Chapter Five

EPOV

I step back as Bella fishes her keys from her purse. I give her an encouraging smile, and she timidly smiles in return. The sound of metal clanging to the ground causes us to both falter as she drops the keys, bending to reach for them the exact same time as I do.

We're stooping near one another, our hands just inches apart, fingers dangling in the air. There's a shift in the muggy air as the two of us silently gape at one another, so close that her warm, sweet breath washes over me.

Being so close to her, so very near this beautiful woman, causes me to notice things about her for the first time. Bella's lips are full with only a slight dip in the center of the top one, the bottom one fuller than the top. There's a sprinkling of freckles dotting her cheeks, and those cheeks … her cheeks tint as she nervously giggles.

I'm sure I've never used the word 'cute' in any fucking context.

Ever.

But, this giggle … this nervous laughter she fails to smother with one, delicate hand … it's cute.

I'm so screwed.

A strand of silky, dark hair falls in front of her eyes with the shift of the wind. Before I think about it, before I can fully comprehend the action, my fingers are lingering near her face. The giggles fade away as she quietly gasps, her eyes round and unblinking as I tuck the strand behind one graceful ear. The tips of my fingers brush against the shell of her ear, then her cheek … so smooth, so soft, so warm and now a brilliant shade of pink.

Bella snatches the keys from the ground, then stands in one swift movement. I stand upright as well, running my fingers through my hair, inadvertently taking a step back as my heart thunders against my chest.

I'm such a fuck up.

"Where are you going?" she abruptly questions, quickly turning and fumbling with the keys.

I don't speak immediately, unsure of myself and my intentions.

Can I do this?

Can I be her friend?

This is all I have to offer … my friendship. I mulled over Mike's words while incarcerated, then came to the conclusion that any relationship with Bella other than friendship will only cause problems for her.

I've caused enough problems for Bella Swan.

Intentional or not.

"I, uh, wasn't sure if you still …"

"You like coffee?"

She interrupts my uncertainty, opening the door to her home and gazing over her shoulder.

So beautiful.

I nod and follow her inside, hesitating as I enter the foyer, my eyes drinking in the interior of her home. She shuts the door behind me, then gestures for me to follow her into the kitchen.

I take it all in as I follow her: the high, vaulted ceilings, the state-of-the-art appliances. I knew from the moment I pulled into her driveway that Bella … or her late husband, was loaded. The house is as enticing, beautiful and utterly intimidating.

It's just as overwhelming as the woman standing in front of the coffee maker.

"How do you take your coffee?"

It's a simple question … one than can easily be answered.

Bella turns and quirks an eyebrow at my silence as I pull a chair from the kitchenette and take a seat.

"How do you think I take it?"

Bella studies me for a moment, those endlessly engulfing eyes not missing a thing as I force myself into a relaxed position: legs outstretched, my body slightly slumped in the carved, wooden chair.

I'm not relaxed.

I'm anything other than relaxed.

I'm nervous … nervous and clueless and denying myself the urge … the urge to gaze around the room more thoroughly, searching for some sort of signs of her previous life.

I've seen none.

No photos on the walls or shelves, no memento of a life once lived … nothing besides decorative paintings, vases, pottery and antique china.

"Why do I feel like this is some sort of test?" she asks with a smirk, the strong scent of coffee swirling through the air.

"Because it is," I reply, grinning.

I can do this.

I can act like this being inside this house, this house she once shared with her husband and child, isn't smothering me …

I can pull this off.

"Hmm … black?" she guesses, tapping her finger against her chin as she thinks aloud.

"Nope," I respond, laughing at her shocked expression. "Does that surprise you?"

"Kinda," she says with a smug grin. "I've heard that people who take their coffee black tend to be … moody."

"Moody?" I ask, clutching my chest in a faux hurt. "You think I'm moody?"

Bella laughs, her eyes twinkling.

"I've also heard they're more closed off when it comes to trying new things," she continues, gazing at me expectantly.

The tables have turned … my teasing game has suddenly become something more.

I rub the scruff on my jaw as I ponder her words, absently cursing myself in the back of my mind for not shaving. For some reason she seems almost fascinated by the way I rub my face, but easily shakes it off once she notices my intense stare.

"I can be moody, I guess," I tell her with a shrug, leaning forward in the chair and dropping my elbows on my knees. "And, you're right. I usually take my coffee black, but today … today I'll take a little cream, and a whole lot of sugar."

