Home
She sucked her breath in as she felt his ice cold skin make contact with her warm body. Anybody's natural reaction would have been to shriek and curl away, but she was not anybody. She was Bella, and she was used to him. She was used to the cold, and in fact, a large part of her enjoyed it.
She rested her head on his shoulder, and expelled a sigh. The night of dancing had exhausted her body. Her eyes slowly opened and adjusted to the indigo of the night.
"What..? Where are we?" Her eyes could not pick out her house. She couldn't see Charlie's car in the driveway, and she couldn't detect anything that resemble her house.
"Home." The word slid out of his mouth, sweet and sugary as if it was covered in syrup.
Her body went stiff. This was not her home, this was his home.
"Are you being serious? Are you being serious right now?" She let the adrenaline take over in her body. Her legs kick urgently and her arms tug at his biceps. "Let me go!" She was mad, no, no, she was more than mad. She was angry. Angry at him for thinking that this would be okay; they were friends now, and friends did not bring sleeping friends of the opposite sex to their house in the middle of the night.
"Bella, calm down." His voice no longer soft and comforting, it was harsh and her body went rigid in response. He readjusted his grip on her and continued into the house. The soft aromas from the house filled her nostrils and created a stir of emotion within her. Her eyes were starting to sting and she knew that if he said even one word to her, she would lose it.
"If I put you down, you won't try to run away, will you?" He tried to crack a smile, but the muscles in his face seemed to be frozen in a permanent frown. Bella shook her head violently, she was sure if she would have spoken, it would have been a horrible scream followed by an avalanche of tears and sobs.
He let her legs drop first, easing her slowly to the carpeted floor until she was standing on her own in front of him. This was the closest they had been in months, he could smell her. Her scent for him had always been sort of a catch 22. On the one hand, she smelled so delectable that he would have compared to her a filet mignon, but on the other hand, she had another smell. It was a scent that was a mixture of strawberry shampoo and milk-honey body wash, two things that, at one time, had been his favorite things to smell. Now, they were harsh reminders of something he had freely given away.
He betted on that if he reached out and touched her that she would have no reservation. He betted on her lack of self control and her inability to refuse him, he betted on her weakness.