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Chapter 10

"Well?"

He had come in silently; the front desk had tipped him when she had walked into the casino, work in hand and phone to her ear. While he had originally thought to finish up in the office first, he found he wanted to watch her face, hear her excitement as she unwrapped his gifts, so he'd followed up shortly behind her.

She was standing with her back against the wall, staring at the untouched bed, a hand to her throat.

"Edward," she turned, looking at him with wide eyes. "I don't know what to say."

"Wait until you open them, then."

She made a step to the boxes, then turned and walked to him, where he leaned against the door jamb. Reaching out, she touched the tips of her fingers to his face.

"This is probably a very inappropriate time to say this, but you know you needn't buy me things. My…my affection for you is based here," she touched his temple lightly, then tapped his chest. "And here. Not the wallet."

Giving her a half smile, he felt himself jolt awake with what she'd said to him. It was, perhaps, a little cliché, but he could tell she had meant it, and meant it sincerely. Grabbing her elbows, he drew her close, pecking her forehead, eyelids and the side of her mouth before pouncing in for a longer kiss.

This time, it was he who broke it, aware that his body was reacting strongly, and the bed was simply too crowded for him to make a go of it.

"Well, aren't you going to see what I've bought you?"

She smiled up at him, kissing his cheek, before moving away again. "I'm a little overwhelmed on where to start."

"The white boxes," he instructed; now that he was here, he would happily orchestrate her experience of his gifts.

Most were from Chanel and Dior. A few long, sparkling evening gowns in dusky champagne and rose, a black cocktail dress, and several pairs of embellished shoes. Blue boxes held accessories; some hats, practical skirts and shirts, mostly in whites and blues. There was costume jewelry, a few handbags, and then she had moved to the first of the pink boxes.

He was glad to see that the ladies at the shop had remained discreet; there were no labels on the boxes, but Bella was a woman and probably knew what was inside already.

He watched her blush and pause as she unfolded the tissue paper, then she looked up at him shyly, "Did you want to see these too, Edward?"

Yes, he did, desperately, but on her, not hanging limply from her fingers. He'd ordered whatever the girls at the store deemed the essentials in undergarments, which he figured were a combination of bras and panties.

There were, thankfully, only a few of the pink boxes, and while she gave little gasps of pleasure as she opened each, he did not feel inclined to see the items and force her to be embarrassed.

The last one opened, and this one she flushed deep rose. He shifted, realizing that the fun had ended, the gifts were unwrapped, but this time she dipped her hands in and pulled out a soft peach negligee, with frothy lace along the bodice and the hem.

For a moment, she hesitated, then looked up at him, and he heard himself clear his throat. Had he gone too far? Perhaps there was too much suggestion in such items, but then he saw her smile slowly.

"I like this very much, Edward. It's very pretty; do you think France will be warm enough to wear it?"

She was teasing, baiting him, and like an idiot he fell for it. "I am sure it will be."

"Good."

She draped the silky folds back into the box, and then approached him again. "I'm not sure how to thank you."

He pulled her close, kneading her waist and back, pressing her tightly against him so that he could feel the warm curves of her thighs against his, allowing himself to be slightly aroused at her nearness.

"This is enough, Bella," he said lowly, but was unsure she heard him. Lifting her face up, placing a hand under her chin, he kissed her slowly, languidly, tasting her tongue and her mouth. She melted into him, clinging to his neck, then wrapping her arms about his waist and pulling his pelvis next to hers.

He responded instinctively, now fully roused, picking her up suddenly and sitting forcefully in one of the large chairs in the bedroom. She twisted, pulling up the fabric of her dress so that she could sling a leg around his waist and continued to kiss him profoundly, intensely.

He found himself straining against her, grinding tightly where there was friction between them; his hands went first to her hips, then reached lower to grab her ass, squeezing, massaging, pressing as she moved her lips relentlessly over his face, his lips and neck. He was overcome with his lust, with the hunger that washed over him, and under the smell of their heat, her perfume and his cologne came the musky warm smell of desire, and he smiled inwardly. It had been a long time since he'd been in this place.

Somehow they'd been able to stop ravishing each other, and he watched her pull herself up slowly. It seemed undignified to take her in a chair.

She was flushed and through the thin fabric of the silk, he saw the rise and fall of her bosom, the hardened nipples. He felt like a bit of an idiot, splayed out on her chair, nearly panting with need, but all he could do was sit there, watch her smooth her dress, and try to calm down. If she was playing any games to keep him at her whim, she was succeeding tremendously.

