The Dancer and The Wallflower

Chapter Nine

. . . . .

Consciousness returned with a bird's trill, and Bella opened her eyes to bright, smokey spears of sunlight streaming in through the long windows of Edward's bedroom. It was warm and cozy, with the elusive lavender scent of age that she remembered from the first time she'd stayed here. It was a wonderful way to wake up, and she inhaled appreciatively and began to stretch. When she felt the burning in her muscles, yesterday's memories registered–she had hurt herself, grown cold, then bitterly cold. And then, she'd been taken care of.

She looked around the bedroom, wondering what time it was. She had to marvel again at its old world charm of ornately carved plaster ceiling, silk covered walls, the gorgeous marble hearth and the heavy, floor-to-ceiling blue damask curtains that matched the upholstery of the chairs and ottoman. She'd never seen a room like this except roped off at a museum, and here she was, waking up in a pirate's romantic room again. The pirate himself seemed to be missing, though.

Pain returned as she sat up, a burning in her muscles that gradually died into stiffness. She noticed her clothes draped intimately on the chaise lounge seat, and abruptly pulled the covers back to see that she was wearing one of Edward's t-shirts and nothing else. She'd have dove for her clothes right then if she hadn't been so stiff. As it was, she groaned and moved slowly through the covers to the side of the bed toward the chair. She'd just reached her feet when her cream sweater on top of the pile heaved, and a small furry face with furious yellow eyes erupted from between the buttons.

Bella was so surprised that she screamed and fell back against the bed, then slid unceremoniously to the floor with another cry.

The door behind her banged open and then footsteps came around the bed, revealing a bare chested Edward with attractively tousled hair. He was wearing a pair of green and white checked PJ bottoms, and her mouth went dry. She couldn't help following the happy trail of his belly hair all the way down to where it ended at the waistband. For goodness sake, they looked an inch away from falling all the way off him.

Clearly unaware or uncaring of his nearly undressed state, he came to her with anxious eyes. "Bella? What happened?"

She pointed a finger. "Chaucer scared me." His eyes were sweetly intense as he looked at her, and she could have just lost herself staring into them. And at the carved shelf of his stomach muscles, and the V that pointed to… ahem.

In one long move, he bent down and scooped her up in his arms, then placed her back on the bed, and Bella nearly yelped at the suddenness. When he released her, she felt the loss of his warmth and strength sharply. Because of that, and the fact that she had no underwear on, she was feeling vulnerable and shy.

His hands rose to his hips and he regarded Chaucer, whose head had swiveled to face him, with a frown. "You bad old bird, did you scare Bella? I told you I didn't want you in here."

"It's all right. He, er, was in here yesterday too. I remember him," she said almost in a whisper.

The bad old bird gave them a stern look, then flew to the highboy in the corner with a pink scrap of material in his claw. "My panties," she gasped.

Edward went to stand below the owl. "Chaucer, fork them over." But Chaucer, ignoring him, raised one claw to solemnly inspect his prize. Then, he began poking his beak at it. "I'm sorry, I think he's infatuated. There's no getting them away from him now."

Exasperated and apologetic, he walked back over to Bella and sat close enough on the bed that she could feel the warmth of his body, and she wanted so much just to crawl into his lap and have him hold her. Being near him right now was painfully sweet.

"What else do you remember?"

She looked away from his vivid inquiring gaze and brought a hand to her forehead, wincing as she felt the big bandage. "I'm going to have a scar, aren't I?"

He didn't touch her, but she sensed that he wanted to. "Maybe a little one. It won't diminish your beauty, though."

She felt her face flood. "It'll just make me seem mysterious, is that it? Well, I do feel as if I've escaped death. Thank you for rescuing me, Edward, truly. I've always wanted to be rescued," she said and shrugged. Which was a bad idea.

His hands were warm on her shoulders as he gently kneaded her muscles, then as she relaxed, he brought his palms slowly down the skin of her arms, bringing up goosebumps along the way, to her hands. Flipping them over, they stared down at the bright pink lacerations on the palm of her hands.

"I fell into the creek," she whispered, closing her irritated eyes. They were watering and she didn't want him thinking she was crying again. "I wasn't watching where I was going. I mean, obviously."

She heard him sigh softly, felt the exhalation of breath against her cheek. "I'm going to feed you and then when you feel up to it, we'll talk, okay?"

