue.
Blythe could not stop the tidal wave of completion as it swept over her, thrashing her about like flotsam after a storm. When the aftershocks of release rippled through her, Adam turned her onto her side and fitted his body, spoon-fashion, against hers. Lifting her slightly, he entered her and within moments lost himself completely in his own strong release.
Adam lifted the tray containing the remnants of their meal off the floor and set it on the hearth. Bracing his back against the right bottom side of the sofa, he reached out, put his arms around Blythe and dragged her backward, fitting her hips between his spread legs.
She leaned her head back to rest on his chest, and gazed into the crackling fire Adam had built in the fireplace before they ate dinner. She loved evenings at home alone with her husband. Her temporary husband, she reminded herself and sighed, wishing their marriage was real, wishing Adam would be her husband for the next hundred years or so.
“So, what do you think of the house plans?” he asked.
Adam pulled the blueprints off the coffee table where he’d laid them earlier when he’d first shown them to her. Placing them in her lap, he held each end so that the paper wouldn’t curl back into a roll.
“I think this place is way too big for just me and Elliott. There’s over five thousand square feet. It’s a mansion, not a house.”
“You don’t like it?”
“Of course I like it.” She cuddled against him, nuzzling her head against his naked chest. “It’s fantastic. My dream house. All those windows. All that open space, upstairs and down. But it will cost a fortune to build.”
“You let me worry about the cost. Nothing is too good for you... and Eliott.”
“When you promised to build me a house, I never expected something like this.”
“So, you like it?”
“Yes, I love it.”
“Look it over and decide if you want any changes,” he said. “I want this house to be perfect. You deserve nothing less.”
“When Elliott gets older and spends more time with you, I’ll get lonesome in such a big place.” She laid her hands atop his where they held open the house plans. “I’ll just rattle around in it, listening to the echo of my own voice.”
“That’ll be years from now.” Adam leaned his head over and caressed the side of her face with his cheek. “While Elliott’s little, he’ll be with you most of the time. I’d like it if you’d let me stop by and see him every day, maybe have dinner with you sometimes.”
“You can stop by anytime you want.” Tonight had been almost perfect. She didn’t want to discuss the future and ruin their ephemeral happiness. But the end of their marriage wasn’t that far off. The only sensible thing to do was make plans for it. “Any time you want to come by, you’ll be welcome. You never have to call or anything.”
“You might change your mind when you—” he swallowed down his anger and frustration at the thought “—start dating again.”
Dating again! Never! Not in a million years. How could she ever want another man after being Adam’s wife? “Well, that’ll be a long time in the future, too. I’ll be too busy with Elliott to think much about dating. Of course, you’ll be the most eligible bachelor in the state again once the divorce goes through.”
There had been a time when he’d enjoyed his bachelor status, with a delightful selection of ladies from which to choose. But his feelings about bachelorhood had changed since his marriage to Blythe. Despite her lack of domesticity, she’d made coming home something to look forward to. Hell, it had even gotten to the point where he enjoyed their arguments. Mainly because they usually made up in bed.
“I’m not going to rush back into dating, either,” he admitted. “I’d like to spend all my free time with my son, especially when he’s a baby. I don’t want to miss anyt
hing.” Adam took the house plans, rolled them up and tossed them onto the coffee table. “Blythe, what if, after the divorce, I might want to stay the night with Elliott sometime? Would you mind?”
“No...” She cleared her throat. “No, of course I wouldn’t mind.”
“And any time you need a baby-sitter, I’d come over,” he said. “You know, if you needed to work late or—”
She turned in his arms, placed her finger over his lips and smiled. “We’re going to raise Elliott together. The one thing we’ve always agreed on, since the day we married, is that our child isn’t going to suffer because his parents are divorced.”
“You know I had my doubts when we got married. I wondered if we’d be able to work things out.” Adam kissed her on the nose. “But now I know one thing. We’re going to come out of this marriage as good friends, and we’re going to be good parents, whether we stay married or not.”
