Chapter 29

“I like your cousin. I’m glad you took me to that restaurant so I could officially meet her.”

Bella smiled at Edward, his profile the picture of concentration in the glow of the dashboard light. Her comment brought a matching smile to his face, though he didn’t take his eyes from the road winding through the residential hills of Magnolia.

“I had the feeling you two would hit it off. But I must be insane, encouraging the two of you to hang out together.”

“Why is that?”

“Because Alice is an open book. I won’t have any secrets left by the time she’s done talking to you,” he replied with a rueful laugh.

“So, you’re keeping secrets from me?” Bella mused.

“No. You’re already fully aware of my biggest skeleton. It isn’t exactly in the closet.”

“Then you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”

Nothing at all, he thought. Just getting in even deeper with you, that’s all.

He hadn’t consciously decided to bring her to the house after their date, but as he navigated the familiar streets winding toward his family home, he realized the destination had been inevitable. She had already found where he lived. Inviting her into the actual structure was a mere formality now.

He turned off of Magnolia Way onto a cul-de-sac that held a handful of vintage Craftsman and Tudor homes, all situated to afford stunning views of Puget Sound and Mount Rainier. He glanced over at Bella to get her reaction as he pulled into the drive of the Cullen home.

“This is where you live? It looks like a gingerbread house.”

She stared through the windshield at the stately English Tudor looming before them at the end of the drive. Edward slowed the car as they neared the detached garage and waited for the electronic door to open. The clouds above had given the moon a break, letting it illuminate the grounds so Bella could glimpse the lush landscaping surrounding the brown and cream two-story home.

“This looks like something out of a fairytale,” Bella commented as they pulled into the former carriage house, now a fully modernized two-car garage.

“That’s what I thought, too, when I was a kid. I was always nagging my folks to go visit Grandpa and Grandma Cullen. Little did I know I’d end up living here.”

Bella wanted to ask again what happened to Edward’s parents - car accident, he’d said - but she was hesitant to bring up a sore subject. She hoped his invitation to visit his family home would prompt him to fill her in about his history without her having to pry.

She was still unlocking her seatbelt when Edward reached her car door, opening it for her like a proper gentleman. As they left the garage and followed the paved path to the side door, she was struck by the feeling she was entering a different world. A certain old-world charm clung to the house and its slightly overgrown foliage, replete with fragrant flowering shrubs and large shade trees. The stars were beginning to emerge overhead, sending showers of tiny spotlights through the sighing leaves. She reached for Edward’s hand and he grasped hers immediately, leading her down the walk.

“It’s so beautiful here. Peaceful,” she said quietly.

She saw Edward’s smile broaden in the dusk, and he squeezed her hand. “It is. That’s one of the reasons I couldn’t give it up.”

He unlocked the heavy oak door to the entryway and held it open for Bella. She stepped inside and stood on the landing, looking around in curiosity. Straight ahead, a few steps descended to a basement door; to the left, a short flight of stairs led up to the kitchen. She dutifully wiped her feet on the doormat and wondered if she should hang her backpack up on one of the coat knobs fastened to the wall next to the door.

Seconds later, mind-reader Edward told her, “You can leave your backpack here if you want.”

She laughed a little to herself as she took his suggestion. He opened his own backpack and removed the quilt, tossing it on a bench next to the basement door. “I’ll take that down to the laundry room later,” he said in explanation. Then he motioned for her to climb the stairs to the kitchen, and she obeyed. He followed close behind, flicking a light switch at the top to illuminate the room.

She gasped a little as she surveyed the brand-new granite center island with its modern bar stools, surrounded by rich cherry cabinets, steel appliances and matching light fixtures.

“This is nice,” she said at last. “A little different than what I was expecting.”

“How so?” Edward queried, a peculiar edge to his voice.

“Well, it looks so new. I thought it would be more . . . traditional.”

His smile was wry. “Most of the house is traditional. But the kitchen is brand new.” He paused and looked at Bella, his eyes hesitant, yet determined. “That’s how I found out how bad my grandmother’s Alzheimer’s was. Right at the end of my college finals, I got a call from Alice telling me Em had left lunch burning on the stove. She came home from school and found the place filled with smoke. She could see the flames from the kitchen, and she ran frantically from room to room, looking for our grandmother. She found her asleep in the downstairs guest bedroom and thankfully got her out before the smoke got to them. Afterward, Emily had no memory of putting a pan of oil on the stove to cook some French fries. She’d just wandered off and forgot she was even making lunch, apparently. She said was tired so she went to take a nap, and that was all she could remember.”

He grimaced slightly and looked around the room. “The kitchen was pretty much a loss, and the downstairs had smoke and water damage after it was all over. Thankfully the upstairs didn’t need much more than a good airing out. It took a year, but we got everything cleaned up, repaired and remodeled. Good as new. Maybe better,” he told her with a humorless laugh.

Bella didn’t know what to say. She sensed Edward wasn’t finished, so she waited, watching him as his eyes scanned the room again.