Bella nodded, then took one of her hands from his to scrub at her face. "I'm not crying, but my eyes won't stop watering. They hurt," she told him.

"Yes, you're going to be sore in all sorts of places for a day or so," he told her gently and stood. He handed her clothes to her, then gave her a teasingly lascivious wink. "Would you like me to dress you?"

She flushed again. "No, you already did your part by undressing me," she said. And then, she had to know. "How, er, how did I look, by the way?"

He gave her a look of askance, then realized what she was asking. "Bella, you were freezing. I didn't notice much of anything other than that, and the fact that you are so small. I was terrified for you."

Her face fell. She'd been totally naked and he hadn't noticed anything? On top of that, she'd caused him so much trouble. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to–"

"You're beautiful, did you know that?" He squatted to his knees in front of her, then braced his palms on the outside of her bare thighs, causing her to inhale unevenly. "So lovely and perfectly shaped and voluptuous in all the right places. I look forward to appreciating you properly when we're both conscious and ready."

Of course. She'd been out of her mind, so of course he wouldn't have–. She was burning up again. "I'm so sorry," she gasped. "I didn't mean to suggest that you would do anything inappropriate."

"No, it's all right," he said and cupped the back of her head. "I understand you've been through hell and aren't at your best right now. Let's get you dressed. Not that I don't appreciate the gorgeous view of all that skin, but I suspect you're not ready to be ravaged yet."

Oh, but she was.

He held her arm as he walked her to the bathroom, then pulled her into a hug. Bella melted against him like butter, feeling an odd desperation at being in his arms. Because they were both nearly bare, her breasts flattened against his chest like nothing was in between them. Below, she felt his arousal, and felt an answering response deep inside her. The heat was intense. Don't let go, she thought. He must have seen something on her face when he released her, because he bent his head to kiss her. It was slow, deep and apologetic, of all things. "Get dressed," he said with gravel in his voice.

She'd never been what some called graceful, but trying to pull on her clothes was a stiff process of light agony. She felt like someone had taken a meat tenderizer all along her body. It was odd to wear a pair of jeans without any underwear on, though; they rubbed her in an embarrassing place. When she was finally dressed, the bra, sweater and pants offered a sort of armor, and Bella was relieved that she didn't feel quite so vulnerable anymore. Really, she needed to be strong now in order to say what she had to, and to forget that inconvenient attraction to him that seemed to override her common sense.

There was a new toothbrush and a hair brush on the marble vanity, and she found her purse there, too. Her phone revealed that it was just after 7:30 a.m. As she ran the brush through her hair, she studied herself in the mirror. The bandage covered almost her entire forehead. Her eyes were like bruises in a pale face, her mouth too wide and pale, and her hair was long and dark enough that she had a sudden image of herself as Edvard Munch's The Screamer.

With a sigh, she set the brush down and wondered what had happened to her car. Was it still nose down in the ditch? Even if it wasn't, she doubted it was driveable, which meant she was at Edward's mercy. How much of her behavior now could be attributed to that fact? Did she subconsciously know that she was at his mercy, and so was behaving this way? Because the barrier she'd unconsciously held against him before was somehow gone. Maybe it was because she'd finally recognized that she loved him.

But was she really ready to tell him? To give him that much power over her? She shook her head; there'd be no way to hide it. Bella had always had a difficult time hiding her emotions, and as smart as he was, Edward might already know just by looking at her, or by judging her behavior. She said a quick prayer anyway that that wasn't the case. She'd need all the help she could get for this talk of theirs.

He was waiting for her outside the bathroom with Chaucer on his head, and Bella had to laugh. "Can I take a photo?" she asked.

He winced good-naturedly. "Make it fast."

The jeans and sweater he wore seemed to love his long, graceful body, and she made sure to get a full body shot of the beautiful man and his angry little owl.

. . .

In the kitchen, he deposited her on one end of the massive kitchen island, then set to work chopping vegetables and ham for an omelet. Chaucer flew to the top of a cabinet to supervise them. Bella sat there with a stinging lightness in her stomach and an excited, nervous flutter in her chest. Part of it was due to just being with him, being close to him again. For his part, Edward was uncharacteristically quiet, but his eyes when he looked at her–and he looked often, making her heart jump each time–were as vividly expressive as ever. She sensed that he was as happy they were together as she was. His polite, steady regard was unhurried, yet she found herself stalling as though he'd put her under some vague pressure.