"Edward," she said off-hand, her fingers trembling slightly as she adjusted her hem. "I don't believe I can handle this much longer."

"What?" He wasn't sure to what she was referring, and moved to stand as well, straightening his suit jacket as he did so.

"This," she swept up the room, the chair, and him in one long gesture. "How I ache for you, and then there's what you've done for me. It's so wonderful it's scary."

"Good." Pulling her close again for a brief moment, he allowed himself to smell her watery scent once more before letting her go and reaching into the inside of his jacket. He'd brought up the tickets as a last minute grab, not knowing when he'd see her again before their flight. They were slightly creased now from their romp, but he pulled out one and handed it over. She glanced at it, fingering her name on the top.

"First class?"

"Better."

He walked away. It wasn't an actual ticket, more like a voucher, but Bella didn't need to know that they'd be flying over on a small semi-private jet. He liked keeping surprises up his sleeve.

While he'd thought to hire a fully private one, he decided that it was unnecessary. Going charter this way meant his privacy was still relatively in tact, but it also made it seem less like a covert mission to anyone watching. He had to make sure he didn't underestimate James Volturi.

"We'll leave here at five in the morning."

"I'll be ready. I doubt I'll sleep," she lifted a corner of an evening gown. "I assume these are meant to be packed and used?"

"That was the idea," he told her, then turned to go.

"Wait." She'd followed him to the door, slipping a hand into his. "I know you've probably got things to do as well, packing to finish."

Not really; he had people to do that for him. She continued. "But I…I am so grateful for the beautiful things. Please, tell me how I can thank you."

He leaned down for a quick kiss. "Wear them."

With that, he left her, and the whole way down to the casino floor, he kept reliving her, lifting out that negligee and smiling at him.

He was waiting in the car at quarter to five, more excited that he wanted to admit. She was right on time, trailing a dainty suitcase and dressed like sunlight. She had left her hair down around her shoulders, and was wearing a buttery linen shift and a white shawl was draped over her purse.

"Ms. Swan," His driver was already outside.

With a feeling of relief as they pulled down the boulevard, Edward let himself laugh out loud, ignoring the surprised glance of his driver in the rear view mirror.

"There'll be plenty of room."

They were speeding along heading out of town, and had Bella looked outside, he was certain she should have seen the tamarack coming up, but instead she was leaning against his side, eyes half closed, playing with his fingers. He had to admit, it was easy, comfortable. Thinking about France, how they'd be alone in the villa with no one to bother them, no one to watch them, he found himself feeling actually jittery.

"We're here."

"So soon?" she sat up straight.

"Yes." He waited for the driver to open the door, then got out, holding a hand out for her. She grasped it; in the light of early morning her skin looked radiant and if weren't for other guests already on board, he would have kissed her.

"Here we are," with a small motion, he gestured to the jet. Her eyes were wide.

"But—it's private. How did you—?"

"It's not entirely private. Let's go." He ushered her quickly up the plane stairs, but his hurry was unnecessary as it was obvious they were the only ones on board thus far.

"Mr. Cullen. Ms. Swan. Right this way," the impersonal but suave stewardess was suddenly there. "The other guests will be arriving shortly."

He felt rushed himself, and was about to snap at the stewardess for being so demanding when there was a rustle at the front of the plane and an elderly couple came clambering in. The man was of the old English variety; his wife a dainty doll dripping in pearls and brocade.

"Good morning," the stewardess moved to them. "Mr. and Mrs. Davies, right this way."

She showed them a seat toward the cockpit. "We'll be taking off shortly."

With that, the ramp was coming up, and Bella was standing in the middle of the plane. He glanced at her, wondering what she'd think of this ridiculous display of scuttle – he had planned a very dramatic entrance – when he saw she was trying very hard not to laugh at the entire situation.

Gesturing to a couch, he sat them down, and was relieved to see the other couple settling in far from them, lost in their own world. At least their presence would keep him from any public indecency; being near Bella was intoxicating as it was.

The take off was smooth. She felt the warmth of Edward's legs next to hers, his manly cologne wafted over her; under it all was the scent of his Cuban cigars. As the stewardess came around with their morning drinks, he leaned back, an arm draped around the back of her seat, and brought a finger to his lips, looking at her with thoughtful eyes.

She unbuckled and moved next to him, feeling comforted when his hand fell onto her shoulder and started to massage it gently.

