Catwoman 14

It was on the plane ride home that I started to have doubts. I was soaring, on all levels. But there was a reason I was thirty years old and living with cats. I was an island, and Edward Cullen had made it through the alligators on an inner tube. He was such a cutie, all manly on the controls. Even his thighs, even the light hair on the backs of his fingers, placed perfectly. Yes.

I wanted music. His music. And I wanted to kiss some more, an eternal lip-lock. I was greedy and insatiable, already planning Vickie's demise. And that Tanya. We'd see.

He'd said he couldn't read my thoughts, but he looked at me everytime I had a wicked notion, either vengeful or sexual, or filled with how I would ditch him and sell my house.

I needed Rose and Alice. But I didn't want them. Jasper might be a good one to talk to, nah, too jaded. Emmett, never. Angela a real possibility. I had to bounce this off of someone, but I wanted to bounce on Edward more. That was the problem.

He'd said the L-word, back on the bed in the blue room. I'd stayed noncommittal. But I'd gotten up right after. I'd been polite, but had fled to the bathroom. He'd knocked on the door and said he'd see me at breakfast. He'd said, "Bella…are you alright?"

"Yes." I was hoping this was one of those times when he couldn't see the nuances. Was tripping from the bed and practically bolting into the bathroom subtle enough to keep him confused?

"I'll see you downstairs," he'd said.

"Yes."

So I'd washed my face and patted my red scratchy cheeks with face cream. My lips looked like I'd had collagen injections. I looked worked over. Worked up. "Stop it," I commanded myself, leaning close to the mirror.

I kept dousing my face with handfuls of cold water. I ended up looking like I had eaten a strawberry pie.

"Crap, crap, crap," I whispered.

I left my hair down, hoping to hide in it, but resembling a Tim Burton character for sure.

I tried to dress as cutely as possible. These were my man-crushing jean shorts, and my little white blouse looking like it wasn't trying to be sexy and formfitting, and sheer enough to show my bra if you wanted to be a perv and stare hard enough.

I packed up my overnight bag, and tidied up the room, then took a last look at the bed where Edward basically told me he was falling in love with me. Yeah, that was one whole big sentence for the boy who'd had a processing problem.

Each of my steps down the stairs seemed to echo, "Love, love, love, love, love…" Twenty two times.

I reminded myself to hide my cheeks the best I could. I kept my head down and mumbled good morning. Lord, they were cheery. Esme had laid out a lovely buffet. Edward's and my bread was sliced and toasted. Carlisle and Esme were raving about it.

Edward was telling me how he'd been telling them all about the oven. Of course he'd been researching ovens and was an authority on them now. Carlisle shared experiences he'd had eating bread all over the globe. Esme kept staring at me as I sat at the table with them, beside Edward. From me to him, me to him, as if mentally drawing our children.

I had filled my plate with her wonderful food. Edward got up and poured me some coffee, fixing it the way I liked. I put my elbow on the table and propped one side of my face on my hand. By tilting my head a bit I was able to let my hair kind of cover the other cheek.

"How did you sleep?" Esme asked just as I loaded my mouth with a too-big bite of her spinach omelet.

"Mmmmhhff." I tried to make my tone feminine and soft, to make up for the lack of enunciation. I gulped a big swallow of orange juice.

Esme shook her head, like I was wonderful. She went back to eating and Edward set my coffee before me, then sat next to me. The air he'd stirred brought me the faint smell of soap and shampoo. He'd showered and looked fresh. The stubble was scraped from his cheeks. He looked amazing.

"Does your head ache?" he asked sweetly causing Carlisle to peer at me, and Esme to give me her full attention yet again.

I looked down immediately, my hand still covering my cheek, my fork working through the fruit salad. "No."

He nudged me with his shoulder. I laughed a little, not raising my head, not moving my hand. He didn't like it there. He didn't like my elbow on the table. I think he thought I was shutting him out. And I kind of was. I looked like hell. And elbows on the table was a little too down-home, but lacking a burka, I had to improvise.

Esme got up to go to the sink. Carlisle got up to help her. Edward sang to me, "Bella, oh Bella." He pushed back my hair, and pulled gently at my hand. I looked at him then.

"Oh," he whispered. "Did I do that?" He was looking at my face, my lips. Then I was looking at his lips again.

"What?" I asked, all blinky.

Esme and Carlisle could hear us. I wanted to slap my hand over his mouth. Instead, I looked over at them and back to him, trying to give him a signal by grimacing my new big lips—shut-up!

Instead I got a first-hand demonstration of him not getting it. "Oh, Bella, your poor baby skin. I'm sorry." His gentle finger…fingering my face…fingering…my face. And…lightly touching my lips…my swollen l….ipsssssah.

