"How?" I asked.
"You could ask me," he suggested.
"Come back," I whispered. How could he doubt that I meant it?
He shook his head, smiling again. "That's not what I'm talking about."
It took me a second to grasp what he was saying, and all the while he was looking at me with this superior expression-so sure of my reaction. As soon as the realization hit, though, I blurted out the words without stopping to count the cost.
"Will you kiss me, Jacob?"
His eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed suspiciously. "You're bluffing."
"Kiss me, Jacob. Kiss me, and then come back."
He hesitated in the shadow, warring with himself. He half-turned again to the west, his torso twisting away from me while his feet stayed planted where they were. Still looking away, he took one uncertain step in my direction, and then another. He swung his face around to look at me, his eyes doubtful.
I stared back. I had no idea what expression was on my face.
Jacob rocked back on his heels, and then lurched forward, closing the distance between us in three long strides.
I knew he would take advantage of the situation. I expected it. I held very still-my eyes closed, my fingers curled into fists at my sides-as his hands caught my face and his lips found mine with an eagerness that was not far from violence.
I could feel his anger as his mouth discovered my passive resistance. One hand moved to the nape of my neck, twisting into a fist around the roots of my hair. The other hand grabbed roughly at my shoulder, shaking me, then dragging me to him. His hand continued down my arm, finding my wrist and pulling my arm up around his neck. I left it there, my hand still tightly balled up, unsure how far I could go in my desperation to keep him alive. All the while his lips, disconcertingly soft and warm, tried to force a response out of mine.
As soon as he was sure I wouldn't drop my arm, he freed my wrist, his hand feeling its way down to my waist. His burning hand found the skin at the small of my back, and he yanked me forward, bowing my body against his.
His lips gave up on mine for a moment, but I knew he was nowhere close to finished. His mouth followed the line of my jaw, and then explored the length of my neck. He freed my hair, reaching for my other arm to draw it around his neck like the first.
Then both of his arms were constricted around my waist, and his lips found my ear.
"You can do better than this, Bella," he whispered huskily. "You're overthinking it."
I shivered as I felt his teeth graze my earlobe.
"That's right," he murmured. "For once, just let yourself feel what you feel."
I shook my head mechanically until one of his hands wound back into my hair and stopped me.
His voice turned acidic. "Are you sure you want me to come back? Or did you really want me to die?"
Anger rocked through me like the whiplash after a heavy punch. That was too much-he wasn't fighting fair.
My arms were already around his neck, so I grabbed two fistfuls of his hair-ignoring the stabbing pain in my right hand-and fought back, struggling to pull my face away from his.
And Jacob misunderstood.
He was too strong to recognize that my hands, trying to yank his hair out by the roots, meant to cause him pain. Instead of anger, he imagined passion. He thought I was finally responding to him.
With a wild gasp, he brought his mouth back to mine, his fingers clutching frantically against the skin at my waist.
The jolt of anger unbalanced my tenuous hold on self-control; his unexpected, ecstatic response overthrew it entirely. If there had been only triumph, I might have been able to resist him. But the utter defenselessness of his sudden joy cracked my determination, disabled it. My brain disconnected from my body, and I was kissing him back. Against all reason, my lips were moving with his in strange, confusing ways they'd never moved before-because I didn't have to be careful with Jacob, and he certainly wasn't being careful with me.
My fingers tightened in his hair, but I was pulling him closer now.
He was everywhere. The piercing sunlight turned my eyelids red, and the color fit, matched the heat. The heat was everywhere. I couldn't see or hear or feel anything that wasn't Jacob.
The tiny piece of my brain that retained sanity screamed questions at me.
Why wasn't I stopping this? Worse than that, why couldn't I find in myself even the desire to want to stop? What did it mean that I didn't want him to stop? That my hands clung to his shoulders, and liked that they were wide and strong? That his hands pulled me too tight against his body, and yet it was not tight enough for me?
The questions were stupid, because I knew the answer: I'd been lying to myself.
Jacob was right. He'd been right all along. He was more than just my friend. That's why it was so impossible to tell him goodbye-because I was in love with him, too. I loved him, much more than I should, and yet, still nowhere near enough. I was in love with him, but it was not enough to change anything; it was only enough to hurt us both more. To hurt him worse than I ever had.