After several moments, she felt the silence weigh between them more than it had ever before, and she sat back to look at him.

"What is it, Edward?"

He didn't move, still contemplating her, and she felt herself grow nervous for the first time around him – was he reconsidering asking her to France? Insecurities reared their head.

Shifting slightly, he picked up his drink, then found her gaze again.

"Can you tell me about him?"

Shaken by his unexpected question, she brought her own drink to her lips, then pressed them together. Could she talk to Edward about Paul? It was still raw, sometimes painful, to do. It had been a long road at a youthful time in her life, and it had aged her.

"What would you like to know?" It was her voice, low.

His hand moved to her knee, as if he was trying to touch her constantly, and she needed it more than he probably knew.

"How did you meet?"

Cocking her head at him, wondering where this sentimentality came from, she gave him the shortened story.

They had met in graduate school, when he had just become junior associate at a New York firm, which had become a career move for him. Paul had been quiet, bookish, but had been solid and supportive. At his insistence, she had stopped getting a Masters and had put her skills to work building Sophisticated Events, which had at first grown slowly.

"He was my rock, the careful planner, the one who watched our money and found us the home in Manhattan."

"But then he got sick," Edward prompted her, and she glanced at him, wondering how much exactly was in that background report.

Nodding, she picked up his hand, fiddling with his fingers, unable to look at him. To think she was so happy now, when only a few years ago she'd buried her husband, the man she'd pledged to love forever…it was scary and overwhelming all at once.

"It was a rare type, deep in his trunk; it spread faster than the doctors could keep up with surgery, for his heart, which weakened every time they opened him up. Eventually, it was everywhere, and we just…" she paused, then continued matter-of-factly and forcefully. "We just had to wait. It wore him down, and he was so full of pain…"

"And you were young."

"Yes. We had thought we had our whole lives to plan, dream…at first I hoped that everything would be fixed quickly and easily. But after all the surgeries, and the chemotherapy that didn't work, the radiation that took away any chance of children…"

She looked at him, wondering if he understood loss, and finished quickly, "I was able to throw myself back into work, and the company grew much faster than before; probably because I never had to let up, never had to stop working. I miss him. I miss it."

"It?"

Shrugging, she met his eyes directly. "Marriage. Comfort. Companionship. I'm the marrying type. It suits me; and to lose a spouse so quickly, when I thought everything was in place. It's disconcerting."

"That's an understatement." He had finished his drink while she talked, and looked almost stricken, nervous. "And I cannot say I understand your loss. I've had some, but never—."

"Who was she?" Bella pounced on the opening, recognizing that now was a chance to get him to dissemble. Edward Cullen was not naturally so open, so talkative.

"Tanya Denali. She was tall, a blonde, with the longest legs I'd ever seen. She was an art curator, an artist in her own right. I was very much enthralled with her."

She noticed that he did not use the word 'love,' and wondered if he ever did. Perhaps that was an emotion that he reserved for family, or one he did not feel at all. When it was all boiled down, Edward seemed a solitary man, prone to anger before understanding.

"What happened?"

"I failed her. I chose business over her, money over a woman. She went back to her ex-husband. They've remarried."

Bella watched him hunch his shoulders, uncharacteristically vulnerable, unfamiliarly humble.

"You still miss her." She stated it rather than asked.

He sat still for a minute, then looked at her squarely. "I did."

Warmth spread through her chest, and she brought his hand to her lips and cheek before she leaned back and arranged herself comfortably.

"Well, enough of that talk then. You're away from her, from the casino, from your worries. While you're in the sky, you're free from it all."

He let out a sigh - so strange to hear from him - and she reached for him; unexpectedly he fell to her, stretching out so that his head was in her lap, his legs crossed neatly at the ankles as he laid himself down.

She bent over his him, kissing his forehead softly, then his nose and mouth.

"Sleep a while, baby."

She saw Edward smile slightly at the endearment, his eyes already closed.

And when the stewardess came around to refill juice fifteen minutes later, she found Bella sitting still, absently stroking his hair back as he slept soundly in her arms.

He didn't want to tell her how unusual it was that he had slept for five hours straight, in the middle of the morning. Perhaps it was because he was out of the casino, and away from his worries, as she had said. Perhaps it was the drone of the plane engine and the spiked juice at several thousand feet. Most probably, it was because he had been able to lay in her arms without thinking about the time, worrying about cameras, and could feel the warmth of her thighs beneath his neck. When she began caressing his head, he'd been done for, and woke much later, realizing that he smelled oranges.

