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Although I undressed and redressed quickly, I ended up taking a little longer than was necessary. Emotions were rushing through my head like waves and I took a moment to sit on the edge of the porcelain bathtub to collect my thoughts. It had been a day of contentment and confessions, of trial and minor triumph, and of memories and unanswered questions—and the night still wasn't over yet. With the way things were going, not much else would surprise me—I was half-expecting Jessica Stanley to come bursting into the lodge on a broom with a pack of flying monkeys to carry me off.

Honestly, I was feeling a little out of my zone at the moment. Edward had definitely been through hell, but I hadn't realized the gravity of the toll it had taken on him. I supposed that I could distract him with my blabbering and push all the protein shakes in the county at him, but at the end of the day, I wondered if he really felt better or was just placing his problems on a mental shelf, hoping to forget them instead of addressing them. I understood that everything wasn't going to magically melt away after one day, and he'd probably want to deal with one thing at a time—but then, I subconsciously knew that my heart and I alone weren't enough to help him through it all; he'd most likely need more help at some point.

I sat, listening to the echoing sound of my shoes tapping on the tiled floor, and eventually stood once my mind had calmed. It wasn't like answers were going to come to me when I was half-distracted by thoughts of Edward waiting to teach me piano with those hands of his. Thoughts of that escalated to how gentle or eager they might be if we were caught up in a moment that was both passionate and intimate, or carefree and wild. And maybe I would find out—if not tonight, then soon. I knew I had to go slow because that was what he needed—someone who could match his pace, not transform into a high-speed Skank-a-Tron.

After brushing my hair and teeth, I spent another minute scrutinizing my appearance in the mirror. Breathing deeply, I convinced myself that the lingering blood beneath the apples of my cheeks could pass as a glow and not just my own lusty imagination.

As I descended the stairs, several couples on their way to their rooms politely waved goodnight, but the lobby wasn't completely empty—there were a few more people lingering around the fireplace and the café, too. Mr. Miller had disappeared, so I assumed he had gone to bed, seeing as his wake-up calls were at five in the morning. Some of the guests were standing by the Entertainment Hall's door, chatting quietly and undoubtedly listening to the enchanting music that was coming from inside. I lingered in the background, suddenly shy and uncertain about slipping through the door with everyone standing there.

"I have to say, I wasn't sure I'd ever hear any more music come from that room," came Doris's voice from behind me. I turned around, finding her at her desk, and she gave me a kind smile. "That piano's sat vacant for years, but he's brought some life into it, hasn't he?"

I nodded, thinking back to the day I had first arrived when the enticing melody I'd overheard was so unknown—just another beautiful detail to the atmosphere of the lodge. If I had any idea of who had been creating it, I would have paid more attention. And the only time I'd actually seen Edward at the piano was in the early morning hours of the day he left, which was probably not a time that was fondly remembered by either of us. Presently, I'd never really seen him play.

"I suppose he has," I answered, concentrating, trying to place the soft notes with a familiar title.

"Well," said Doris, coming around from her desk and leading me to the door. "I'd say it was just your luck that the movie player's gone and given up the ghost, or I would probably still have a show running. My son's bringing a new one tomorrow, but the room belongs to you two tonight."

If Doris didn't have a lodge to run, I could have definitely pictured her writing for a matchmaking column in the Forks Forum; that or having her own reality show. I gave her a knowing look and she laughed.

"And only you two," she added, subtly shooing away the bystanders and patting my shoulder before putting her arms around a lingering couple. "Come on, let's leave the young ones alone. It's too chilly in there tonight for us old folk, anyway."

Smiling to myself, I gratefully slipped inside the hall, thinking that I would have to buy Doris a flower basket for her hospitality—not to mention for generously giving us privacy in a place that was full of prying eyes. The door squeaked a bit as I gently closed it, but Edward wasn't interrupted by the sound. He continued playing his mystery piece, whatever it was. I was unfamiliar with the composer, but the music flowed with such emotion, with deep tones of melancholy, enticement, and beauty in its consonance.