“Alice likes it. She’s not into antiques too much. I like new things, don’t get me wrong. I used to love staying in luxury hotels when I first started escorting. But they can feel sort of cold and sterile after awhile. Older things have character. Substance. They tell a story.”

Bella nodded, though she’d never given the subject much thought before. Her father’s house was a cozy, non-descript bungalow near the gloomy green depths of the Olympic Forest; while her mother’s Florida home was a typical warm-weather dwelling of stucco and tile, similar to the one they’d shared in Phoenix together when she was young. Both her parents’ homes contained a hodge-podge of garage sale finds and knock-down discount store furniture - nothing with a story to tell, that she knew of.

But when Edward motioned for her to follow him into the next room, she realized what he was talking about. Her mouth dropped as she looked around at the combination living/dining room, a large, open space anchored by impressive pieces of solid wood furniture atop gleaming hardwood floors. Her eyes roamed from a massive oak dining table with eight high-backed chairs to a huge mahogany breakfront full of beautiful antique dishes, then to an ornate coffee table with matching end tables, situated around elegant wing-backed chairs and a sofa. Even to Bella’s untrained eyes, everything in the room obviously was crafted with great skill and attention to detail. Each piece of furniture was meticulously carved with gorgeous embellishments, and glowed with the luster of repeated polishing over the course of many decades.

But the most striking thing about the room was the back wall behind the sitting area. The long, rectangular area was conspicuously empty in comparison to the adornment of the rest of the room.

Edward strolled over to the dining room table and ran his hand along the rich, glossy wood. “My great-great grandfather and his son were carpenters,” he explained, still looking at the handiwork under his fingertips. “They built this house together over eighty-five years ago, and most of the furniture in it. They had a booming business together until the Depression, when the housing market collapsed. They lost most everything, but managed to hang onto the house.”

Edward turned to Bella, his expression hard to read. “My grandfather didn’t follow in their footsteps. He was more interested in cars. He loved to take them apart and put them back together. He was a mechanic for a long time, and then went into parts sales, traveling around the area as the auto repair industry grew. He was a great guy - everybody loved him. That’s what Em always told me, anyway. She loved him, of course - probably to a fault. Because the truth was, he liked liquor and gambling almost as much as he liked cars. The liquor finally did him in - he died of liver disease before I was ever born. And I found out years later that the gambling ate up whatever money he’d made, and then some. I never knew my grandmother had mortgaged the house long ago to pay off his debts.”

Bella stood, rapt, in the middle of the room. The hush between Edward’s words felt almost sacred, like the slightest noise on her part would break the spell. He was finally opening up to her, spilling the secrets of his past, and she would do nothing to stop his flow of words now that the dam had broken.

“My uncle Carlisle was determined not to go down the destructive path his father had. Maybe that’s why he became a doctor - an internist. His younger sister - my mother - became a nurse. They both had the perfect temperament for medicine: compassionate, kind-hearted. Sometimes I think I used to fall and scrape my knees on purpose just so my mom would bandage me up,” he said with a chuckle. “She’d always tell me some little story to divert me while she was cleaning the wound, so I’d never feel the sting. And it worked.” He stopped for a moment and smiled, his eyes far away, focused on a memory. They finally returned to the present, and Bella’s patient gaze, prompting him to continue.

“She met my dad in college - they were both pre-med. He ended up being a general practitioner. He had just as good a bedside manner, but he was always a little harder on me than she was. He didn’t want me to grow up too soft or spoiled. He wanted to make sure I was self-sufficient. So he’d challenge me to figure out how to do things on my own, and then he’d help me when I really needed it. I can’t really blame him, considering how he grew up.”

Edward paused again, ruffling his hair with his fingers as he approached Bella. His eyes met hers in a strange sort of challenge that she didn’t understand at first.

“My dad was orphaned at the age of seven,” he said abruptly, his voice brittle. “He was born in Chicago. His mother got pregnant when she was a teenager, which was pretty scandalous in the 1950s. Her parents wanted her to give the baby up for adoption, but after my father was born, she couldn’t go through with it. She ended up running away with him so she could keep him, but she had no money and no skills - she’d never finished high school. Dad always told me she supported them by being a waitress, but I have my doubts about that.” He stopped and grimaced, shaking his head.

“Why?” Bella blurted, unable to stop herself. She almost clapped her hand over her mouth, she was so worried she’d ruined the moment. She didn’t want him to clam up on her now.

His face was grim, but he continued. “Because of the way she died. Her body was found in a hotel room in a seedy part of the city. There were drugs in the room; drugs in her system. She had a few bruises on her body, but they were faint, inconclusive. Her death was determined to be an overdose, but I don’t know . . . I’ve always had the feeling she was murdered. I don’t know whether she was dealing drugs or whether she was a prostitute, or a combination of the two. But whatever she was doing got her killed at the age of twenty-four.”