The stewardess was coming around with fruit and croissants, and he opened his eyes, hearing the clink of silver against china coming from the other guests on the plane. Shifting slightly, he looked up to see Bella sitting still, eyes closed lightly. One of her hands was resting on his chest, and when he moved, her eyes opened quickly and she smiled at him.

"You slept well."

"It felt good." He slowly came to a seated position next to her, just in time to reach for the breakfast plates from their stewardess. "I must be catching up."

"It's good for you. Keeps you healthy." She popped a grape into her mouth, and winked at him. "We've still got a few hours. What do we do?"

"Cards."

He waved over the stewardess and request a deck, then raised an eyebrow at her. "Gin, poker or bridge?" He gave a brief nod backwards, indicating they'd have to include the other couple for some of those options.

"Poker," she requested.

The landing had been easy, and with the time difference, they still had some of the afternoon before he knew they were required to make an appearance at one of Toulour's parties.

Bella had opened the window on her side of the car, and was letting her hand trail in the wind as they sped through the exotic hills. Nestled among the rocks and trees were sprawling, low mansions and villas, overlooking the aqua waters below. He drove with ease, though it'd been a while since he'd had to drive anywhere. They had a very suave GPS unit in the car, thankfully, and before long, they had arrived at the villa.

While he had depended upon his assistants to make the plans, they knew his taste. It was large, whitewashed, with gleaming red tiles on the roof and immaculate greenery. The driveway was secluded from the main road, and large black gates had swung open slowly before they could enter. There was a short line of staff waiting on the stairs, and two of the butlers, complete with white cotton suit, had stepped up to grasp their car doors. Bella stepped out, her eyes big. He was very pleased she was so impressed.

"Come," he motioned, and they were brought up into the open foyer. Light pooled among deep shadows within the house, and the yellow glow of afternoon was hot on the porches overlooking the ocean.

"Edward, it's marvelous." She was looking up at the ceiling, then at him. "I feel like I'm a queen."

He kissed her hand, then nodded at the two waiting staff. "Our rooms?"

They were ushered through a tantalizing set of hallways and staircases to the top floors, where three separate bedroom suites were situated, double doors swung wide open, and beds covered in white silk and down.

Bella walked into the far one, dropping her purse on the bureau and going straight to the windows. He watched her, then shot a dismissive look at the staff before strolling behind, meeting her at the balcony.

"Like it?"

"It's amazing. I'm at a loss for words," she stepped back to him and wound an arm around his waist, resting her head on his chest. He couldn't help but settle into the cuddle, and they stood like that for a while before he glanced down at her, realizing she had not slept at all on the plane.

"Why don't you take a rest, Bella," he suggested. "We've got an engagement tonight."

"For work?"

"I'm afraid so."

She inhaled deeply, suppressing a yawn. "I had better take a little break, then. Don't want to fall asleep at the party."

Slowly relinquishing her hold on him, she stepped out of her shoes and laid down on top of the plush covers. Edward turned back to the view, leaning against the balustrade. So, now began the second half of his operations on the Bank casino. Toulour better deliver, or he'd wind up the fucking fool. Everything must be carefully planned and watched. Volturi's men could not know that they were being spied upon; he had warned them that he'd be looking into the operation, but he didn't trust James to be up front with him.

Speaking of operations, he had better look into his office here on the premises. Certainly there would be people to check in with, others to call, messages to view.

Glancing at Bella, he saw she was already breathing deeply. Going to her side, he stared down at her. She looked oddly young in her sleep, and he was hit with a jolt at how desperately he cared for her, how afraid she made him feel. She was a weak spot, and Edward Cullen was not used to feeling weak fucking anywhere. Her lashes fluttered slightly, as if dreaming, and he bent down, softly kissing her lips before moving off. He would stand there for hours looking at her. There was work to do.

At some point during her nap, Bella felt the bed shift enough to rouse her slightly. It was so good to sleep, but she woke feeling slightly disconcerted. His scent was there, cigars and aftershave, and she opened her eyes to slits.

"Edward?"

"Yes, it's me," it was his voice, low, soothing, husky. Her body was pulled to his, and instinctively she curled next to him. There was the crinkle of his starched shirt, the slightly rough texture of his chin as he leaned his cheek next to hers for a brief kiss, and then she had fallen back into sleep.