“Whether we stay married?”
“Forget I said that. It was a slip of the tongue. I know neither of us wants to stay married for our child’s sake.”
“Oh. Yes, of course, you’re right.” What had she hoped he’d meant? Had she realty hoped that he might be having second thoughts about their relationship? Yes, dammit! Yes! She had hoped that maybe, just maybe, Adam Wyatt was falling in love with her. But that wasn’t going to happen. She had his respect, his devotion and his friendship—and the pleasure of his body on a temporary basis. Anything else would be asking for too much.
Eleven
“Adam Wyatt taking Lamaze classes. I’d like to see that!” Joy Simpson positioned a yellow carnation in the floral arrangement on which she was working. “The Playboy of the South helping his wife learn how to huff and puff during delivery. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”
“Will you stop teasing Blythe.” Martha Jean laid a dozen red roses on the work counter and began separating them. “I’ve always heard that reformed playboys make the most devoted husbands. Kind of like the way reformed sinners become religious fanatics.”
“He’s really trying to tone down his enthusiasm for fatherhood,” Blythe said. “But it’s difficult for Adam to control his excitement. You’d think I was the only woman in the world who’s ever had a baby.”
“You’re the only woman in the world who’s ever had his baby,” Joy reminded her.
Shivers of awareness rippled up Blythe’s spine. She had become more aware with each passing day just how much Adam wanted their child, that he truly looked forward to being a father. Was that the reason he was so good to her, the reason he seemed to dote on her, fulfilling her every wish, complying to her every whim? Of course it was. What other reason could there be? He knew that a happy, healthy, content mother was important to his child’s well-being, before and after birth.
“I think it’s adorable the way Mr. Wyatt spoils Blythe,” Martha Jean said. “It’s plain to see he’s madly in love with her. He just lights up like a Christmas tree every time he looks at her.”
Blythe noticed the pity in Joy’s eyes as their gazes met. Only Joy and Craig knew that her marriage was not a love match, that in a few short months her doting husband was going to divorce her.
“I’m starving to death,” Blythe said. “I stay hungry all the time. I’m going to take a break.”
She rushed into the back storeroom, holding the tears inside until she’d closed herself in the bathroom. She slumped over the sink, turned on the faucets and dampened a washcloth. Glancing in the mirror she gasped when she saw her pale, sad face.
How could she be so miserable when to the outside world her life seemed perfect? She was married to a man everyone thought worshiped the ground she walked on. She was nearly seven and a half months pregnant with a child both she and her husband wanted. And in a few short months, she would be moving into her dream house, a mansion her husband was sparing no expense to build for her-How could she possibly be unhappy when she had everything? Everything except the one thing she wanted most—Adam’s love.
If eight months ago someone had told her that she would share a night of wild passion with Adam Wyatt, conceive his child, marry him and then fall head over heels in love with him, she would have told them they were crazy. Her life had changed drastically in such a short period of time, and even bigger changes were in store for her.
There were times when she came close to telling Adam that she didn’t want a divorce, that she wanted them to stay married and raise Elliott together. But then she realized he might agree to her request, and she’d end up spending the rest of her life married to a man who didn’t love her.
Blythe’s stomach growled. Darn! She’d eaten a huge breakfast around seven this morning and here it was—she checked her wristwatch—barely ten-thirty and she felt as if she hadn’t eaten in days. She had gained five pounds more than she should have, and Dr. Meyers had scolded her. Then Adam started watching every bite that went into her mouth. And they had wound up having more than one heated argument over the fact that she thought Dr. Meyers and Adam were treating her like a child. Those arguments had ended, as all their arguments did, in bed.
Blythe smiled. Adam was a genius at figuring out ways to have sex while protecting her protruding stomach. Their lovemaking was slower, sweeter, more gentle and yet complete and satisfying. She blushed when she remembered the things Adam said and did to her—and she to him.