It fit him in his entirety.

I walked quietly toward the piano, in fear I might distract him with my footsteps. When I stopped, I observed the slight sway of his back in rhythm with the composition and each motion of his hands. He was exceptionally skilled. Every movement and sound was precise and measured, ringing flawlessly and smoothly. I got a bit closer, longing to see the concentration and sentiment on his face, and when I managed to get a glimpse of him from the side, his eyes were closed. He seemed so relaxed and comfortable; he was in an element that I'd never seen him in before.

Stepping further to the side, I listened to the melodious, braided notes as they ebbed and flowed and, after a while, they slowed to a delicate stop, ending the music. Edward straightened his back and his soft breath seemed to echo in the wide space, the sound as equally lovely as his song. Suddenly, as if he knew that he was being watched, he looked over his shoulder and met my eyes. Thankfully, I hadn't startled him.

"Wow," I said, unable to grasp for better words. "You're incredible."

He appeared bashful as he ran his hand through his hair, turning on the bench until he was facing me. "Thank you. I'm a little out of practice."

"It didn't sound like it," I said sincerely. "Honestly, I could have been listening to Ludovico Einaudi."

"Let's not go that far," he laughed.

"It was beautiful," I said, walking to closer, leaning my arms on the side of the piano. "I'll be wanting to borrow that CD next. What were you playing?"

Edward paused, glancing at the keys and looking thoughtful, as though trying to remember. "Well… I was sort of improvising. I've been trying to tie up this piece for months. It's not quite right, though. Something's still missing."

I stared at him in awe, digesting his words. "Wait, that was you? You wrote that?"

He nodded, seeming amused at my reaction. "I suppose it's my hobby."

Jesus. He composed his own music.

"Holy shit, Edward. I didn't know you were such a virtuoso," I teased. I felt like Lucy, staring down at Schroeder from the Peanuts gang. "I feel like I should pay something to hear you play."

"I'll send you a bill," he joked.

I widened my eyes in mock astonishment. "Oh, you'll actually let me pay for something? Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

"Well, after putting me through the task of drinking sidewalk chalk, I might have to," he said with a smirk.

I gave a light smile. "So, are you going to teach me something or do you want to spend this alone time reliving your Ensure experience?"

He grinned and moved to the side of the bench, gesturing for me to sit down. "Are you at all familiar with playing?"

"It's been a long time," I admitted, taking a seat next to him. "I took lessons when I was younger. Renée was determined to turn me into a genius."

I pictured my old, wrinkled teacher with his curled mustache; his name had been Mr. Fonté or Forté, or something with an F. Mostly, I remembered that he spit when he pronounced his S and P sounds, and my hands would always end up slightly misted at the end of each lesson: "Bella, please practice your base clef on a daily basis. Piano is not self-paced by my students."

Running my fingers along the keys, I stopped to pluck out the first nine notes of Beethoven's Fur Elise. "That's all I remember," I said with a laugh. "That, and I've been known to knock out Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."

"So erudite," he remarked with a teasing smile. "Do you remember the chords? Scales?"

"Mm, I don't know," I said, hesitating to position my hands on the keys.

"What about finger placement?"

Ha. That had a whole different meaning to me and it certainly didn't involve a piano.

"Not exactly," I said, holding back a snort.

"Okay," he said, moving his right leg behind the bench. "Come sit here, in front."

The invitation of sitting between his legs was a 'cleared for take-off' moment for my hormones and I quickly obliged, afraid he would see the color rise in my cheeks. He could probably feel it; my face was like a radiator. He swung his leg back into place and I cleared my throat, swallowing a sigh, because when his chest touched my back and his breath hit my neck, all I could think was how perfectly we fit together.

"Now," he said softly, placing his warm hands over mine, "pretend like the back of your hands are glued to my palms. Not too stiff—loose enough, but bonded."