A chill ran down Bella’s spine. She stared up into Edward’s eyes, now oddly vacant and hard, like chips of black ice in the dim light from the chandelier over the dining room table. The similarity of twenty-four-year-old Edward’s choices to those of his grandmother was not lost on Bella. Clearly it wasn’t lost on him, either.

“My father never wanted me to know any of that, of course. And he died when I was only ten, so I had to pry the truth from Emily when I was older. But I’m glad I know. It explains a few things.” His crooked grin was sardonic. Bella wanted to protest, but stopped herself when Edward spoke.

“Don’t worry. I don’t feel doomed to repeat her mistakes, if that’s what you’re thinking. But I have to appreciate the irony of it, all the same. One of life’s little jokes.”

But neither of them was laughing.

Edward shook his head, his brows furrowing in regret. “I’m sorry, Bella. I really didn’t bring you here to dump all my family baggage on you.” He reached a gentle hand to the side of her face. “I just wanted to show you were I live, maybe explain why I love this place - why I did what I did to keep it. I’m doing a hell of a job so far, huh?” he concluded with a rueful laugh.

“You’re doing fine,” she assured him, reaching for his free hand. He took it and slid his fingers between hers, clutching them tightly. “Don’t apologize. I want to know more about you, where you came from. You have no idea how much I’ve been hoping you’d share that with me, even if it isn’t all good. Nobody has perfect families or perfect lives, you know. I like hearing about your past, even the bad stuff. It doesn’t have to ruin the present.”

Edward’s smile was genuine this time. He stroked her cheek gently with his thumb and wondered again what he’d done to deserve her.

“I already told you today that you’re amazing, right?” he asked.

That brought her smile out to join his. “Yeah, but there’s no statute of limitations on that.”

“Good. Because you are.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers and closing his eyes for a moment. Bella kept hers open, loving the soft blur of his features so close to hers. He sighed a little, his breath warm on her skin; then he turned his face ever so slightly so that his lips could reach hers for a gentle kiss.

He wanted to say it then. He was amazed that the words were so close to the surface, so ready on the tip of his tongue.

I love you.

No, that couldn’t be true, could it? He’d known her for only sixteen days.

You’re counting the days. That’s love, idiot.

He kissed her again, letting the knowledge sink in. Letting the weight of it settle in his bones and tissues, imbuing his lips with a special reverence, a curious calm, as they caressed hers.

He pulled back slightly so his eyes could focus on hers. He wondered if she saw the words there, printed across his corneas in naked relief. He tried to read hers, hoping it was more than sympathy - or worse yet, pity - that made them shine with unshed tears. He hoped instead that something as profound as what he was feeling was the culprit.

And then she spoke, and his hopes were dashed.

“So what happened to your father after that? After your grandmother died?”

He let his hands drop, and took a step back. Her look of disappointment was reassuring, at least.

“Orphanages. A couple of sets of foster parents,” Edward answered. He felt his hand reaching for his head, fingers finding comfort in thick shanks of hair. “He studied hard and did well in school, so he had a few scholarships to help him get to college. He chose U-Dub’s pre-med program; that’s where he met my mom. They got married after they graduated, and she went to work as an RN while he finished med school. By the time he graduated, Carlisle had already been working for a few years in a medical clinic, and he managed to get my dad a position there. It was just in time, too, because my mom was pregnant with me.”

The smile that stretched across Bella’s face at those words encouraged Edward once more. “I had a pretty normal childhood. A happy one. I grew up in a little two-bedroom house in Beacon Hill. Mom worked part-time until I went to school, so she was home with me a lot. I was probably pretty spoiled, being the only kid in the family until Alice came along. I remember how excited Uncle Carlisle and Aunt Esme were - I guess they’d been trying for awhile and were beginning to give up hope. But Alice’s arrival changed all that. I think she came out of the womb smiling. That’s just her temperament. She always sees the good in people, always hopes for the best.”

“What about you?” Bella asked. The wistful look in his eyes gave her the answer.

“I hope to be more like Alice when I grow up,” he answered half-jokingly. He glanced around the room again, his eyes falling on the gaping hole in the corner. He frowned slightly.

“Why don’t I show you the rest of the house?” he suggested, leading Bella past the foot of a beautifully carved staircase to the family room entry. He explained that a wall had been knocked out between the former parlor and study to create another large living space, this one more eclectically furnished with comfy furniture and a big-screen TV. The far end of the room still contained vestiges of the study, including an antique roll-top desk and floor-to-ceiling built-in bookshelves sporting dozens of volumes, old to new.

Bella digested it all in silence, save for the occasional appreciative comment. She followed Edward to the rear terrace overlooking the Sound, gleaming darkly under the night sky, and she marveled at the view. Even more, she marveled at what this place did for Edward. “Content” wasn’t quite the right word to describe him, but there was something about the house that clearly resonated with him. She could see the deep connection he felt to it, and to his family’s past. She supposed it stemmed from having so little family history on his father’s side, and so few relatives still living. This place represented security to him, in a world where there was precious little of it.

