Chapter 10

We followed Harold's old Buick for about a mile north of the beach hotel. His house was private, out of sight from the road. When we pulled into the driveway, he signaled for me to park next to him in the garage. He hit a button in his car that closed the garage door and then got out.

"You can have the guest room. It's right through here." He led us into a spacious living room and down a hallway, opening a door toward the end. "This was supposed to be for our son and his wife, but they won't visit us. Me, they won't visit me."

"Why not?" Bella asked.

"The drug wars. Thomas thinks everyone down here is in a cartel. It's the American media, I suppose. I don't think there's ever even been a shooting in this neighborhood, but try telling him that." The room was a good size with a smaller bed than we had back at the hotel, and no bathroom, but homier.

"This is really nice, Harold," Bella said as I put our bag on the bed. "You're sure we aren't imposing?"

"Oh, I'm sure. What good is a guest room without guests? Now, let me show you the rest of the house." He gave us the grand tour, pointing out all the clever design features for seniors, the touches his wife had added, even the system he'd created for catching rainwater.

"Okay, I want you two to make yourselves completely at home. Mi casa es su casa. I've always wanted to say that." We were on the patio off the kitchen at this point and he pointed to a stairway leading down through a jungle of plants. "That's the way to the beach. If you come back really late, there's a white flag at the bottom to help you find it. Just lock the door behind you when you come in. Now, I'm going to go make us some dinner."

Bella insisted on helping him cook, but I stayed on the patio, sitting on the top step of the stairs and resting my elbows on my knees. The stairs descended about ten feet, then curved out of sight to the left. I tossed a pebble down, watching it land at the bottom, realizing I could only plan so far ahead, the future unknowable until we were there. I dropped my face into my hands, finally letting go of all the worry I'd accumulated since the moment I'd left Mala's hacienda Friday afternoon. No one knew we were here. No one could see my bike. No shopkeepers were asking intrusive questions. Harold's home was perfect, and if Bella wanted a mini-vacation, then she was going to get one. I pulled out my phone and looked up the number for Alberto.

That night we ate on the patio. Bella and Harold had cooked up a mean batch of fajitas, and we washed them down with plenty of cold beer, Harold refusing my offer to at least help pay for our food and drink. He and Bella had obviously bonded while making dinner, and he spent most of the meal flirting with her, making her laugh and blush. Her silly side came out in full force, though, and before long, she was teasing him back, giving as good as she got.

I watched them interact, a little jealous of how much attention Harold was getting, but enjoying their banter too much to interfere. Bella's eyes had a sparkle I hadn't noticed before, catching the patio lights when she laughed. Her skin had a glow from the sun, and her hair had dried off her face, tumbling in curls down her back. One of her bikini straps slipped down her shoulder, and I found my eyes resting on it, remembering how she'd looked at the beach.

"Anthony, did you hear me?"

"He's not listening, Priscilla, but look at him. He can't take his eyes off you. That's a man in love right there, looking but not listening."

Bella smiled at me and raised an eyebrow. I covered my embarrassment by sitting up and clearing my throat. "Did you ask me something?"

"I asked if you were done eating. We should do the dishes."

"Oh, no, you two aren't doing any dishes. I have a system, and you'll just mess it up."

I stood and started collecting plates. "At least let us clear us the table, Harold."

"No, I have a system for that too." He stood as well and took the dishes out of my hands. "Now, you two head down to the beach. The stars are coming out and you need to see them, like I told you. I'm going to clean up and go to bed. Oh, that reminds me, I'll put some overnight things in the dresser in your room. Now go. I'll see you in the morning."

"This is amazing," Bella said when we'd gotten far enough down the beach that we couldn't see any house lights. The stars looked close enough to reach up and touch. The moon was on the horizon already, a little bigger than it'd been the night before.

"It is."

"Look at the water." She went down to the shore, kicked off her boots, and wading in up to her ankles. "It's glowing."

"I've read about that, some kind of phosphorescent bacteria, I think."

She turned around. "Aren't you coming in?"

"No, I'll stay up here."

She reached down and scooped up some water, tossing it in my direction. "Is it just boats, or water too?"

The water missed me by a mile. "Let's just say you're lucky you can't aim."

"Oh, I can aim when I'm really trying, believe me."

"I believe it." I did, too. Bella waded for a few more minutes then joined me on the sand, picking up her boots. I took them out of her hands, carrying them for her, and we walked a little further down the beach.

"Harold's a real character, isn't he?" She finally asked me.

"Yeah, no kidding."