"So you can cook tilapia and make omelets," she began lightly. "What else can you do?"

He aimed a suggestive look her way and Bella blushed. "Everything," he said. "Everything but a turkey gravy, that is. Mine always turn out flavorless and watery."

"Not enough fat, not enough cornstarch," she observed. "My gravy always turns out well."

"There you go. You're hired for the Thanksgiving gravy."

Bella's heart leapt again, hearing that they might have a future. Hoping, anyway.

"Thanks again for thawing me out," she began slowly.

He gave her a half-smile and a penetrating look. "That we've just begun to work on, I think."

Her eyes dropped to the top of her jeans, and she noticed her fingers were repeatedly pulling the soft denim away from her skin. "Maybe so," she admitted. "It's just my luck that I go and give myself to a man and end up with my car stuck in a ditch." Then, before he could respond, she asked hurriedly, "Where is my car, by the way?"

Edward wasn't distracted, though. "Was that what you were doing, Bella? Coming to give yourself to me?"

Don't shrug your shoulders. "I thought those were your terms?"

His expression fell the tiniest bit. "I take them back."

"Too late, I'm already here."

"It's my turn to apologize to you, if you felt that the only way you could return was to give yourself to me. I don't want you to feel that it's all or nothing, because it's not."

It was difficult, but she met his burning look head-on. "Okay." She had other concerns about that, but wasn't quite ready to talk about them yet. "So, er, what did you mean by pulling my head out of the sand?"

His eyes closed as if in pain. "Oh how the sins of the past can haunt. I meant that you were denying the attraction we felt for each other." He laid his knife down, wiped his hands with the towel across his shoulder, then came to her. Softly, the weight of his thighs came against her knees and shins, and he bracketed her thighs by laying his palms on the counter. "I know you haven't had much experience with attraction, Bella, but what we have together–" He pressed his warm lips softly against her cheek, close to her mouth. "The way we lose ourselves when we're in each other's arms–" Closer, his mouth was getting closer to her's, and she was anticipating it by turning her head. "That's not something you just come by. It's rare." And he showed her again how rare it was by covering her mouth with his in a sweet kiss that curled her toes.

When he stepped back, he subjected her to a searing look that stole more of her breath, and brought her inner temperature up a few notches, too. And he wasn't backing away, which meant her heart was going crazy. "So, er, you've experienced attraction before? You've been with other people before? I mean, obviously, right?"

"Not like this," he murmured and ran light fingers down her forearms, to her wrists, then the palm of her hands, where he captured them lightly in his. "Not like with you."

The look in his eyes was unfurling her insides, and she couldn't look away. She was drowning, happily drowning, and it was terrifying and exciting and nothing she'd ever expected. "What's so special about me?" she whispered brokenly.

"I don't know," he whispered back. "But whatever it is, I'm hooked. Please stop looking at me like I'm going to hurt you, baby. I'm not, I promise."

She was feeling brave by the look of utter adoration in his eyes. "What if I asked you… not to kiss other girls?"

His answer was immediate. "Then I wouldn't."

"You wouldn't? Just like that?"

"Since I met you, I've wanted to kiss them less and less," he said. "You're the only one I want." And he demonstrated it again by pulling her close to the edge of the counter, wrapping her legs around his waist, and hauling her up into his arms. They tasted each other's gasps as their mouths melded in a fierce kiss, suffusing her body in liquid warmth. She was only distantly aware of her stiff, burning muscles, and the way she was clinging to his shoulders. When he began to slow the kiss, she drove her fingers into his hair to hold him to her.

"Bella," he gasped and set her back on the counter. "You're too weak yet. At least let me feed you," he laughed in a broken way.

"You were," she said, jittery with nerves, then huffed out a laugh at his surprised reaction. "I missed you this past week, but I was afraid of how our next meeting was going to go," she admitted slowly. "I wasn't sure how you'd react, how you would treat me when I reached back out to you. After all, you were so angry."

He came to her again. "I'm never going to get this breakfast made," he said and caught her hands in his, then clasping them together, raised them as if in entreaty. "I apologize for making you feel anything but cherished. I obviously was not on my best behavior when I thought you were saying goodbye."

She nodded, then confessed further. "Well, it turns out that I can't let you go, so you don't need to be angry any more."

