A/N:

Dear readers,

I meant to post this chapter on Saturday but news of a most disturbing nature reached me – there were rumblings on the InterWebs that The Back in the headboard scene in the BD trailer belongs not to Robert Pattinson but a body double. This devastated me so much I went on a rampage, smashing my laptop and all the furniture in the room. As I was on my knees, beating my chest, screaming "Why? WHY?" at the skies, it occurred to me to check the InterWebs again for any dissenting views. Sure enough, GossipCop debunked the vile rumour, while the lovely ladies at the Robsessed blog conducted a very scientific, very thorough analysis proving that The Back does indeed belong to Rob.

I breathed a sigh of relief. My faith restored, I could write again, just not as quickly, because I had smashed my laptop. And that is why this chapter is late. And rather short.

p.s. I'm joking of course. But the chapter is indeed rather short.

Chapter 9 – Wednesday

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that when a single woman is required to seduce a man, she will have nothing to wear.

"I have nothing to wear."

This was Bella's lament as she contemplated her wardrobe on Wednesday morning, the day after she had decided to go on the offensive in her wager with Edward Cullen.

She had nothing, nothing apart from the thick, oversized woollen jumpers and the frumpy long skirts she usually wore.

It wasn't simply a matter of wearing as little as possible. She had to cover as much of her body as she could to protect herself against him. The terms of their wager specified that he had free access to any exposed skin. As she experienced first-hand over the last two days, Edward could do a lot with very little. The memory of him licking whisky off the curve of her elbow still made her insides clench. She didn't think she could withstand another onslaught like it.

It was bad enough that she had absolutely no experience with seduction, her lack of sartorial options and the complications of their wager made things even more difficult.

After much rummaging, she gathered a half-decent ensemble: a black, fitted V-neck jumper made of a fine cashmere-silk weave which she had always found too flimsy for winter; a pretty mid-thigh skirt made from real tartan; black leather knee-high riding-style boots; black opaque tights.

Bella remembered that he had wanted her hair down on Monday so she made sure to wash and style her hair that morning. After struggling with her mother's curling tong for an hour, it fell in loose shiny curls down her back.

She even put on some red lipstick, but it made her feel self-conscious, so she rubbed it off.

As she stood in front of the mirror, she was surprised by how flattering the ensemble was. The tights and the boots accentuated her long legs, the thin jumper clung to her curves, with the V-neck showing just a hint of décolletage. The stark black of the outfit was lifted by the almost flirty reds of the tartan skirt. For once, she looked like a twenty-three year-old rather than a middle-aged spinster. Best of all, even as it showed off her figure, very little skin was actually exposed.

The ensemble, though almost racy by Bella's usual standards, lacked...something. She needed that bit extra, to give her a little va-vroom. Something that would make Edward Cullen crack.

She took off her bra.

When she arrived at the library in her coat, Edward was already hard at work, typing furiously into his laptop. He looked up at her briefly with a warm smile, and went straight back to work.

Men, Bella marvelled, compartmentalise so well. While she had been getting more and more distracted by his presence, he was steaming ahead as usual.

It was a sunny winter's day and light was streaming in through the large Georgian windows. She steeled her nerves, quietly took off her coat, and walked towards one. With her body facing him and the sunlight bathing her skin, she pretended to admire the view, and waited.

Even though her eyes were focused on the trees outside, she could pinpoint the exact moment when he looked up. The rapid, noisy clatter of his typing ceased altogether.

Satisfied that she had caught his attention, Bella headed for a bookshelf on the opposite end of the room, making sure to graze her skirt by the edge of his desk along the way.

Her heart was pounding as she stopped in front of the shelf. Could she do this? She hesitated for a moment before bending down languorously, ostensibly to retrieve a volume. By the time she straightened up, he was standing directly behind her, so close she could feel the heat radiate from his body.

She fought the urge to lean into his warmth and remained resolutely still. His breath was harsh in her ears and tickled the back of her neck. She could feel the fabric at the back of her skirt brush against him.

Bella watched as he raised his arms slowly on either side of her until his hands clutched a shelf the height of her chin. She was completely enveloped in his heat, the sound of his breathing, his smell.