"He told me when we were making dinner that he's pretending I'm his granddaughter. Then he asked me if that was weird."

"What did you say?"

"I said it wasn't, that I could understand that." She chuckled a little.

"You've got him wrapped around your finger already, you know that, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"And the dog, too, for that matter. He spent the entire dinner at your feet."

"So?"

"And Alberto, now that I think of it."

"What's your point?"

"The border guard, the guys at the restaurant."

"Are you insinuating something?" She stopped and put her hands on her hips.

"Yes. I'm insinuating that men like you. Young, old, canine, it doesn't seem to matter." I turned to face her and her expression made me smile. "Don't be offended, I mean it as a compliment."

"It sounds like you're saying something else."

I sighed. What was I trying to say? "Why don't you have a boyfriend?"

"How do you know I don't?"

"You'd have mentioned him by now."

She looked at the water. Then we started walking again. "I guess I just haven't met the right guy. I mean, I've had boyfriends, but I never fell in love with any of them."

"No?"

"Nope. The closest was probably a boy back in high school, the one whose bikes I helped fix up. He told me he loved me once, but I used to beat him arm wrestling when we were kids, you know? He was more like a brother to me, but I did love him in a way."

"Poor guy."

She looked down at her feet. "In college I seemed to attract a certain type, a good type, don't get me wrong, but just … too good, I guess? Boring. The last guy I dated wanted to be an optometrist. Not that there's anything wrong with that," she added quickly.

"People gotta see."

"Exactly." She laughed. "That's what I told myself at first, but after a few weeks that turned out to be the most interesting thing about him."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, ouch."

We were silent for a few minutes, but I couldn't help myself. "So what is your type?"

"Oh, I don't know. He'd have to be smart, kind, and funny, for starters. Confident. Nice to animals. Romantic, but not cheesy romantic, thoughtful romantic, and reliable, but with an adventurous streak."

"So just your average guy, then."

"Yeah," she laughed again. "Now you know why I don't have a boyfriend."

"He'll turn up some day."

"You sound just like my mom." She chuckled, then let out a long sigh.

"Hey, sorry." I nudged her with my elbow. "She was right, though."

She nodded and fell back in step next to me. I felt her hand slip into mine. "No one can see us out here."

"I know." She squeezed my hand. I squeezed hers back.

When we got back to the house, August greeted us at the back door and followed us to our room. He jumped up on the bed while Bella opened the dresser. "Not funny, Harold," she muttered under her breath.

"What?"

Bella turned, holding a little scrap of black fabric in her hand. I took it from her. It was a negligee of some sort, tiny enough that it wouldn't cover much more than her bikini had.

"Are you sure he thinks you're his granddaughter?" I held it up to my chest and looked in the mirror. "Maybe this is for me."

She laughed and snatched it out my hands. "I'm pretty sure it's not. These must be yours." She reached back in the drawer and tossed me a pair of pajama pants. "But we can trade if you really want to."

"There's no top?"

"Nope, just the pants."

"Then you can take your pick. Either way it's a win for me."

She rolled her eyes and went across the hall to change in the bathroom. I slipped out of my clothes and into the pajama pants, and was just getting comfortable in the eighteen inches I had next to the dog when she peeked her head back in the door.

"Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Just close them. You can't see me in this. I'm going to kill Harold."

"That's not being a very good guest," I laughed, closing my eyes until I felt her slide under the blankets. "Besides"—I looked over at her—"you were in a bikini all afternoon. What's the big deal?"

"This is different," was all she offered, pulling the covers up to her chin.

I smiled down at her and turned off my light. "You trust me, though, don't you?"

"Of course I do." She fell silent for a while. I got up and opened the window, letting in a little breeze and the sound of the ocean. After I'd gotten back in bed, I felt her roll toward me. "Edward, can I ask you something else?"

"Anything."

"How many people have you killed?"

I didn't answer for several moments, not because I didn't know, but because I didn't want to say. "What difference does it make?"

"I don't know. Some. None."

"I mean, one, ten, or a hundred, does a low number make me a better person, a high number worse?" I wasn't angry or defensive. I'd asked myself this question more than once over the years. I put an arm under my head and looked at the ceiling. "Why do you want to know?"

"I don't know." She was silent again for a while. "No, that's not true. I like you, and I want it to be okay to like you. Despite what you do."

I turned my head. I could make out her face but not her expression. "Did."

"Did?"

"I should have quit a long time ago, but you were definitely my last job."

"Oh."