"Okay," I said, nodding, and he looked down at the piano keys over my right shoulder. He pressed down on my fingers one by one in a test, and tinkling notes echoed throughout the room.

"Yes, just like that," he said in his dulcet voice. "Now, this—" He glided our hands across the ivories, creating another sequence of structured notes. "—is a C scale. It's the simplest of its kind. Sound familiar?"

"A little." I concentrated on making my fingers flow with his, and we crossed our thumbs and fingers over and under as we went forward and back with the keys. And there we sat, for maybe twenty minutes or more as he went over the basics, and I smiled and giggled as I relearned and memorized certain arpeggios and scales. We also joked and ribbed each other gently, and if it had been possible, I would have bathed in the sound of his mellifluous laughter from behind my ear.

"Would you like to learn a beginner's piece?" he asked eventually. "Unless you've had enough for one day."

"No, I would," I pressed. Like I really wanted to get up from his hardly-professional piano teacher embrace.

"Okay, if you're sure," he answered. I stole a glance at him and he leaned away for a moment, looking thoughtful. After a few seconds, he pressed his chest to my back again and put his hands over the keys. "All right, I know something."

"What's it called?" I asked, placing my fingers lightly on top of his so I could copy his movement.

"A Summer Shower," Edward said. "It's one of the first things my father taught me."

It was faint, but I heard the sadness in his voice at the mention of his dad. This memory was precious, probably one that he'd remembered since he was young, and my heart ached for him. I ignored the urge to hug him and simply concentrated on the notes he began to play. He was giving me little pieces of his life and I wasn't going to take these moments for granted—not when he was so willing to share. He was delicate with my hands, softly cradling each one as he placed them over the correct keys, guiding them tenderly as he repeated the song over and over; I couldn't have loved him more at that moment.

When I finally felt confident enough, I tried playing the piece on my own. After the first few notes, I messed up, of course, and quickly said, "Don't look at my hands, okay? You'll make me nervous."

He chuckled, pressing his lips against the back of my head. "I'm just listening, I promise," he said, slightly muffled from my hair. Then he grazed his hands over my shoulders, giving me chills, and I had to take a deep breath to control myself; it wasn't like that wasn't distracting either.

Surprisingly, the second time, I got through it without a mistake (though I played very slowly because of Edward's finger sweeps across my neck) and felt giddily proud of myself. I smiled at my novice-like accomplishment and tilted my head back to see if he was amused, too.

"Was that okay?" I asked as I turned on the bench. His face was suddenly glowing with an ardent gaze, and I was stunned almost breathless.

Edward nodded, keeping his eyes locked on mine. "It was..." I swallowed as he placed his hands on top of mine, lacing our fingers together. He slowly brought them away from the piano keys and crossed them in front of us, holding me, and I grew warm from head to toe. "Lovely."

I tried to say 'thank you,' but my voice wouldn't cooperate, nor would my mind. I could only concentrate on the way the sparkles of light from overhead reflected in his eyes, so brilliantly green.

"Bella?" he said with a twinge of inquiry.

I couldn't take my eyes off of him; he was in sheer control of me and he didn't even know it. "Hmm?" I answered quietly, unable to form a whole word.

He took a featherlike breath and then suddenly looked unsure, narrowing his eyes to the floor. I felt his hands loosen around mine and my heart slowed to a rhythmic, pleading beat.

I closed my eyes, then, because his next move would either be to lean in or further back, and I wasn't sure I could handle seeing him pull away. My mind was changed: going slow would not suffice tonight. I clutched his hands and listened to the gentle mix of our shallow breathing, taking in the scent of him that was perfuming the space between us. And then, even though I couldn't see him move toward me, I felt him. The stimulating energy among us seemed to push deeper into me as he closed the gap, and I could feel the warmth from his breath on my lips.

I felt as though I might fracture if I didn't move closer to him and lifted my head the slightest bit, my breath nearly diminishing as our foreheads touched. Suddenly, his lips were on mine, warm and willing.

