BEVERLY BARTON - The Tender Trap

It had taken him more than one try before he finally got the picture. Whatever had happened between them the night of little Melissa Simpson’s christening had been an aberration, a fluke, a chance happening. Adam had accepted that fact and moved on with his life. At least he’d tried to move on. He had wined and dined several lovely ladies over the last two months, but every time the mood turned serious, he’d see a pair of big hazel eyes looking up at him, he’d hear those sweet little sounds of pleasure Blythe had made when he’d taken her, and he’d feel those small, fragile bones, that soft, sleek freckled flesh he’d caressed the whole night through.

“Tell Ms. Elliott to come in.”

Should he stand? Should he remain seated? Should he be friendly or act nonchalant? Should he ask why she was paying him a visit or just say it was good to see her?

Remaining seated, he leaned over his desk and rested his clasped hands in front of him.

She swept into the office like a tiny whirlwind, her straw bag clutched to her side, her chin tilted defiantly, her gaze riveted directly to his face.

Whatever her reason for coming to his office, Adam’s gut instincts told him this was no social call. It was a confrontation.

Blythe looked even prettier than he remembered. Her short cinnamon red hair shone with a healthy vibrance. Her skin had tanned a rich gold, her freckles darkened to muted copper dots on her nose, cheeks and shoulders. She wore a yellow miniskirt, a matching peach-and-yellow polka-dot blouse and a pair of small gold hoops in her ears.

“If I’m interrupting something, I apologize,” she said. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

“Sit down, Blythe. Tell me why you’re here.” Of all the women he’d known over the years, why was this little hellion the only one he’d been unable to walk away from and forget? Because she’d been a virgin? Because he’d carelessly forgotten to use protection the first time they’d made love?

She sat tensely on the edge of the white leather-and-chrome chair to the left of Adam’s huge, black metal desk. Easing her purse into her lap, she clutched it as if it were a lifeline.

“Would you like some coffee? Or tea? A soft drink?” What was wrong with her? he wondered. Why was she so nervous?

“No, nothing. Tanks.”

“How have you been?” he asked.

“I’ve been just fine. How about you?”

“No complaints,” he said. “Look, it isn’t that I’m not glad to see you, but your visit comes as quite a surprise. Two months ago, you refused to see me. You wouldn’t even talk to me on the phone. I have to admit that I’m curious as to why you’re here today.”

Oh, this was going to be more difficult than she’d thought. Adam was being nice. Not too nice, but nice enough. After the way she’d treated him, he had every right not to speak to her. But what should she have done? Good grief, they had made a monumental mistake—the biggest mistake of her life. She still didn’t know what had come over her that evening at Adam’s condo. Why, after resisting temptation for two years, had she given in that night? One minute they’d been arguing and she’d dislikes everything his powerful, macho image represented and the next thing she knew she was practically begging him to make love to her. One minute she’d wanted to run from him, and the next minute she couldn’t get close enough.

“I want you to know that I don’t hold you responsible.” Blythe lowered her eyes, not able to continue looking directly at Adam. “It was my fault. I should have known better.” She stood up. Her purse fell to the floor. “I did know better, but I’d never felt anything so powerful before. I just didn’t know how to handle wanting someone so much.”

Adam shoved back his chair and stood. “Why should we rehash that night now, after two months, when you’ve refused to see me or speak to me before today?”

Bending over, she picked up her bag and flung it in the chair she’d just vacated, then turned to face him. He seemed so distant, so in control, so much the Adam Wyatt she’d known and avoided for two years. “I’m not here to discuss what happened a couple of months ago. Well, in a way, I am. That is to say, the reason I’m here is to tell you that, well, after we... after we—”

“Made love,” Adam said.

“Yes, after we made love, I knew you would regret it as much as I did, and I realized that you’d feel responsible, even guilty because I’d been a... well, I’d been—”

“The word is virgin, babe. You were a virgin.”

“Yes, well, I felt there was no point in our blaming ourselves for something that wasn’t your fault or mine. It just happened.”

“It happened three times.” The statement was out of his mouth before he could stop himself from speaking. Damn! What was the point of reminding her? Of reminding himself?

Blythe covered her face with her hands. Blowing out a loud breath, she closed her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair. “This isn’t easy for me. Okay? It’s taken all the courage I could muster to come here today to tell you.”

“To tell me what?” he asked. “That you don’t blame me for our night of passion two months ago?”

“No, I don’t blame you. I blame myself.” Blythe balled her hands into fists at her sides. “I don’t expect you to do anything. And I’m not asking for anything. I just thought you had a right to know.”

Adam glared at her, not quite sure what the hell she was talking about, but getting a sinking feeling in his stomach. “You thought I had a right to know what?”

“I’m pregnant!” There, she’d said it. The worst was over. Or so she thought.

“You’re what?”

Adam rounded his desk so quickly that Blythe didn’t have a chance to get away from him before he grabbed her by the shoulders, his fierce grip jerking her forward. He stared at her. Her eyes opened wide as she bit down on her bottom lip.

“You’re what?” he repeated.

“I’m pregnant.”

She was pregnant! No, it wasn’t possible. Who was he kidding? Of course it was possible.

He ran his hands down her arms, clasping her wrists with his fingers. “I’m sorry, Blythe. I never meant for this to happen.”

She shrugged, tilting her head to one side, a tentative smile quivering on her lips. “I know. I told you that I don’t blame you.”

“You should!” Releasing his hold on her, he turned away, slamming his big fists down on top of his desk. “In all the years since my divorce, I’ve never made love to a woman without using protection. Not once. Not until that night. With you. The first time.”

“I didn’t use anything, either,” Blythe said, wanting to touch Adam’s back, waiting to reach out and place her hand on his massive shoulders. “I mean, I wasn’t on the Pill or anything.”

Lifting his clenched fists, he turned and braced his hip on the edge of the desk. “Well, we can’t go back and change what happened. God knows I would if I could. We’ve got to deal with the consequences, to make decisions about how we’re going to handle this situation.”

Blythe didn’t know what she had expected him to say when she told him. Deny that he was the father? Tell her it was her problem? Or had she secretly hoped he’d be happy, that he’d lift her in his arms, kiss her and tell her he loved her and wanted their child?

But Adam didn’t love her any more than she loved him. If he could go back and change what had happened, he would. He’d just said so himself. And if she could go back to that night, what would she do? Unconsciously, she slid her hand down the front of her skirt, her open palm crovering her stomach.

“I suppose you’ve considered all the options,” Adam said. Dear God, what would he do if she said she planned to have an abortion? He’d tell her she couldn’t, that he didn’t want her to destroy the child they had created together.