"I can't apologize for my past, Bella. I can't make it go away. It is what it is. I guess it's up to you to decide whether I'm a good person or not."

"You are a good person. I know that."

She couldn't see me, but I shook my head. I wasn't so sure.

She pulled one of her arms out from under the covers and reached down to play with August's ears. "It's just whether you're bad, too, I guess."

"Oh, I am. Don't have any illusions about that. Don't try to make me into some kind of hitman with a heart of gold who only killed child molesters so he could afford his mother's medicine. That's not me. Not at all."

"Okay."

"Promise me you won't do that." Suddenly it was vitally important to me that she not be sugarcoating my past in her head. If she wanted to be okay with liking me, she had to honest with herself about it.

"Okay, I promise."

"Okay."

She didn't say anything for such a long time that if it weren't for her pale fingers still moving through August's fur, I'd have thought she'd fallen asleep. I was just beginning to drift off myself when she asked, "You don't mind if August sleeps in here with us?"

"No, not at all. It's kind of cozy."

She rolled back onto her other side, plumping her pillow and settling in. I barely heard what she said next. "Nice to animals. Check."

When I woke up in the morning, my arms were around something warm and hair was tickling my face. Please don't be the dog, was my first conscious thought. It wasn't. Bella was still facing away from me, but somehow during the night we'd both moved to the center of the bed, August no longer with us. My arm was draped over her waist and her head was tucked just under my chin. I kept still, not wanting to wake her, enjoying the warmth of her body, just savoring how good it felt to have her close. I lowered my face into her hair, wondering if she'd deliberately moved nearer to me last night, amazed at how trusting she was, sleeping – spooning – with the man who'd been hired to kill her, and after all she'd been through. I kissed her head, thinking about the asshole who'd hit her with his gun, wishing I could find him and return the favor. Then I remembered the bodyguard with the black eye and let out a tiny chuckle. She'd already handled it.

She stirred and rolled onto her back, one of her hands coming up to my chest and staying there, her face turned toward me. Her lashes were long and dark against her cheek, her lips slightly parted, her breath still slow and even. She really was beautiful, hers the kind of beauty that didn't need makeup, the kind of beauty that was perfect, just like this, with disheveled hair and—oh my god, what was she wearing? Or not wearing, maybe that was the question.

The blankets had slipped down when she'd rolled over, and I could see why she'd made me close my eyes last night. The black nightgown was sheer, almost invisible. I watched her chest rise and fall, her breasts as beautiful as I'd imagined, her nipples just a shade darker than the rest of her skin. I knew I should cover her, but I couldn't take my eyes off her nipples; they were just so fucking perfect. Maybe we could stay like this for just a little longer. Maybe I'd get really lucky and she'd sleep all day.

I was still staring at her breasts when I felt her hand move. Her fingers straightened and stretched, then reached up to my jaw. I pulled my eyes away and looked into her deep brown eyes. She'd been watching me watch her, I didn't know for how long, but instead of looking embarrassed or angry, something else flickered across her expression. She looked at my jaw, then back up into my eyes, and I saw it more clearly. She wanted me. She wanted me as much as I wanted her.

I could have kissed her then and she would have let me. Hell, the way she was looking at me, I could have done a lot more than kiss her, but something made me hold back. She needed to make up her mind about me still, and unless and until she made the first move, I wouldn't know for sure that her feelings were the same as mine. I lifted my arm off her stomach and brought my hand to her face, tracing her cheekbone with my thumb. I was falling in love with her, had been since the moment she'd thrown her whiskey at me. The memory of that night made me smile.

"What?" She asked softly.

I didn't answer at first, my smile widening as I pulled the blankets up to cover her. "Harold was right."

"About what?"

"A lot of things." I kissed her forehead, hoping that was enough of a clue. "How about we try to surprise him with breakfast?"

"Good idea. Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"I have to get up and go get dressed."

"But I already saw—"

"The whole nightgown is see-through, Edward, the whole damn thing. Now close them."

"Yes, ma'am."

Harold was in the kitchen when we got there, putting the finishing touches on a surprise breakfast for us. He took one look at Bella in the dress she'd been wearing yesterday and insisted that she borrow something new to wear from Mattie's closet. She put up a good fight, I'd give her that, but she never stood a chance. She gave me one last look of despair over her shoulder as Harold took her hand and dragged her out of the room. I raised my coffee cup to her with a smile.