Time seemed to slow as his mouth moved over mine in a sensual glide, and I savored every moment of motion and the heated tingling that ran like a current into the rest of me, sparking my insides to life. When I returned the kiss with a bit more enthusiasm, he responded, unlocking his hands from mine and pressing into my spine, pulling me closer. We were a tangle of want and fever, a flurry of passion, and I could not get enough.

Apparently, neither could he. As I gasped against his mouth, he reached for my hips, fluidly lifting me onto his lap. My legs instinctually wrapped around his waist and my hands rushed into his hair, tugging eagerly, and his tongue met mine for the first time—a feisty, sexy introduction.

My hands had a mind of their own as they grasped behind his neck and back, doing whatever they could to explore as much of his brilliantly sculpted body and pull him flush against me. There was no time to breathe, to speak, or to think—our skin and lips were on fire, tasting and crushing in concert, and wanted no extinguishing. The increasing build of heat traveled from my chest to my middle and further, making me moan and push my lap into his, desperate for friction.

It didn't really hit me until I was wholly aware that my body was ready to skyrocket to Jupiter, and I knew if I kept moving and moaning against him, things were going to happen. I'd worked myself into a frenzy, but I wasn't so unaware that I was about to climax right in his lap. Besides, we were in a room that technically was public, allowing the chance of someone walking in or hearing me and my frisky cries of ecstasy.

I stiffened, knowing that I had to stop. I was on a piano bench, not a sex swing, after all.

Edward noticed my change in pace and slowly broke away, and I quickly hid my face in his shoulder, panting and trying to hold onto my willpower, while simultaneously reveling in the fact that we'd finally been able to kiss each other with wild abandon—the kind I'd been hoping for. The new, rushing echo of raindrops splattering the windows sounded like muffled applause and I had to smile because even nature seemed to be saying, 'It's about fucking time.'

"Are you okay?" he asked gently.

I slowly raised my head, meeting his uncertain expression. For the second time that evening, his cheeks were flushed. God, did it make him look stunning.

"Yup… I just need a moment," I whispered.

He released me instantly, lifting me back to the empty part of the bench and giving me space. His face was full of guilt as he quickly said, "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry."

I stared in surprise, wondering what on earth he could be thinking to make him apologize for that heavenly, thrilling kiss. I was almost certain that I could have defied gravity with glee if I really tried. I watched him rake his hands through his hair and his mouth dip into a frown.

Panic and embarrassment started to build up in my chest like an almost-full hourglass; I couldn't turn back time and rationalize why he was upset about what we'd just done. But then I realized the look on his face was berating, not regretful, and a light bulb suddenly went off. He was scolding himself—not because of me, but because of what he had just done with me. I'd stopped first and he thought he'd scared me. He probably thought that I was having flashbacks of Florida. Of Phil.

"Oh—no," I said, moving towards him, erasing the space between us and holding his arm. "No, no—that's not why I stopped," I reassured him. "I just—"

I was feeling like a pubescent teen, completely premature in more ways than one, and my cheeks matched his with bright color. How the hell could I explain this? I certainly didn't want him to think that I would ever associate any part of him with a bad memory.

"That was too fast," Edward said. "I'm sorry. I should have asked—"

Interrupting him, I took his face and kissed him again, eager to show him that was not, and would never be the case with him. I knelt on the bench, leaning into him and allowing my body to do the convincing. When I reluctantly pulled back again, my lips felt like magnets, pulling and buzzing with attraction for his. "Like hell you have to ask."

A spirited sort of grin came over his face before pressing his forehead against mine, sighing. "Well, that changes things," he said, chuckling under his breath. "I thought I had maybe crossed a line."

"No," I answered softly. It's only that I was half a step away from putting his 'finger placement' on my 'C-scale.'

"I don't want you to do anything you don't feel at ease with," he continued, still under the impression that I was feeling vulnerable. "We can go slow."