She reached for his hand again as he guided her back to the family room, briefly showing her an offshoot to a small guest bedroom, where Emily had gone to rest after leaving the stove on that fateful day. Then he led her back to the staircase dividing the family and living rooms and asked her if she’d like to see the upstairs.

“Sure,” she answered at once, her pulse quickening. She was anxious to see Edward’s bedroom, and wondered if he would invite her to spend the night. But as she turned to follow him up the stairs, her eyes caught the yawning emptiness in the corner of the living room once more. She gasped when it struck her what had been there - what was missing from this house.

“What is it?” he asked her, stopping short at the bottom step. He caught where her gaze had fallen before she turned curious eyes to his.

“Where’s the piano, Edward?”

He wasn’t sure why the question stabbed at him the way it did, but he felt the breath leave his lungs at her words. He sagged against the railing and took a breath so he could answer.

“Remember when I said that the kitchen incident was what tipped us off to how bad my grandmother’s dementia was getting?” He shook his head. “Well, for me, it was this.” He nodded toward the empty spot. “I had just graduated from Juilliard when I came home to find the kitchen destroyed. But even that didn’t hit me like this did - this hole in the living room.”

He glanced at the empty floorboards in the corner again, not noticing Bella’s jaw drop at his words. “She forgot I was a musician. Forgot the whole reason I was away at school. One day she just looked at the piano and couldn’t figure out why we still had one. She’d never learned to play it, and my grandfather, who tinkered at it, had died long ago. So she sold it.” He let out an incredulous laugh.

“Alice hadn’t worked up the nerve to tell me yet - she could hardly believe it herself. But that’s how I knew my grandmother was really gone, or at least halfway there. Because the woman who raised me from the age of ten and encouraged me to follow my dreams never would have done such a thing. She never would have forgotten.

“But she did. She did forget. Later, when she realized what she’d done, she cried and begged me to forgive her. And that’s how it went - how it’s gone - for the past two years. She has moments of clarity, but the confusion and memory loss take their place more and more every day. I used to bring her here every Thursday so she wouldn’t forget this place. We’d look at all the old photo albums, and I’d remind her all the stories she told me about our ancestors, and how they built this house. And she’d remember, and repeat the stories, maybe even tell me some new ones, so I’d know she was still in there somewhere.

“But lately she’s afraid to leave Tranquility Gardens. She gets disoriented and doesn’t know where I’m taking her. Sometimes when she’s here, she cries because she can’t remember the things she knows she should. So I don’t bring her here as much anymore. It’s too hard on her.”

“And on you,” Bella added softly. She reached out and closed her hand around Edward’s forearm, stroking the soft brown hairs up and down. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through this. It’s so much to deal with. I don’t know how you do it.”

His smile was wry. “Some would argue that I don’t deal with it very well. Alice, for one.”

“She just wants more for you, that’s all,” Bella said. She slid her hand down to his, grasping it tightly. “You never told me you went to Juilliard. That’s . . . pretty impressive, to say the least. You shouldn’t throw that away. It’s not too late, you know. I’m surprised you never replaced the piano, so you can keep playing. I know they’re expensive, but . . .” She trailed off, waiting to hear his thoughts on the matter. She couldn’t imagine ignoring that kind of education to become a glorified prostitute, no matter how dire the circumstances. But she wanted to understand, and waited for Edward’s explanation.

Edward idly played with her hand, rubbing his thumb along her palm. “After I’d made the decision to be an escort, I was glad the piano wasn’t here. It just would have been a reminder of what I’d given up. But I did start to miss it. I needed the release. Luckily, I have a friend with a piano so I can still practice. I’m rusty, but not as much as I might have been otherwise.”

He paused, wondering if he could ever make Bella understand why he’d done the crazy thing he did to survive. He wasn’t sure he understood it himself.

“When I ran into Emmett McCarty - the Enforcer, remember? - I was kind of in panic mode. I didn’t know how I was going to afford to fix the kitchen, or even save the house from foreclosure by the bank. Long story short, my grandmother’s finances were a mess. All her insurance policies had lapsed, she had two mortgages on the house, and she was in need of twenty-four-hour supervision. I didn’t know how to handle any of it. When Emmett told me how much money he was making, it was an eye opener. It looked like the golden ticket to me at the time.

“I didn’t think about his offer for very long. I knew if I did, I’d talk myself out of doing it. So I took the job and tried not to look back. I told myself it was a dream job, anyway - getting paid to date women. And if I got no-strings sex out of the deal, even better.”

Edward stopped to gauge her reaction; to watch the look of discontent furrow her pretty features. He reached one hand up in an attempt to smooth them.

“I’m no saint, Bella. I didn’t mind being an escort at first. I even enjoyed it sometimes. But by the time I met you, I didn’t really feel much of anything anymore. The numbness was easier to take. Complacency made it easier for me to just keep doing what I was doing. And I won’t lie, I liked the money. I liked being able to keep this place in the family, and being able to take care of Emily and Alice the way they deserved. I promised my father I would.”

