The Twilight Saga Collection part 2(106)

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.

I didn’t care about more than that — than his pain. I more than deserved whatever pain this caused me. I hoped it was bad. I hoped I would really suffer.

In this moment, it felt as though we were the same person. His pain had always been and would always be my pain — now his joy was my joy. I felt joy, too, and yet his happiness was somehow also pain. Almost tangible — it burned against my skin like acid, a slow torture.

For one brief, never-ending second, an entirely different path expanded behind the lids of my tear-wet eyes. As if I were looking through the filter of Jacob’s thoughts, I could see exactly what I was going to give up, exactly what this new self-knowledge would not save me from losing. I could see Charlie and Renée mixed into a strange collage with Billy and Sam and La Push. I could see years passing, and meaning something as they passed, changing me. I could see the enormous red-brown wolf that I loved, always standing as protector if I needed him. For the tiniest fragment of that second, I saw the bobbing heads of two small, black-haired children, running away from me into the familiar forest. When they disappeared, they took the rest of the vision with them.

And then, quite distinctly, I felt the splintering along the fissure line in my heart as the smaller part wrenched itself away from the whole.

Jacob’s lips were still before mine were. I opened my eyes and he was staring at me with wonder and elation.

“I have to leave,” he whispered.

“No.”

He smiled, pleased by my response. “I won’t be long,” he promised. “But one thing first . . .”

He bent to kiss me again, and there was no reason to resist. What would be the point?

This time was different. His hands were soft on my face and his warm lips were gentle, unexpectedly hesitant. It was brief, and very, very sweet.

His arms curled around me, and he hugged me securely while he whispered in my ear.