Going any slower was a potential cause for my lower body to spontaneously combust into tiny pieces, seeing as my libido alert had reached a high. When I didn't respond right away, he narrowed his eyes, seeming confused. I was going to have to clarify.

I relaxed, sitting back and taking his hands. "You know, Doris said you brought life into the piano again."

He smiled humbly, shrugging. "She's only saying that because I tuned it for her when I first got here."

I shook my head, giving him a small smile. "No. You have a gift. You've brought life into me, too. That sense of being alive and feeling so good—it doesn't happen often for me."

Edward looked as though he might go down his self-deprecation road, so I quickly continued.

"After everything with my stepfather, I didn't want to feel. I didn't touch guys, and I wouldn't give them the chance to touch me, either. And you're not the only one who panics. That night, back in Port Angeles? The only reason I fell into the street was because when those men grabbed me, it was like I was right back in my mom's kitchen, reliving everything that happened with Phil. I could smell the liquor, feel the sweat, feel his hands."

Edward inhaled deeply, scooting closer and squeezing my fingers. Our stories were worlds apart, but I knew it was something with which he could empathize.

"That's never happened with you—ever. I haven't taken my eyes off of you since we met and I've never felt so close to anyone. And it might sound silly, but you," I said, my voice lowering, "you put me into overdrive. Whenever you touch me, it feels new and electrifying, and grows until I'm lost in you. I stopped because of the intensity… it kind of surprised me."

For some odd reason, even with the smile on his face, he still looked as though he was at fault for something. I was going to have to say it.

I took a deep breath. "I was ready to go to O-town on your lap over a kiss, okay?"

He raised his eyebrows and I nodded, cracking an embarrassed grin. When he started laughing, I put my head on his shoulder, ready to die of humiliation. Anyone who ever dated him should have been warned to wear panties of steel.

"Yeah, ha ha," I pouted, resisting his tugging to pull me upright. "I know, I'm overzealous and it probably wasn't even half as exciting for you as it was for me. I get it. You're fine wine and I'm plain milk."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Edward managed to say before he broke into another fit of laughter, sounding like a manly version of the ladies in the lobby.

I self-consciously ran my hands through my hair and shrugged. "I don't know, you're smooth and mature and experienced—you write your own music. And I'm… regular and boring. And ridiculous."

"Firstly," he said, "you forever surprise me with what comes out of your mouth, so you can't fault me for laughing. And second, I actually agree with the ridiculous part. You are, because you're wrong." He brushed his lips over my forehead, tilting my chin up before clasping his hands behind my back. "You're fascinating. You're beautiful. And I can't believe I'm lucky enough to have you in my arms right now."

"Thank you," I said shyly. "You also say perfect things like that. How am I supposed to compete?"

"It's not a competition and I am nowhere near perfect," Edward continued. "And if you think I barely felt anything, perhaps you forgot about this." He took my hand and placed it over his heart, which was beating with gusto. "Trust me, you drive me crazy, too. I know I've kissed you before, but the first one was much too short and the second time was comforting, I suppose. And I loved every minute of it, but this—" His hands tightened around my waist and he drew me closer, my leg sliding over his. "This is different. This is—"

He didn't finish, he simply joined his lips with mine and ignited a new fire. We didn't need any more words; we were content with each other, to touch and taste, and breathe and be. And I knew that if kissing felt this amazing, I could only imagine what bodily wonders other things might bring.

Eventually, we both decided that the piano bench wasn't the most comfortable seat and wandered back to the lobby. After sneaking mugs of hot chocolate out of the kitchen, we sat on one of the plush sofas by the fireplace and talked until the burning embers lost their final glow; only then did I notice that we were the only people who hadn't retired to their rooms.

"Ready for bed?" Edward asked with a smile as I yawned sleepily. He pulled me to my feet and over to the bottom of the stairs, adding, "Climb on my back. After all you've done for me today, giving you a ride up Mt. Everest is the least I can do."