The tension in his body made the veins on his forearms bulge. She wondered what it would feel like to trace her fingers along them.

The long, elegant fingers that had tormented her over the last two evenings gripped the shelf tightly for what seemed like an eternity. His right hand was digging into the wood so hard, she thought he might claw a chunk out.

Without warning, his hands released their grip and disappeared from her view.

A moment later, she heard the slam of his laptop and Edward's quickening footsteps leaving the room.

Bella smiled.

Power, she thought, even a little bit of it, is intoxicating.

She stood waiting for him near the fireplace. She didn't want to sit; she was the predator this time, not the prey.

He strode in at 4 sharp and stopped behind the sofa.

"I was so distracted this afternoon," he spoke in a low, throaty voice, running his hand through his hair, "I think I might have accidentally bought a start-up in Germany."

"Why don't you sit down and we can begin." Was that her voice?

Bella had never seen Edward so unsure of himself. He finally settled on the far end of the sofa.

She sat down facing him, her knees brushing against his legs. Before she could lose her nerve, she began running her fingers up his arm, across his shoulders, down to his chest.

So firm, everywhere.

"I thought we agreed..."

"I think you'll find, Mr Cullen, that our agreement restricts where you may touch me, but says nothing about where I may touch you."

"That is a terrible oversight on my part." He murmured softly looking down at her hand on his chest. "Terrible."

Then, to her surprise, he closed his eyes and lay back on the sofa. He was letting her.

Bella was stunned by the sight before her. With his head thrown back, the line of his profile, from his forehead to his mouth, from his chin down to his Adam's Apple, was beautiful. Obscenely so.

She ran her hand up his throat. She scratched the stubble on his jaw. She felt the curve of his cheekbone.

Something about the way he leaned into her hand when she stroked his cheek broke her heart a little.

That hair. She wanted to touch his hair.

She couldn't reach high enough, so she climbed on top of him, straddling his lap.

Bella felt the resulting groan vibrate throughout his body.

Ha! She thought, this is easy. And I didn't even have to push my chest out at him.

"Isabella?" His eyes were still closed.

"Yes?"

"I'd like to up the stakes. Two hundred books."

"What terms?"

He kept his eyes closed, but he was flushing a deep pink.

So adorable.

He mumbled something she couldn't hear.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"No bra."

She replied by kissing his warm cheek.

He's going to crack. She thought, noticing the way his fingers were gripping the fabric of the sofa. I just need to push him over the edge.

Bella gently pulled his shirt out of his trousers .

"Isabella."

She undid a button. Then the next. And the next.

"Isabella!"

She suddenly found herself on her back, stretched out on the sofa, her wrists gently but firmly pinned down above her head.

"I know what you are doing, Isabella." Edward hovered above her, breathing hard. "You are a dangerous, dangerous creature." One of his knees was between her legs.

Realising the precariousness of his position, he released her hands and climbed off the sofa, kneeling on the floor next to her. He raked his eyes down her body laid out before him on the sofa.

"It was never supposed to be like this. It was never supposed to be a game." He buried his face in her neck and began the sweet torture she knew so well.

"Say my name," he pleaded, "just say it."

His mouth assaulted her neck with a new desperation, lower and lower until it hit the lowest end of her neckline.

Just as she was lamenting the loss of his mouth on her skin, she felt his breath just a few inches from her neckline.

Right there.

He was panting, and his hot, moist breath penetrated the thin weave of the fabric and taunted her in the most cruel way.

She gasped and looked down to see his mouth poised just above her. He was straining for self-control.

What she did next shocked even her. She arched her back infinitesimally, not enough to make contact, but enough to signal clearly what she wanted from him.

Their eyes met.

If he gave in now, he would lose the wager, and possibly Isabella forever.

The gentle chime from the alarm they had set to run daily saved him.

Edward threw himself backwards away from her and covered his face.

One of them would crack soon. And it sure as hell wouldn't be him.

Reviews are better than molesting a willing Manorward on the sofa. Okay no, that's a lie.