Bella shook her head sadly. “What about what you deserve?”

Edward’s snort was derisive. “I lived a lot of years in ignorance, not knowing how my grandmother was struggling to make ends meet. She protected me from that and allowed me to selfishly pursue my dreams. So now it’s time for me to put her first.”

Bella could hear the conviction in his words; could see the stubborn determination in the set of his jaw. No wonder Alice had failed to get him to look for another way. He’d already found a solution, and in a twisted way, he thought he deserved to pay the price for it.

Edward sighed and gave her hand a squeeze. He began to ascend the stairs, gently pulling her along. Halfway up, he paused at a series of framed photos stair-stepping up the plaster wall beside them. At the bottom were typically stoic black-and-white portraits of his ancestors, starting with his great-great-grandparents. In the middle were his grandparents, captured in their youth, attractive and smart-looking in their 1940s styles. She wondered what Emily looked like now. She would be near eighty, Bella guessed.

As they neared the top of the stairs, the last two photographs greeting them were more recent family portraits, their vibrant colors mildly faded by the passage of the past decade or two.

“That’s my Uncle Carlisle and Aunt Esme, with Alice - I think she was about three years old there. And that’s me, when I was eight, with my parents - Edward, Senior and Elizabeth.”

“You’re a Junior?” Bella commented, studying the portraits. “Look how cute you were! And your mom and dad - so good-looking. Your aunt and uncle, too.” She leaned in and looked more closely at Edward’s parents. “You have your father’s jaw and eyebrows. But the rest of your face is a dead-ringer for your mother’s. You look just like her.”

“So I’ve been told,” he agreed with a smile.

“You said Carlisle was your mother’s older brother, right? But that makes her maiden name Cullen.” She thought back to Edward’s good-luck charm, still tucked into the corner of her desk calendar. “The painting she did, with the four-leaf clover, was signed E. Masen. If that was her married name, then that makes you . . .” she trailed off as the puzzle pieces of Edward’s identity came together.

“A Masen,” he finished for her. “I’ve thought about legally changing my name to Cullen. Masen was my grandmother’s last name. I don’t even know the name of my grandfather, because she never revealed it to my dad. So we both grew up as Masens. My real name is Edward Masen.”

His last sentence came out quiet and uncertain; a tentative introduction. Bella took him up on it.

“It’s nice to meet you, Edward Masen,” she replied just as softly. She squeezed his hand tightly, an intimate handshake, and he almost felt as if he and Bella were meeting for the first time.

She definitely felt like she had just met him today, in more ways than she could have anticipated. But there was still one piece missing before the puzzle of Edward Masen, Junior was complete.

“What happened to them?” she asked, her words whisper-light, yet seeming to echo in the staircase around them. She looked back at the happy faces of Edward and Elizabeth, Carlisle and Esme, and braced herself for the tale of their unhappy end.

Edward braced himself, too. He sat down on the top step and motioned for Bella to join him. “My father and my uncle decided to open their own practice together. They bought a small office on Pill Hill - that’s what they call First Hill, because of all the medical centers there - and they had just remodeled it to open a family practice in November of ‘97. They decided to have an open house for the place, inviting all their patients and friends in the medical profession to come visit. It was an early Friday evening, but they thought it would be boring for Alice and me, so Emily offered to skip the open house and watch us instead. Our parents dropped us off here, then all left in Carlisle’s SUV together.”

He paused while Bella waited, her apprehension growing. She found herself gripping his hand a little too hard and tried to relax her fingers.

“They made it to the office just fine, but then a freak ice storm hit. Forecasters had missed it; they said we’d have a slight chance of snow. It started up right before the open house was over, so my folks and aunt and uncle closed early and decided to come home. But it wasn’t soon enough. They were on Highway 5 headed north when they lost control on the ice and slid into a semi.”

Bella was holding her breath now and gripping his hand even tighter, despite her efforts not to. He didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were far away as he continued.

“The front of the car was crushed. Carlisle and Esme were already gone by the time the paramedics arrived. But my parents survived for a little while longer. Long enough for us to say our good-byes. Long enough for my father to tell me that I was the man of the house now, and I would need to be strong and take care of my grandmother and my cousin.”

Bella finally let out a long, shaky breath. “Edward . . .” She stopped, afraid to say what she was thinking. She looked up into his face, a mask of stoicism; but he couldn’t hide the pain that sharpened his eyes to flint. She turned her body toward his on the stairs, making him look at her before she spoke her mind.

“You were only ten years old. Who was strong for you?”

The pain flashed through his eyes again, softening them this time. Tears formed, but he didn’t let them fall. “Em was. She was the strong one. The adult, the caretaker - the only one left. But now it’s my turn.”

