.
She's not supposed to be here.
Slipping into the darkened booth like the liar she is.
Her legs are long and dripping in temptation, that dress she's wearing leaving nothing to the imagination. Her dark hair sits long and wavy down her back, and the sight of it makes my fingers itch as if I'm holding the strands within them again.
You'll never see me again.
Those were her last words to me a year ago, whispered into my ear before she left my bed, and subsequently, my life for good.
Or so I thought.
Clearly, I'm wrong. She's sitting in a booth at my bar, looking like she's enjoying the fact that she's here, despite knowing that my place, and my bar, are strictly off-limits.
But I know her.
I know she doesn't care.
Isabella Swan has never been one to do what she's told, and I can see a year's distance between us hasn't changed her at all.
Well, that's not entirely true.
Her time away has taught her that showing a little skin goes a long way in terms of persuasion. She's learned to take whatever it is she wants, and as I stand on the perimeter of my bar, watching her as I hide in the shadows, I fucking hope she's here tonight to collect what it is she wants.
It better be me.
I better be the one she wants tonight.
After all, why else would she be here?
How many secrets can you keep? My eyes ask her this from across the room, wondering if she is only pretending she can't feel my heated stare as I lean back against my bar, nursing my drink in my hand, and watch her.
Openly.
Like her brother isn't a mere thirty feet away from where I stand.
Do you still worry about what he would say if he found out about us? I ask her again in my head, all these different scenarios with her and me running through my mind. I see her in ways I've already seen — her laughing face as we drive with the top down into the sun, her hands gripping the sheets as I show her what it's like to be mine, her retreating form after she tells me it would never work between us.
She was right; I say to myself as I bring a cigarette up to my mouth. I watch her through the billowing smoke, watch as Emmett makes his way over to his not-so-innocent little sister. She stands when she sees him, sliding out of the booth to hug him like he is the reason she is here at all. The thing is, she's not here for him.
Do I wanna know if this feeling flows both ways?
But I know her.
She's here for me.
Even after a year apart, I know she feels the same.
And when brown eyes the color of whisky meet mine from across the bar, I tell her without words.
You're mine.
Tell him.
Tell him about the times I fucked you on the desk in my office.
Tell him how we fought this, our secret, for as long as we could.
Tell him, Bella.
… Before I do.
"Edward!" I hear Emmett shout from across the room. The band hasn't started yet, but the crowd is loud enough for him to raise his voice so I can hear him. He points to Bella in his arms. "Look who's back!"
This is my bar. She doesn't get to walk in here, sit in my booth, and shoot me daggers as I approach her.
She was the one who left.
Head tilted to the side; I make my way over to them, my eyes never breaking Bella's stare.
"I see," I answer Emmett when I'm standing in front of them. I purposely turn towards her. "How you doin', Bella?"
I remember her saying that hearing her name roll off my tongue made her think of all the things she wanted to do to me.
"Well, I'm here." She answers with a sigh. "That should say enough."
"Are you back for good?" Emmett asks once the three of us are settled into the booth.
"We'll see," she breaks eye contact with me for the first time and looks over at her brother, smiling. "Haven't decided yet."
"Things didn't work out over in New York?" I ask, downing the rest of my drink in hopes it helps erase the image of her walking away from me and towards a city unknown to me.
"Depends who you ask," she replies, her eyes staring at the drink that sits between fingernails painted murder red.
She's a walking sin.
"You," I answer. "I'm asking you, Bella."
She doesn't answer and instead brings her drink up to her lips, the red stain left behind on her glass from her lipstick reminding me of the way she marked my skin with those same lips.
"We're glad to have you back, whatever the reason might be." Emmett raises his glass. "Let's make a toast."
Not tearing my gaze away from her, I reach for my glass and raise it in the air. Clearing my throat, I try to focus on my words instead of all the ways I'll have her later.
"To the best-kept secrets," I propose, earning a questionable look and then a shrug from Emmett before he clinks his glass with ours and tips it back in his mouth.
Bella's lips curve into that sexy smirk that she knows brings me to my knees.
"To the best-kept secrets."