A light, pink blush spreads across the smallest hint of glorious cleavage exposed near the dip of Bella's shirt. The tinted color spreads up her neck, then burns across her cheeks as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and busies herself with the coffee. I tilt my head to the side, watching as she not once, but twice, drops a spoon.

Interesting.

My words weren't meant to be taken as a sexual innuendo … I was simply hinting at change. I seek a change, a change from the man I thought myself to be.

I want to be the man she thinks I am … someone worthy of forgiveness.

Still, it's fascinating watching her reaction, seeing the nervousness my words inflict in her, and I wonder … I wonder if I've made the wrong decision, agreeing to just be friends with this beautiful woman.

I want no trouble for Bella. Mike's words are forever etched in my mind. Bella and I not only come from two very different worlds, but many people point fingers in my direction, blaming me for the death of her family.

But not her. She wants me just as badly as I want her.

The longer I sit here and ponder the word 'friendship' the longer I realize this isn't going to work. I can't just be her friend. I can't drop by her house and have coffee with her and make mundane conversation about the weather and shit.

I need her.

She wants to go slow … I can take it slow.

I can take things very slow.

Fuck everyone else.

I'm ready to live.

To live ... and I'm ready to do so with her in my life, every step of the way.

Bella's swift movement across the kitchen pulls me from my thoughts. She opens the pantry, searching a high shelf for something as she strains to reach up.

"Need some help?" I offer, smiling to myself.

I'm being a gentleman … asking if she needs a hand, right?

A gentleman.

"The sugar canister is empty," she explains, cringing as she accidentally knocks a can of tomato soup to the floor. "I know there's an extra bag in here somewhere."

I stand and cross the room, hyper-aware of the way her body stills as I approach her. The heat from her small, curvy frame radiates between us. My body is now only inches from hers. I can smell the rain in her hair, and the scent of a summer shower on her skin. Reaching on the top shelf, I easily find the bag of sugar and hand it to her.

Those big, dark eyes are staring up at me. That full, bottom lip is wedged between her teeth. She's timid, uncertain, but there's something there.

There's something there.

"You make me nervous," she whispers, clinging to the bag. "When you're near me … I feel like a bomb ready to explode."

"I'm sorry," I mumble, the weight of her words twisting my gut. "I'll leave."

I turn to walk away, sickened by her confession, but the sound of something heavy hitting the ground causes me to turn. Suddenly, she's touching me, twisting my damp shirt between her fingers, tugging my clothes in an attempt to bring me back to where I stood, to put me back in place so very near her. My shirt rides up, and I shiver at the cool rush of air against my skin. And she's still biting that lip, but no longer timid.

She looks ravenous.

"It's not a bad type of nervousness," she quietly admits, dropping her hungry eyes.

I nod, then touch her chin, tilting her head up, and forcing her to look at me. There's a sharp intake of breath when I touch her, and I want to kiss her. I've never wanted to kiss a woman so badly in my life.

"I feel the same way … and I feel other things as well. You know what things I'm talking about, don't you, Bella?"

"Yes," she whispers, on the verge of tears.

"I can be your friend," I lie, hoping my voice sounds as convincing to her as it does to myself. "I can be just your friend."

Bella nods, then releases the twisted knot of shirt between her fingers. She beings to step away, my fingers slipping from her chin, but I lightly grasp her arm, forcing her to pause.

"Friends can hug, right?"

Bella's eyes go wide, but she nods. There's no movement on her part. It's just her, gazing up at me with startled eyes and pink cheeks, waiting on me to take the lead.

And I do.

I pull her into my arms, cradling the back of her neck as she tucks her head beneath my chin. I smile, burying my nose in her hair and breathing it in as she gingerly winds her arms around my waist. I hold her body in my arms, relishing how enticing, how utterly delicate and feminine she feels pressed against me.

Then her hands trail up my chest, and her arms drape around my neck, almost as though we're dancing. I grip her waist, then move my fingers to the small of her back, lightly groaning as my fingertips find a bare expanse of skin.

"It's been a long time since I've been held by a man."

Bella's voice is low and husky, and I smirk, happy she can't see my face from where she rests her head.

I can do this.

I can act like a friend.

Act.

It's all an act, and not just on my part. Bella's sultry voice … and her nipples, her hardened nipples pressing against the thin cotton of my shirt tell me all I need to know.

We'll never be 'just friends.'

Reviews makes them not be 'just friends.'