Bella shook her head. She’d always known Edward was serious about his responsibilities, but she’d never known to what extent. She mustered her courage and hoped she could stand behind the words she was about to say.

“Well, if it helps any, you’re not in this alone anymore.”

Edward searched her eyes for the truth. Could she really be there for him, no matter what? No matter how long it took for him to find his way out of the mess he’d gotten himself into?

“I can’t ask you to -”

But Bella cut him off. “You don’t have to ask. I’m telling you I’m here for you. If you want me,” she added uncertainly.

He stared at her in disbelief. “If I want you?” he repeated hoarsely, making sure she understood how ludicrous her words were. He let go of her hand so he could grasp her face in both of his. “I can’t remember the last time I wanted anything so much.”

His mouth claimed hers then, but the prize was already won. She yielded immediately, giving in to his kiss, greedily taking and returning his passion in equal measure. Their kisses multiplied as they grasped at one another, clutching hair and clothes and warm skin, under the watchful two-dimensional eyes of Cullens and Masens past.

When at last they broke apart for air, Edward realized Bella’s tour of his home was now ready to come to its logical conclusion.

“Would you like to see my bedroom, Miss Swan?”

She looked into his heavy-lidded gaze, and her slow grin matched his. “I would love to see your bedroom, Mister Masen.”

A strange thrill shot through him at the sound of his real name spoken in Bella’s sexy alto. He couldn’t recall the last time a woman had uttered it. Maybe none had. Edward Cullen was the only incarnation who had dated any women for over two years now. For Edward Masen, this experience was brand new.

He stood and reached for her hand once more, helping her to her feet. After briefly pointing out the doorways of Alice’s and Emily’s bedrooms, he led her to his own. But instead of turning on the garish ceiling light, he reached for the nearest lamp, a small fixture atop his desk near the door. One turn of the switch cast a deep amber glow throughout the room, at once soothing and seductive.

“This is my room,” he hesitantly announced, waiting for the only judgment that mattered.

Even in the ambient light, it was easy to see that Edward’s room contained more beautiful pieces of antique furniture. The dresser, chest and desk were all constructed of matching lustrous dark wood. But by far the most impressive piece in the room was the huge four-poster bed that loomed before her.

She was still gaping at it when she felt Edward’s arms circle her waist, pulling her close.

“Do you like it?” came the velvet voice in her ear seconds later. His breath on her neck sent the usual tremors down her spine, and she wondered if she would ever be immune. She hoped not.

“I love it.” I love you, was what she really wanted to say. This beautiful house and its furnishings would mean nothing to her if they didn’t mean so much to him. But as symbols of something solid and enduring, she could appreciate them almost as much as Edward did. She could even envy them a little because of his regard for them. She longed to make that bed jealous by stealing every ounce of his affection and holding it hostage. Right now, Bella wanted nothing more than for Edward to make love to her in the middle of that enormous antique until all four posts shook with fury at their passion.

His lips were on her neck now, soft and warm and wet. They mimicked the flesh between her thighs, already aroused and craving his kisses. Her eyes closed and her head fell back against the broad hardness of his chest. She sighed, remembering that first night with him . . . the unexpected intimacy of a stranger’s touch; the freedom of surrender to its inexplicable power.

“Make me feel it again,” she whispered. She wondered if he would know what she meant.

He knew all too well. He was right there with her, remembering the silky blue dress, feeling it now between his fingertips as he caressed the cotton of her t-shirt. He pulled at it, baring her shoulder, and recalled the sun gleaming off of her ivory skin. She was dusky peach now in the lamp light, and tasted just as sweet to his searching lips. Her head lolled against his; her hair smelled of the beach. He buried his face in the wind-whipped strands and inhaled deeply. The undeniable urge gripped him again - the need to lose himself in her, to burrow deep and live in her warmth.

He pulled the clothes from her body with an impatience he could no longer suppress. She had made him reckless that first night, and every time he’d seen her since, so it should have been no surprise that she had him on his knees the minute he got her alone in his bedroom.

And that’s exactly where he found himself moments later: on his knees amidst a pile of discarded clothes, clutching Bella’s beautiful ass cheeks in his greedy fingers, his face buried deep between them. He didn’t remember how he’d gotten her to the edge of the bed. Yet there she stood, her hands grasping the nearest bedpost, hanging on for dear life while he devoured her sex from behind with a hunger he could not contain. This was the dessert he’d been fantasizing about all through dinner, watching her give him that sexy, knowing smile across the table; remembering those lips wrapped around him, drinking him down.

And now he took his fill of her juicy flesh, sweet and tangy and more delicious than any girl had a right to be. He nipped at her ripe cheeks; pulled at her soft lips with his own. He tongued the steamy entrances to her body, back and forth, up and down, in and out, until her gasps turned to sobs. Those were his favorite sound: the cries of a pleasure that was too intense - the cries that begged him to stop, yet never stop. The sounds a woman made when teetering on the edge of no return. That was the ultimate destination, and he’d taken her there.