"Are you sure you're not letting that protein shake get to your head?" I teased. "Maybe I should carry you instead."

He laughed loudly. "After you advertise how much you trip over your own feet? It may be hard to believe, but I kind of do value my safety," he said with a smirk. "And what could you lift? My leg?"

You betcha.

"You—underestimate—me," I said through another yawn, causing him to chuckle again. Without any more hesitation, I put my hands on his shoulders and jumped up, hitching my legs over his hips. "But for now, I'll accept."

"That's what I thought," he said playfully, starting up the stairs as I pressed my cheek to his neck, feeling a little more awake at the sensation of his hands hugging the undersides of my knees.

When Edward set me down at the top of the staircase on the fourth floor, I relished in the feel of my body sliding down his and made a mental note to never decline a free piggyback ride from him.

"You look better," I told him, happy to see a contented glow in his eyes.

"I feel better," he admitted sincerely. "A lot better. Thank you." He sighed, ruffling his hair. "I guess all I have to do now is conquer breakfast."

"It'll be okay," I encouraged, rubbing his arms, then looked toward his door. In all honesty, I was a little more worried about him sleeping at the moment. I couldn't pretend to not still be curious about the unexplained, awful dream that had been plaguing his mind.

"So, should I meet you tomorrow morning? Or…"

I broke my gaze from the door and glanced up at the sound of his voice.

"I don't want to crowd you, Bella," Edward said quickly. "You've had to deal with me all day."

"You make it sound like you put me through an ordeal," I scolded him, crinkling my nose, and he smiled, leaning down to kiss the wrinkles.

"Didn't I?" he said softly, and I circled my hands around his arms.

"What do you want to do?" I asked.

He was silent for a few moments, looking from his door to mine and back to me. "It's not so much what I want. More of what we probably should do."

I nodded, creasing my brow thoughtfully. It wasn't as if we had a curfew or boundaries. While sleep had always been innocuous between the two of us, after tonight, I wasn't sure if we'd be able to keep our hands idle. Just imagining the possibility of bare skin and teasing touches, caught between warm, rumpled sheets… God only knew what could happen, especially after my almost-O at the piano. I supposed he was thinking along the same lines.

He had paid for my room, after all—a separate room. I knew we needed to give each other space, and I was pretty sure that slipping into co-dependency wasn't high on either of our lists.

"It feels like that first week, doesn't it?" I remarked, interlacing our fingers and pressing our hands to his chest. "Saying goodnight in the hallway and all."

"Mm," he agreed, nodding. "At least, this time I can kiss you. You have no idea how difficult it was to retain my willpower back then."

I sighed, standing on my toes until my mouth was just under his chin. "Damn it, Edward. What the hell were you waiting for?"

He brushed my hair away from my forehead and his voice was smooth and deep as he hummed into my ear, "I have no idea." The floor seemed to fall out from under my feet as Edward kissed me goodnight, and when we stopped, I was already aching for more and missing it. However, as I backed out of his arms and padded to my door, I didn't feel too disappointed.

Because I had a date with the shower head.

After a wholly exhilarating time in shower heaven, I towel-dried my hair, changed into a fresh nightshirt, and fell into bed, exhausted, warm, and satisfied. My bed felt a bit too big without Edward, even with multiple pillows to snuggle up to. I knew I was being silly, as I'd slept alone in this bed night after night for over a month, but it was impossible not to think of how he could be filling in the space beside me. We were lying parallel with only a wall separating us, and I wondered if he was thinking of me, too.

Suddenly, three, soft knocks sounded from the wall, and I shifted my eyes, stretching over the pillows to listen. They were rhythmic—too precise to be anything accidental or unconscious.

"Just saying goodnight," came his low, muffled voice from the barrier between us.

A Cheshire-cat-worthy smile spread across my face and I laughed.

"Goodnight," I answered lightly, leaning over to return his gesture with an additional three taps that could speak the words I did not have the courage to give. Not yet.

I love you.

-:-