Blythe felt a sudden gush of liquid between her legs. Gasping, she pressed her legs together tightly and clutched her stomach. Dear God, surely her water hadn’t broken. Not yet. She was only seven months into her pregnancy.
She made her way over to the commode, sat down and lifted her maternity jumper. Bright red blood stained the inside of her thighs. Trembling, Blythe opened her mouth in a silent scream, the sound lodging in her throat. What was wrong? She shouldn’t be bleeding! Was she losing the baby? How could she be bleeding when there was no pain?
“Joy!” Blythe screamed. “Joy, come here!”
The bathroom door flew open and Joy rushed in, Martha Jean right behind her.
“What’s wrong?” Joy asked.
“I’m bleeding,” Blythe said. “I’m bleeding a lot.”
“Don’t panic.” Joy gripped Blythe’s shoulder. “Stay calm.” Joy turned to Martha Jean. “Call Dr. Meyers and tell him that Blythe Wyatt is bleeding badly and I’m taking her straight to Decatur General. Then call Adam and tell him to meet us there. But try not to frighten him.”
“Do you need any help getting Blythe to your car?” Ringing her hands, Martha Jean hovered in the doorway.
“No, I can handle things. Just go make those phone calls.” Joy slipped her arm around Blythe’s waist and helped her stand. “Can you walk?”
“Yes, I—I’m not hurting. I’m just bleeding. And it won’t stop.” Blythe clutched Joy’s forearms and gazed into her friend’s stricken face. “I can’t lose this baby. I can’t! You just don’t know what Elliott means to us. To me. And to Adam. He’ll die if anything happens to his son.”
With her arm around Blythe’s thick waist, Joy jerked a hand towel off the rack and handed it to Blythe, then led her out of the bathroom. Martha Jean, talking on the cordless phone to Dr. Meyers’s office, opened the front door and walked out into the cold February morning with Blythe and Joy. She followed them over to Joy’s black Chrysler.
“Yes, yes. I’ll tell her.” Martha Jean leaned into the front seat and clasped Blythe’s trembling hands. “Dr. Meyers will meet y’all at the hospital.”
“Call Adam,” Blythe said. “Please, I want Adam.”
“I’ll call him right now.” Martha Jean closed the passenger side door and stepped back, then punched the numbers for Wyatt Construction and lifted the phone to her ear.
She waved goodbye as Joy backed her New Yorker out of the parking lot and headed up Second Avenue. Sandra Pennington answered Adam’s private line.
“Please tell Mr. Wyatt to hurry to Decatur General,” Martha Jean said. “There’s an emergency with his wife.”
Adam stormed into the hospital like a marauding barbarian, barking questions, shouting demands and stomping past all the hospital personnel trying to stop him. He saw Joy Simpson standing in the hallway, her makeup streaked with dried tears.
“Is Blythe all right?” Adam growled the question.
Joy nodded her head. “For now.”
“Where is she?”
When he looked toward the nearest closed door, Joy grabbed his arm. “Dr. Meyers is in there with her now.”
“I want to see her.”
“Adam, you’ve got to calm down,” Joy said. “It won’t help Blythe, or the baby, for her to see you this upset.”
“What the hell happened? She’s been fine. Better than fine. Not one problem.” Adam spread his palms flat against the door frame, then pressed his forehead against the door. His big body shook. He gripped the door frame to steady his shaky hands.
Joy placed her hand on Adam’s back, patting him gently. “I don’t know what happened. She just started bleeding.”
Adam spun around, grabbed Joy by the shoulders and glared into her eyes. “She was bleeding? How bad was it?”
“Adam...”
“How bad?”
“Pretty bad,” Joy admitted, then pulled away from Adam and turned her head.
Adam gripped her shoulder. “I can’t stand out here waiting, not knowing. If they want to keep me away from her, they’re going to have to knock me unconscious.”
He squeezed Joy’s quivering shoulder, released her and grabbed the door handle. He eased the door open despite his desire to kick the damn thing from its hinges.
The Tender Trap Page 16