"Thank God," he replied with a lazy, heated smile before giving her forehead a kiss. "Here," he said and fed her a piece of the ham, letting his finger drag slowly against her bottom lip as he withdrew, leaving a scorch of fire there. He was so unconsciously, yet actively seductive that she was going to combust.

She took a steadying breath. "What are all of those keys hanging on the board over there? It looks… medieval almost."

He didn't even have to raise his head to know what she was looking at. "That's because it is. Sixty skeleton keys, all unmarked, which only Stefan knew went where. He could tell at a glance if one was missing, or if someone happened to be using a key they shouldn't have been. Not even my mother knew where all the keys went. He taught me before he left, though." Then he fell silent for a moment. "Now, I'm the only one who knows."

Bella felt an urge to hug him in comfort; his actions must be rubbing off on her. "How long has Stefan been gone?" she asked softly, cautiously.

His back moved in a sigh, and she could tell by his tone when he spoke that he never talked about this. "My parents had to let him go when I was probably 13 or so. He was the last employee they held on to, and the hardest one to let go. Stefan worked for Dad's father," he said and shot her a quick gaze. "He was like family."

She'd seen the pain in his eyes, and now she wanted to kiss him. Instead, she tried to pull him away from the memory. "What's in that cabinet?"

He looked up to see where she was pointing. "That one?" He set the knife down, then walked over to the cupboard and swung the door open. Behind it was a combination safe that looked like it meant business.

"I was wondering where you kept the family jewels," she joked. "The kitchen seems an odd place for them, though."

He lunged for her and caught her up against his chest. "You know what I do to girls who make jokes about my family jewels?"

"Ravish them against the dining room table?"

"Yes." He kissed her softly, then deposited her back onto the counter. "Your time is coming, so you'd better prepare yourself."

Her heart lifted. Good lord, the thought of that had her burning up again. Blushing was so darn inconvenient. He just chucked her under the chin and returned to his job of chopping. "It's a pie safe," he told her and motioned to the cupboard.

"What? No," she said, giggling.

"Yes, it's a pie safe. When the cook made pies or whatever, they went locked into the safe until the butler served them."

"Wow. Those must have been some pies."

"That, or they were starving the servants," he noted with a smile. "It wasn't used by the time I came around. My father didn't like the idea of having to wake Stefan if he wanted a late night slice of pie."

"How about the big cupboard? What did they keep in there?"

He did a sexy dance move over to the cabinet in question, then swung the door back to reveal another impressive looking vault. Once opened, it showed an empty interior. "This is where the china and Sheffield silver used to be. Looks like I need to start saving box tops for a new collection."

Bella decided to be brave again. She needed to find out what had happened to his family's money, needed to know why he thought he'd only make enough by stripping. It was a personal thing and hard to ask about, but darn it, this was relevant to their situation. "Edward… are you rich or poor?"

She watched him walk to the refrigerator and take out a carton of eggs, then get a bowl and a fork. "In a list of income levels in last year's Census Bureau, I found mine–after taxes–under the heading Proud to be Off Welfare. I've said it before, but the taxes on this place ought to be listed in Guinness."

He glanced at her, and Bella hoped her expression was open and peaceful. Apparently it was, because he continued. "What people think of as the great Cullen financial empire has been overextended since the Depression. There was a brief comeback in World War Two when the railroads did pretty well hauling scrap metal, but after that, things began to fall again."

He slid a big cast iron skillet onto the stove top, dropped some butter in it, then chased it with a spatula. "My parents were gentle people, not money people. They would have had to love money more in order to make it grow, and they didn't." While he was forthcoming, his words came introspectively slow. "This was our summer home. When I was twelve, they had to sell the house in Chicago and we moved back here permanently. After the yachting accident and my parent's deaths, the bank called in the rest of the loans. Thank God they had good life insurance policies which allowed me to keep the house and the land."

Briefly, she wondered about his parents and how it was growing up without them. She'd have been devastated if she'd lost her mom. Edward was obviously stronger than she knew. "Edward… I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said and came to her. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed the tip of her nose. "It was a long time ago. I was lucky to have had my Uncle Carlisle and his wife, Esme, in my life. Do you remember him?"

Bella flushed, vaguely remembering his face and tone of voice yesterday. "I'll take that as a yes, although you have nothing to feel ashamed about."