Dusk was approaching fast. Lights close to the harbor below were coming out, and there were dozens of small crafts and yachts pulling in. Edward stood on the balcony of Bella's room, thoughtfully smoking a cigar.

He'd done some quick work, then had come back to check on her. Somehow, in a house, he was more worried about her, scared he'd lose her in all the rooms. That was one good thing about the security cameras in Vegas, at least. As she laid there, looking very peaceful and innocent, he'd been overcome with the need to be close to her, and had climbed next to her, feeling boyish and a little foolish stripping out of his jacket, tie and vest, and kicking off his shoes to do so. But once he was there, he'd been able to pull her close; hearing her call his name in her half sleep had been worth it. Sleep had come none too quick; her back and buttocks pressed against his stomach and groin had been very distracting, but he must have dozed for a while.

Awaking, he had been disinclined to leave her alone, and had gone on the balcony to light one of his Cubans, enjoying a moment of silence and solitude.

A soft sigh inside the room made him turn and peer into the gloom. Bella had woken, and she was getting up out of bed, padding toward him, her butter yellow dress now looking almost white in the deep sunset.

"Were you sleeping with me?"

"Next to you," he amended. "Do you mind?"

"Not in the slightest," she placed her hands on the cool marble railing and looked out. "It's so otherworldly here."

They were quiet. He was grateful she was not an overly chatty woman, and liked that their long silences were comfortable, almost sensual.

"So, where to tonight?"

"I've got a Frenchman to do business with, Francois Toulour. He's having a cocktail reception tonight, and we're to go."

"I'm afraid my French is quite bad," she sighed ruefully, and he looked at her, surprised she even knew some. Seeing his glance, she shrugged offhandedly, "When you're in customer service, you meet a lot of people. I've had to learn snippets of at least a dozen languages to make an impression on a client."

He shook his head, smiling to himself. They were more alike than anyone would think, that was certain.

"What shall I wear? I want to do right by you."

Normally Edward wouldn't give a damn what any woman on his arm was wearing, provided she looked smoking, but as he took especial pains about Bella's wardrobe and her status as his official girlfriend, he cocked his head thoughtfully, trying to remember all the items that he'd bought her.

"That white short one, with all the fluffs on it," he specified. It felt good to be in control, even of something so simple. She nodded, pleased and laughing a little at his inarticulate description of the gown.

"I love that one. I'm glad I'll get to wear it." She moved back into the room, looking at the suitcase that had been already brought up some time ago by staff. "When do we go?"

He brought in the stub of the cigar and placed it in one of the crystal trays on the sideboard.

"After dinner."

She glanced over her shoulder. "And where is dinner?"

He shrugged, "Anywhere we like, though I was thinking something private on the veranda, just the two of us."

He watched her pause, and lay a hand on the zipper of her suitcase, and then turned around and came back toward him.

"You really mean for us to spend the entire time together," he saw excitement in her face, and leaned in to peck her forehead.

"I do. Now, come here and watch the sunset first. I hear they are very beautiful." He drew her back to the balcony, wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his head against hers.

The lights went from deep gold to orange, then faded to a dusky bruised purple.

"Bella," he whispered in her ear, unable to keep from kissing her any longer. She turned in his arms, and tiptoed up to him.

She seemed to innately know what raised the fire in his blood, and he relished it; her taste, the light touch of her fingers in his hair, then along his chest. Before he knew what she was about, she'd undone several of the first few buttons on his shirt, pulling it back from his shoulders so she could touch his bare skin. He felt himself shudder at her touch, a shiver hit him hard, and suddenly he was kissing her hungrily, grabbing her waist, her ass, then alternately squeezing her close.

When they had finally finished the long embrace, he pulled back only slightly, looking at her face, which was now almost completely in shadow. Sighing, he thought of the time, and brushed back her hair.

"We should go to eat. Dinner's always a long affair here, and we need to get to Toulour's soon enough."

"Must we?"

He swung back, surprised at the longing he heard in her voice, smiling at the petulance brought on by unrequited desire. Leaning down, he kissed her quickly and soundly. "I share your sentiments, baby. But yes, we must."

She nodded, and he turned to go, hearing her close the balcony and turn on lights behind him. It was only after he got into his own suite and began pulling on his white linen suit that he thought about what he had said. He did not usually use endearments – in fact, he never did. Shaking his head, he pushed down the worry that Bella would remake him completely, that sooner or later, Edward Cullen would not be the hard lining asshole he needed to be.

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