BEVERLY BARTON - The Tender Trap

“But what?”

“But Adam and I are total opposites. He’d probably expect me to cook dinner every night and do his laundry and things like that. Marriage would be a mistake for us.”

“Are you sure?” Joy asked.

“I’m sure. There’s no way I’ll ever agree to marry Adam.”

“Blythe is pregnant, and you’re the father?” Craig Simpson’s eyes widened, his lips twitched and he coughed a couple of times trying to keep from laughing.

“What the hell’s so funny?” Adam paced around his office like a caged tiger. “I got a woman pregnant. And not just any woman, but Blythe Elliott.” Rolling his eyes heavenward, Adam shook his head. “The one woman on earth who hates my guts!”

“She must not have hated you the night y’all made love,” Craig said.

“I don’t know how she felt about me that night.” Adam raked his fingers through his thick, silver-streaked black hair. “I’ve gone over that night a thousand times in my mind. Even before Blythe’s revelation today, I’ve thought about what happened, trying to figure out why we wound up making love. One minute we were arguing, like we always do, then the next minute, a summer storm came up. She’d been crying a lot that day. I wanted to comfort her, and—”

“And the comforting got out of hand?”

“Something like that. It was as if we’d both become two different people, and we wanted each other so much we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.”

“Opposites attract. Just look at Joy and me.”

“Yeah, well, you and Joy were attracted to each other and liked each from the moment y’all met, and you two fell deeply in love. It wasn’t that way for Blythe and me.” Adam continued pacing back and forth from the wide expanse of windows behind his desk to the closed door that led to his secretary’s outer office.

“You and Blythe were attracted to each other from the very beginning, but instead of admitting it, you both fought it. That could be the reason y’all argue every time you’re around each other.”

“Blythe is not my type. I prefer women who like for a man to be a man. I want a woman who isn’t on the defensive all the time. A woman whose career isn’t more important to her than her marriage.” Adam slumped down in the chair behind his desk. “And I’m not her type, either. I remind her too much of her stepfather, whom she apparently despised.”

“So marriage is out of the question, huh?” Leaning his head back against the soft leather of the chair, Craig stretched out his legs in front of him.

“Not necessarily,” Adam said. “I think Blythe and I should marry. For the child’s sake. And to maintain our respectability. We both have business reputations to consider and we’re involved in community affairs. It would be a marriage in name only and we’ll divorce after the baby’s born. Then we’ll share custody.”

“Has Blythe agreed to all that?”

“Not yet, but I’m sure she will. After all, it’s a good deal for her. I’ll give our child my name as well as my love and financial support for the rest of his or her life. And I’ll be there throughout the pregnancy to take care of Biythe.”

“Blythe isn’t the type who’d accept a man’s offer to take care of her.” Craig laughed. “She’s very independent. Joy told me that once Blythe got away from her stepfather and mother, she refused to take anything from them. And Raymond Harold wasn’t a poor man. Blythe worked her way through college and has been totally self-supporting since she was eighteen.”

“Hey, it’s not as if I’m offering to keep her up for the rest of her life. I’ll have you draw up the papers. We’ll spell everything out in black and white so there won’t be any misunderstandings.”

“Sounds romantic to me.” Craig stared up at the coiling, missing Adam’s menacing glare.

“There’s nothing romantic about my relationship with Blythe and you know it. I got her pregnant so I intend to take care of the situation.”

“As I recall, you once told me that after what Lynn did to you, you had no desire to ever remarry.”

“Yeah, you’re right, but I also had no intention of getting a woman pregnant.”

“What if Blythe refuses your generous offer?” Craig asked. “She may decide that she can get along just fine without you and your money.”

“Oh, she’s going to marry me. And she’s going to agree to all the conditions. The divorce after the child is born. The generous child support. And joint custody. I’m not going to give her any choice.” Adam crossed his arms over his chest.

“It sounds like you don’t know Blythe Elliott very well if you think you can bulldoze right over her,” Craig said. “She’s not the type to take orders, especially from a man.”

“I’m not just any man. I’m the father of her baby. I have certain legal rights, don’t I?”

“I suggest you don’t mention anything about your legal rights to Blythe when you take her out to dinner this evening. Threatening her would be like waving a red flag in front of an angry bull.”

“I have no intention of making any threats as long as Blythe is willing to be reasonable, and I think she will be. After all, it’ll be in her best interest to marry me.”

“I’m not sure Blythe will see it that way.”

Leaning over and placing his hands, palms flat, atop his desk, Adam stared at Craig. “Make no mistake about it, Blythe is going to marry me. Neither of us planned on becoming parents, on having to share a child. I’m sure I’d be at the bottom of her list for possible father candidates, and I can’t see Blythe as a mother. She’s not nurturing and maternal the way Joy is.”

“Just take my advice, old buddy. Tread lightly where Blythe is concerned. If you push too hard, she’ll dig in her heels and fight you to the bitter end.”

“I’ll be my most charming self tonight, and I’ll make the mother of my unborn child an offer she can’t refuse.” Shoving back his chair, Adam stood, shot out his hand and grinned at Craig. “You’re going to be my best man. Let’s shake on it. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know what date Blythe and I decide on tonight.”

Three

Blythe knew the minute she took a bite of the orange roughy that she was going to be sick. She’d been foolish to order the fish blackened, but it was one of her favorites. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to the idea of this terrible nausea hitting her at odd times of the day and night.

“Excuse me.” Shoving her chair away from the table, she stood quickly and made a mad dash through the dimly lit restaurant, only to stop short, realizing she had no idea were the ladies’ room was located.

Grabbing a startled waiter by the arm, Blythe felt a sour, burning taste rise in her throat. “Bathroom,” she gasped, almost afraid to open her mouth.

“Around the corner, to the right,” the wide-eyed young man replied.

Adam caught up with her just as she swung open the door marked Ladies. When he clasped her shoulder in his big hand, she jerked away from him.

“What the devil’s the matter?” he asked.

She didn’t have time for explanations. If she didn’t make it to a sink or commode within a couple of seconds, she would be barfing all over Adam’s sleek Italian loafers. She ran inside the rest room, siamming the door in his face.

Adam pounded on the door. “Blythe, are you all right?”

What the hell had happened? They had been eating a delicious meal and actually sharing a pleasant conversation about music. They’d discovered they both shared a love for good jazz. Then all of a sudden, Blythe’s face had turned a rather odd shade of greenish white and she’d run from the table as if she were being chased by demons.