She didn't say anything out loud, but Bella knew she'd be ashamed of her poor judgment for a while yet. Still, it had had an unexpectedly good impact on their relationship so far, so maybe she could cut her time of feeling ashamed in half.

"It's important for you to keep the land," she stated and watched his face tense in raw emotion.

"The land is a wildlife preserve. It's been in my family for generations. God knows I don't want to keep it. I've been trying to give it to the state, but they only want to accept it as a park." He exhaled heavily and returned to the pan, then poured the bowl of whisked eggs into it. "Parks are fine. They have a place. But people don't need to trample over every last acre of earth. Some animals adapt to public access, but others are profoundly disturbed in the natural course of their lives–finding food, selecting a mate, caring for their young. All you needed to do was visit Yellowstone Park years ago to see the bears begging at car windows like hookers." He sprinkled the vegetables and the ham into the mixture, placed a lid on the pan, then turned to face her. "Parks tend to serve people, not animals."

They stared at each other for a moment. Bella wished she knew what to say. "Will the state change its mind, do you think?"

"I hope so. It'll be damned hard dancing my routine with arthritis."

After they ate, they washed the dishes and dried them together. "It's a perfect day to hide out inside," he told her. "It's stopped snowing, and I'm sure they've gotten to the roads by now, but would you like to stay with me today?"

"I would," she said. "But can I ask about my car?"

He took her hand and drew her to the front foyer. Outside, her car sat with a slightly dented front hood, and a crushed headlight. "It's not driveable because the air bag deployed. Carlisle had it towed out of the ditch for us, but we'll have it towed to the shop for an inspection."

She nodded. "I feel so… lucky after all of this. I can't thank you or Carlisle enough, Edward."

He pulled her against his chest and playfully wrapped her arms around his waist. "But you can try."

She laughed. "I should call my mom first. I talk to her every Sunday. Would you mind?"

For the first time ever, he looked a bit hesitant. "Does she know about me?"

Bella exhaled slowly. "Yes."

"What does she think?" He looked a bit vulnerable himself at this moment, so Bella raised a hand to touch his cheek, her heart pounding as she did so. She'd never tried comforting Edward before.

"Mom is reserving all judgment right now. She's trusting me to do what feels best for myself."

He leaned his face against her palm, allowing her to see his unguarded expression. "And being here with me feels best?"

"Yes. So much," she whispered as his head lowered to hers for the most gentle kiss they'd ever shared. Could he see in her eyes that she loved him? Then, for the first time, she wondered if he loved her. It was clear that he cared very much, but could he love her, too?

But then the moment to tell him was gone, so she wandered back upstairs to call her mom. It was a short call because Bella didn't want to be rude, but it was important to her that she maintain her habits. And that meant letting her mom know she was thinking of her and that she loved her.

. . .

She found Edward reclining on a sofa and reading a medical journal in the golden, wood-paneled library with its tastefully decorative red leather furniture. Next to Edward's bedroom, this cozy and musty-smelling cavern with its high shelves of encyclopedias and the world's classics, was her favorite part of the house.

"What did your mom say?" he wondered.

"To be careful," she said, and went to him. She sat by his feet and reached out to tweak a toe. What she really wanted to do was to climb on top of him, to demand that he put his arms around her again, but she wasn't quite there yet. "I've been careful my whole life. Scared for most of it," she confessed quietly. "I have you to thank for helping break me out of my box, actually."

He reached out a hand to her and when she took it, made her slide across the top of him. Bella settled her curves against the hard planes of his body, and sighed blissfully as he held her close and smoothed the hair down her back. She felt like a well-cared-for cat.

"Would you like to take a bath with me?"

Against the pillow of his chest, she frowned. Take a bath? With HIM? It was the last thing she'd expected him to say.

"You're still sore, baby," he murmured against her temple, his breath warm there. "And I'd love to get you into that clawfoot tub of mine."

Baby. He'd called her that before, and the term of endearment tickled her insides. So. A bath. That meant they'd both be naked together. In water. Scary-exciting. But did it mean that he didn't want to make love to her? Because she was still sore?

"Okay," she said, a little hurt and disappointed, and unable to hide it.

He sat them up, tilting her face up to his by the pinch of his fingers. When Bella saw the look in his eyes was one of searing heat, her toes curled and curled again. Obviously he'd hid it before, but he was giving it free rein now.

Oh boy, he wanted her a lot.

A/N: You know what's up next! Rated M, baby.