He paused, breathing heavily against her sex; and she sobbed again, her body quivering. He gazed up at her and found her utterly glorious: thighs parted, back arched, hair swaying gently across her back with each panting breath as she clutched the bedpost in both hands and waited for more. The truth struck him in that moment: she loved his impatience. Loved his hunger. Loved his need. She loved making him lose control, and loved him taking it back.

Maybe she even loved him.

He let his hands wander from the perfect globes of flesh they’d been cradling and let them caress the rest of her, up and down: the line of her long legs, the smoothness of her belly, the rigid peaks of her breasts. He was rewarded with her sighs and soft moans, so he continued on, tracing the length of her spine until he was back where he started. He massaged her sweet cheeks again, working his way between them until he found the slippery entrance. And now he would bring her to the brink once more.

Her whimpers started up again as he teased her with his fingers, probing gently, dipping in and out with a tantalizing rhythm that served to ramp up her frustration. She was soon pushing rhythmically against his hand, pulling his fingers in deeper.

“That’s it,” he murmured softly, reaching his free hand down to stroke his erection. He worked both hands together, gently fingering her in time with the motion of his fist pumping his cock. He was beginning to make the same desperate sounds she was, but he wanted her to be the first to crack. He needed her to want it, to want him, as much as he did her.

His fingers were moving rapidly against her pussy now, working her clit before plunging in deep, and then starting over again. Her cries increased with his pace until she was shaking and clinging to the bedpost. He was near the breaking point himself, growling like an animal, ready to throw her on the bed and take her before she climaxed all over his hand instead of his desperate cock.

“Edward!” she finally gasped in a broken sob. “Please . . .”

He stilled his hand at once, two fingers still buried knuckle deep inside her.

“Please what?” he demanded hoarsely.

“Fuck me,” she moaned, and he couldn’t tell if it was a plea or a command. “Give me your cock. I want your cock. . .”

But he was already on his feet, sweeping her off hers to the waiting bed. Covers down; pillows found. He was on her, she was under him, and they were both delirious at the connection. As unhinged as he had just made her with his oral skills, it couldn’t compare to the feel of every inch of his skin pressed against hers, their flesh and bone creating a symphony of movement together. She craved the intoxication of his breath mingling with hers, the thick silk of his hair between her fingers, the trails of wildfire his hands left wherever they roamed. But most of all, she loved his eyes on her. His eyes said the things his lips could not.

His eyes told her the truth.

She looked for it now, between ravenous kisses and lust-filled groping. And sure enough, she saw what she’d always seen: a certain reverence, maybe even awe. Like her presence was a gift he was surprised, even baffled, to have received. But she saw something else this time - something new.

Acceptance.

He was no longer debating whether or not he wanted this gift, or deserved it, or should refuse it. Instead he was embracing it, literally and figuratively. He held nothing back now. His body moved in sensual abandon with hers, its natural rhythms propelling him into her and all around her, limbs encasing, hands and lips caressing everywhere they could reach.

He spoke now in whispers washing over her, his words spilling out in an unconscious stream. Do you have any idea how much I’ve thought about you . . . how much I’ve wanted you? . . . I can’t fucking shake you . . . I don’t want to . . . You’re like a drug to me. . . so beautiful . . . You’re in here, so deep . . .

She was drowning in his words, swimming in their lyrical cadence. She undulated to his rhythms, her body dancing with his, rising to meet his slow thrusts. Taking him deep inside . . . so deep.

She gasped at the sudden realization of what was happening. Edward was fucking her, and it didn’t hurt. She felt many things, but pain wasn’t one of them. Pain was the furthest thing from her mind. She gazed up at the tenderness in his eyes and felt a different kind of ecstasy than she’d ever known before. It had nothing, and everything, to do with the physical act taking place between them. It was the joining of so much more than flesh. It thrilled her, completed her, scared her to death. When she’d signed that agreement, she never knew she’d signed up for this - this all-encompassing, life-altering connection to another human being.

But as she wrapped her limbs around him, she knew she was clinging to a force greater than anything she dreamed even existed. She groaned when he impaled her, but they were very different groans from the ones her virgin lips had emitted two weeks ago. Now they were of her own acceptance, then transcendence. Each thrust of Edward’s cock inside her seemed to drive her out of her body, onto some elevated plane she didn’t recognize.

She heard desperate words fill the air, but from her own mouth this time. Begging him for more. Faster. Deeper. Harder. God, you feel so good . . . so good . . .

He was repeating the same grunting mantra as he drilled her, driving her to the head of the bed. She felt amazing to him. So responsive this time, so uninhibited. He wondered if she’d been practicing with those crazy things the doctor gave her. Surely not. But whatever the reason, she was free with him now in a way he’d never seen, urging him on, pulling him so deep that their skin smacked together and her body lurched beneath him with every thrust. He grabbed the headboard to steady himself, to keep from pounding her right into the ebony wood.

