The Tender Trap. BEVERLY BARTONЧитать онлайн книгу.

      One

      Adam Wyatt was the sexist man on earth. Blythe had thought so since the moment they met, nearly two years ago. Every time she saw him, the bottom dropped out of her stomach. Why was it that, of all the men she’d ever known, he was the one she couldn’t stop fantasizing about? She could not keep herself from thinking about what it would be like to have him as her first lover.

      Standing in the doorway leading to the patio, she watched Adam while he checked the outside area to make sure the caterer had cleared away everything. He turned, smiled and waved at her.

      After the last guest had left, he had removed his jacket and tie. His wide shoulders strained against the pristine white shirt, and Blythe could see plainly the contours of his muscular, six-foot-two body. A heavy sprinkling of steel gray highlighted his thick mane of black hair, which was almost completely white along his sideburns and at his temples.

      Adam was good-looking, in that very big, tough manly kind of way that made a woman’s knees turn to jelly and her brain turn to mush. He was so drop-dead gorgeous few women could resist him.

      Blythe quivered, then prayed the shudder hadn’t been noticeable. Turning her back to him, she walked into the condo and took a deep, steadying breath. To most women Adam Wyatt was definitely irresistible, but she could resist him. She’d been doing just that for two years, and even if it killed her, she would go on resisting. He might be devastatingly handsome, charming and a self-made millionaire, but he was the wrong man for her.

      Blythe was a modern woman—Adam was an old-fashioned man. They mixed like oil and water. Perhaps that was part of his attraction. He was everything she had always avoided in a man. He was the type she repeatedly told herself she didn’t want. And that was the problem. She did want Adam—wanted him badly.

      Giving in to her sexual urges in this case could mean disaster. Adam was too macho, too much the Me-Tarzan-You-Jane type. In that respect, he reminded her of her overbearing, domineering stepfather, and she had sworn long ago she’d never allow herself to fall for a man who’d try to dominate her.

      Of course it wasn’t as if Adam had been pursuing her. The exact opposite was true. Since their first meeting, when sparks had flown between them, he’d avoided her as much as possible. And she’d been glad. If she spent too much time with the man, there was always the chance she’d give in to her primitive feminine desire and throw caution to the wind.