The Tender Trap. BEVERLY BARTON
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“You’re beautiful,” she said, then laid her hand on his washboard-lean stomach.
Adam sucked in his breath. His sex hardened. He lifted himself up and off the bed, then divested himself of the remainder of his clothes.
Blythe had never seen a fully aroused man, but she didn’t hink all men looked like Adam Wyatt. He was big, deeply canned, powerfully built and overwhelmingly male. She swallowed hard, and for one split second wondered if she was woman enough for such a man.
But the moment he lay down beside her and took her in his arms, all doubts and uncertainties vanished like snow melting in the warm sun.
“I want to look at you,” he told her when he unhooked the front closure of her lavender bra.
She nodded her head, wishing she was more experienced. How long was it going to take him to figure out that this was her first time? And if he did, would he stop? If he called a alt to things now, she didn’t think she could bear it.
He spread the bra apart and gazed down at her small, firm breasts. “Perfect,” he said, then covered them with his hands, gently kneading them, circling her nipples with his palms.
She shivered. Her femininity tightened. Lowering his mouth, he teased one nipple while he stroked its mate to a point between his thumb and forefinger. Lifting her hips off the bed, she slid her arms around his waist and pressed herself intimately against him.
His mouth and hands moved over her swiftly, taking a speedy inventory of every luscious inch from face to toes, as he discarded the remainder of her clothes. Blythe succumbed to her own desire to fondle him, to discover the secrets of his manhood. They explored each other with a hunger neither could deny nor restrain. The fever burning hot inside them blazed out of control.
“I can’t wait.” He panted the words against her breast. “Next time, we’ll go slower. I promise.”
Blythe ached with such a wild need, she made no protest when he mounted her and sought entrance into her body. She was surrounded by him. By the bulk of his massive shoulders. By the aura of masculine power he possessed. By his hot, musky smell, his hypnotizing black eyes and the mesmerizing tone of his deep voice.
“I want you,” was all she could say.
She was warm and moist and willing, her arms holding him close, yet her body resisted his invasion. She was tight, so very tight. And he was on the verge of exploding. He had wanted her so badly, for so long, that being inside her was his only goal in life at this precise moment.
Lifting her hips, he thrust into her, then stopped when he realized the truth. He’d thought she was experienced, that she’d had a legion of lovers.
A hot, searing pain pierced her. Blythe gasped, tears filling her eyes. The pain didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, except making love with Adam.
He partially withdrew from her. “Why didn’t you tell me, babe?”
She bit her bottom lip, then swallowed her tears and reached up to caress his face. “Because I wanted you, and I was afraid that if you knew, you—”
He silenced her with a kiss, plunging his tongue into her mouth at the same moment he delved deeply into her body, taking her completely. She groaned into his mouth, wanting the discomfort to end, but not wanting him to stop.
He coaldn’t make it last, couldn’t take the time she needed, couldn’t give her complete pleasure this time. He took her quickly, wild with the need. His climax rocketed through him like blasts of dynamite. When the last aftershock subsided, he slid to her side, wrapped her in his arms and kissed her gently.
Cuddling against him, she felt joyous at having given Adam such intense pleasure, and yet she felt bereft, wanting to experience that same earth-shattering ecstasy.
“The next time will be for you. All for you,” he said. “I was too hungry for you, wanted you too desperately to make it perfect.”
He caressed her hip while they lay together in each other’s arms. He thought about all the things he was going to do to her, all the wonderful things he was going to teach her. The first time, he’d lost control. The first time, she’d been a virgin.
Adam jerked upright in bed. Blythe laid her hand on his back. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Are you all right?”
The realization that he hadn’t used a condom hit him square in the gut. How the hell could he have been so stubid? He always took the proper precaution. Not once since his divorce had he made love to a woman without protec tion.
“I’m okay,” he said, lying down beside her and pulling her into his arms. “Everything’s fine.”
When he made love to her again—and he intended to make love to her all night—he’d make sure he didn’t take any more chances.
Two
“Mr. Wyatt, there’s a Ms. Blythe Elliott here to see you sir.” Sandra Pennington’s voice sounded a bit shaky, and that was unusual for the formidable middle-aged woman who’d been Adam’s secretary for the past ten years. “She insists on seeing you immediately.”
Blythe Elliott? Here? At his office? Insisting on seeing him? Would wonders never cease?
Adam’s stomach tightened into knots. What was she do ing here? They hadn’t been together in over two months—not since the night they’d both lost their senses and made love like a couple of wild animals who couldn’t get enough of each other.
Just the memory of that night aroused Adam. And the last thing he wanted was to get hot and bothered remem bering what it had been like becoming Blythe’s first lover Damn, he’d thought she was experienced, and he’d gotten the surprise of his life.
When he’d awakened the next morning, Blythe was gone only the scent of her remained in his bed. He’d tried calling her. She’d hung up on him time and time again. He’d gone to her apartment. She’d slammed the door in his face. He’d cornered her at her Petals Plus florist, only to be told that she hated him and never wanted to see him again.
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