“Fuck,” was all he could mutter as he lost himself in the wetness of her tight walls gripping him. And then, through the frenzy of lust, it hit him why this was so different - why she felt so incredible, so mind-blowing - and it wasn’t just because he loved her.

“Oh no,” he whispered at the realization. He slowed his pace, his eyes growing round with dread as he stared down at Bella’s euphoric, innocent face.

“What?” she asked, her forehead creasing at the lull in his affection.

“Protection,” he croaked. “I forgot - I’m not wearing - shit,” he muttered. “Shit.”

And suddenly Bella was cold and empty while Edward dug frantically in the top drawer of his bed stand. She watched relief flood his face when he found a colorful wrapper conformed around the tell-tale ring of the condom within. She knew she should feel relieved, too - after all, it was for her protection - but she could only cringe at the sight of the thing.

“What is it?” he asked when he noticed her reaction. “You aren’t worried this is going to chafe you again, are you? I probably have some lube in here, too,” he said, diving for the bed stand again.

“No, it’s not that,” she said, sitting up and grabbing his arm to pull him back. “Well, maybe it is, a little. But mostly it’s . . . I don’t want to ruin what we just had going,” she admitted, stroking his arm as she looked up into his confused face. “It was so perfect. You felt so good. I want to feel you, not a rubber glove inside me.”

His half-grin was one of frustration. “You realize I want that too, don’t you? But they make these things so thin now, it’s really not like that,” he argued, referring to the foil packet he still clutched in one hand. “It’ll be good, I promise you. Let me find some lube and we can get pick up right where we left off.”

Her frown only deepened. “But we don’t need it. It’s way too late in my cycle for me to get pregnant. And I’m like clockwork, trust me,” she insisted.

“Spoken like a thousand other girls who ended up with unwanted pregnancies,” he said with a sigh. “Come on. Don’t be careless.”

“I’m not being careless,” she retorted, trying not to sound like a petulant child. “I just want this to be different. I want us to be different.”

Edward reached gentle fingers up to touch her cheek. “We are different. I know you have no good reason to believe me, but it’s true.”

“I do believe you,” she said. She pressed the side of her face into his hand, and his caress deepened. “You always use condoms, don’t you?”

He winced at her reference to the other times - the other women. He did not want to bring them into this house, and certainly not into this bed.

“Always,” he answered.

“Then be different with me.”

“Bella,” he said in exasperation. She closed her hand over his, then turned her face to kiss his palm.

“Please,” she begged, her chocolate eyes his undoing.

“I can’t,” he answered hoarsely, watching as she moved her lips to his wrist and pressed their pink satin against his pulse.

“You can,” she rebuked him quietly. She kissed her way up his arm, dismantling his armor. By the time her lips reached his ear, the battle was lost.

“Pull out before you come,” she whispered, her breath tickling his skin and snaking possessively down his spine.

His groan was one of submission; her faint grin was victorious. They fell back to the sheets and into one another’s arms. Edward was right - they quickly picked up where they’d left off, yearning bodies uniting in one effortless desire. But Bella was right, too. It was different with no barriers between them. Hungry flesh merged with raw and palpable urgency; fevered eyes met with naked honesty. There was nowhere to hide now. Nothing to do but trust one another.

Edward gripped the headboard in one hand again as he pumped into her with long, deliberate strokes, burying himself to the hilt before drawing out and thrusting deep again. Bella gasped at the intensity, but still tilted her hips upward to meet each thrust with her own. She grabbed his ass to make sure he gave her every inch of his cock, crying out softly at the impact deep within. The slow burn began - she could feel it coming. She was coming. Coming to meet him at last - to match his desire, his need, his ecstasy with her own.

Edward felt it too, and tried to hold back. But, dear God, she was so stunning at that moment . . . so gorgeous beneath him, red-lipped and flushed pink all over, panting and glistening with sweat . . . so wild and free, grabbing his ass and ramming him into her . . . dear God, that was hot. Too hot. She looked and felt so fucking good it almost brought tears to his eyes. Damn it, it was too much - he couldn’t wait any longer. He was going to come. Now.

He wrenched his body free of her grasping fingers right before his dick erupted. He grabbed it in one hand and frantically stroked his shaft right at its tender tip, moaning loudly at the sensation as he shot milky threads of cum all over her belly.

Bella had no time to be shocked at his sudden exit from her body. The nerve endings within her were already firing, already starting the chain reaction that would push the gathering blood from her engorged flesh. Her muscles clenched together in the first wave of her orgasm right after Edward pulled out, then quaked with shockwaves in perfect time to Edward’s ejaculations. She watched in wonder as her pelvis lifted to meet each emission. Their moans of pleasure created a perfect duet in the amber-tinted air; her painted belly became an erotic work of art.

They both stared at it, and then into each other’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Edward apologized.

Bella gazed up at him and shook her head at how differently they saw things.

“That’s too bad,” she said softly. “I’m not sorry at all.”