"What's the matter?" Esme.

"Bella's poor face," he said.

"What's the matter?" Carlisle asked, wiping a plate.

I glared at Edward, then turned on my chair to look at Carlisle over my shoulder. "I have sensitive skin. Like really sensitive. I get rashes." And orgasms. I get rashes of orgasms. No. No.

"Would cortisone cream help?" Carlisle.

"No. Time heals…Ben Franklin." I mutter. Then to Edward, "Ben Franklin wrote that. About time."

They were kind enough not to press further. But Edward had to let me know he was sorry. Twice more.

I was abrupt in reply. "It's alright. Enough said."

"Really?" he whispered.

"Trust me. I'm being subtle."

"Oh," he nodded. "Thanks." And he kissed me then, a real smacker, right in front of Esme and Carlisle. They were both wiping dishes, in the box seats, grinning.

I grinned back, because what could I do? So I grabbed him and kissed him back. Carlisle hooted, and Esme gave him a high five.

"They like you," Edward said, standing and pulling me up. He gathered our dishes and told me to finish my coffee.

So I did. And here we were, in the sky riding the wind currents back to Forks. I wondered if this would hold, this…joy. Or when I saw my house, would buyer's remorse set in? I mean he said he was falling in love with me. Falling…too quickly. Impulse control. He'd said that somewhere. Summer camp. For poor impulse control? I'd have to file that away and ask about it soon. At the rate we were moving…. How long did falling take? Was it a long freefall? Was it a leap? It was fast. So freaking fast.

I sneaked a peak at him, and as usual he was smiling at me, right on cue.

I'm thirty. I didn't think it would happen. And now…was it happening? Weren't we violating rules?

I would get out of the way of this. I mean…gah, just those sideburns. They were enough, right there.

Be sensible, my inner librarian screamed at me.

I would answer her every time, reason after reason, until she shut her mouth and went off to…pet a cat.

And I'd start with reason number one. I would give my heart to Edward Cullen because of his sideburns.

And he was lovely, so…yummy.

Reason two, kind.

Three, he played piano.

The librarian was raging now. She was spitting furballs.

Four, that little smile at the corner of his mouth. I reached over and put my finger there.

"What?" he said. Then he grabbed my hand and kissed my knuckles.

Five, knuckle kisses.

Six….

But when I got home, two hands on the piano keys crashing down, horrible noise. I unlocked the front door and there she sat, her eyes red and wet, a big ball of Kleenex in her hand, her pokey little legs showing bare and white beneath a cheerleader's skirt?

"Alice!" me

"Where have you been," she accused, leaping across the room to throw herself against me.

She was crushing herself against me. Sobbing.

"What happened?" Alarm speared through me.

I couldn't understand a word she said. Oh wait. Fire. Her shop. Ruined. Lost everything. All my dad left me was in that place.

I patted her back. "It's okay," I heard myself say.

We stumbled to the couch and crashed there. She told me again, and I fed her tissues and patted her shoulder. Then she surprised me. "I want Jasper. I want to talk to Jazz." She was sniffing and hiccupping.

"I don't know…" I said.

She sprang off the couch and headed for the landline. "I don't care, I need to tell him."

"Okay," I said, though she wasn't listening. She never listened to me. Cottonball jumped on my lap then, giving me holy heck for being gone. "Shhh," I said, Alice cry-talking to Jasper in the background, "guess what? Edward and me…we're falling."

Alice's voice rose, but she wasn't paying attention to me. She was pouring it out to Jazz, pouring it out. I didn't know what it would mean. I didn't know. But when she was off, she blew her nose then told me with resolve, "He's coming. He never lets me down. He never has."

He'd come with his wound open and raw and he'd let her stab him all over again. Was that love? Or just plain crazy? But Jasper had no defenses against her. He'd never wavered in his feelings for her. He didn't know how not to love her.

And they'd started so well. Years of devotion.

Oh, they were messing with my glow. I could stop it now. It would hurt, but not like it was going to. Sideburns, voice, smile, eyes, chin and jaw, hair, neck, chest, back peeking at me just that morning. Hands, hands, and so very kind. Music. Cats and causes and cages and piloting an airplane, and kisses and lips and sweet…sweet love.

Jasper knocked. I opened the door. She stood further back, frozen. He stood there, looking at me, desperation, shirt stained, knee of his pants blown out, paint splattered on his boots, hair needing cut, wilder than she ever would have allowed.

Where is she? He's screaming on the inside. So I stepped aside and he took two wide steps and he threw his arms around her and she grabbed him around the neck, and I felt their relief. I felt it.