Twenty minutes later they returned, Bella wearing a white dress that fit her perfectly. "Mattie and I are exactly the same size, isn't that nice?" She sat down next to me and helped herself to some fruit salad. "I got to try on at least five of her dresses." Something about the set of her mouth made me wonder if she was debating making good on her threat to murder our host.

"You look nice." She did. I still wasn't used to seeing her dressed in anything that flattered her, and it was a nice change. Very nice.

"That's what I told her," Harold said, sitting down across from us. "Why you would hide that lovely figure under a baggy dress, especially on your honeymoon, I have no idea. You can keep that one if you want it."

"Oh no, I couldn't."

"Well, it doesn't fit me, and no one else is going to wear it."

She looked at him for a second and then burst out laughing. "You have a point. Okay. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Think of it as a wedding gift. Now, pass the french toast, please."

After breakfast, Harold let us help clean up, then said he was taking August back down to the hotel beach if we wanted to come. I looked at Bella, deferring to her, but she shook her head and said that she felt like staying here.

"Okay, suit yourselves. There's food in the fridge if you get hungry. I'll be back later in the afternoon."

After he left, I told Bella the day was hers, that we'd do whatever she wanted. We ended up spending most of the morning reading on the patio after rummaging through Harold's bookcases in the living room. I heated up leftover fajitas for lunch, and when we were done eating, Bella suggested a walk on the beach. We went down barefooted this time and walked for a long time without talking.

Finally she turned toward the water and went down to wade. I figured what the hell and bent down to roll up my jeans, joining her in the water. She smiled but didn't say anything, just took my hand as we started back.

"Looks like that's the end of the sun today," she finally said, pointing up.

I hadn't noticed before, but clouds had taken over the horizon and were quickly advancing on the rest of the sky."That must be the storm. I thought it was supposed to hit later in the week. What do you want to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's supposed to be a big one. Should we head back to our hotel before it hits or risk getting stuck here for a few more days?"

She thought about it for a while. "I suppose we shouldn't impose on Harold longer than we have. I wouldn't mind if we headed back."

"Good, that's what I was thinking. But you're sure? This is supposed to be your vacation."

"I'm sure. On one condition."

"What's that?"

She smiled and squeezed my hand. "You'll see when we get back to the house."

She made me wait on the living room couch while she disappeared in the direction Harold had taken her in the morning, coming back a minute later holding a guitar. "I saw this in Mattie's closet. I don't think Harold would mind if you played something for me, would he?"

"No, I don't think so." I took the guitar and strummed, tuning it and getting a feel for its sound. Not bad. "What do you want me to play?"

"Something you like." She sat on a chair across from me and waited while I plucked idly at the strings, searching my mind for something I liked that I thought she'd like too. Finally I settled on Mazzy Star's Fade Into You. I'd been toying around with it back home, trying to make it edgier, harder, like the other stuff I did. This time, though, I played it slow and soft, more like the original, trying to put my feelings for Bella into my voice.

I was about half way through the song when I looked up to check her reaction and was surprised to see that she'd turned away and was looking out the window, her hair shielding her face from me. I was used to all kinds of audience responses, from people not paying attention to girls actively checking me out, but I don't think I'd ever noticed anyone deliberately looking away. I kept my eyes on her for the rest of the song but she never once looked at me, not even a glance.

When I finished, I put the guitar down and leaned forward with my elbows on my knees. I fiddled with my ring while I waited for her to say something.

"Did you write that?" She was still looking out the window.

"No."

"Do you ever write your own songs?"

"Yeah, usually."

She turned to me, her expression serious. She got up and walked around the room. "That was really good. Really, really good."

"Thank you."

I watched her move restlessly from a display case to the bookshelves and back to the display case. She stopped at a group of photographs and picked one up, her fingers drumming the frame. Then she put it down and turned to me, squaring her shoulders, a small smile playing across her face.

"I want to go back to our hotel room. I want to go now."

A/N: First, a huge thank you to my awesome beta snarkymuch, who plowed through four (!) chapters this morning. I'll try to build on her work ethic and get them up as soon as possible.

Second, thanks for all your kind words about my husband – he's getting better every day. In another three weeks, he can start putting weight on both legs and begin his rehab. And of course, once he's healed, I get six weeks off while he attends to my every need because that's how it works, right?

Lastly, thank you all for your reviews about this story. I know it's not like A Slow Boil, with less UST (a couple of reviewers mentioned they were eager for the romance to start - is the next chapter soon enough?), but I had fun writing it and I think - I hope - it will be worth your while to stick with it. My genuine thanks and appreciation to everyone who has.

I'll try to be back with another chapter in a day or two – kts.