Eclipse (Twilight #3)(112)

He pushed me away at once, his face heavily disapproving.

"Be reasonable, Bella."

"You promised - whatever I wanted," I reminded him without hope.

"We're not having this discussion." He glared at me while he refastened the two buttons I'd managed to open.

My teeth clamped together.

"I say we are," I growled. I moved my hands to my blouse and yanked open the top button.

He grabbed my wrists and pinned them to my sides.

"I say we're not," he said flatly.

We glowered at each other.

"You wanted to know," I pointed out.

"I thought it would be something faintly realistic."

"So you can ask for any stupid, ridiculous thing you want - like getting married - but I'm not allowed to even discuss what I -"

While I was ranting, he pulled my hands together to restrain them in just one of his, and put his other hand over my mouth.

"No." His face was hard.

I took a deep breath to steady myself. And, as the anger began to fade, I felt something else.

It took me a minute to recognize why I was staring down again, the blush returning - why my stomach felt uneasy, why there was too much moisture in my eyes, why I suddenly wanted to run from the room.

Rejection washed through me, instinctive and strong.

I knew it was irrational. He'd been very clear on other occasions that my safety was the only factor. Yet I'd never made myself quite so vulnerable before. I scowled at the golden comforter that matched his eyes and tried to banish the reflex reaction that told me I was unwanted and unwantable.

Edward sighed. The hand over my mouth moved under my chin, and he pulled my face up until I had to look at him.

"What now?"

"Nothing," I mumbled.

He scrutinized my face for long moment while I tried unsuccessfully to twist away from his gaze. His brow furrowed, and his expression became horrified.

"Did I hurt your feelings?" he asked, shocked.

"No," I lied.

So quickly that I wasn't even sure how it happened, I was in his arms, my face cradled between his shoulder and his hand, while his thumb stroked reassuringly against my cheek.

"You know why I have to say no," he murmured. "You know that I want you, too."

"Do you?" I whispered, my voice full of doubt.

"Of course I do, you silly, beautiful, oversensitive girl." He laughed once, and then his voice was bleak. "Doesn't everyone? I feel like there's a line behind me, jockeying for position, waiting for me to make a big enough mistake. . . . You're too desirable for your own good."

"Who's being silly now?" I doubted if awkward, self-conscious, and inept added up to desirable in anyone's book.

"Do I have to send a petition around to get you to believe? Shall I tell you whose names would be on the top of the list? You know a few of them, but some might surprise you."

I shook my head against his chest, grimacing. "You're just trying to distract me. Let's get back to the subject."

He sighed.

"Tell me if I have anything wrong." I tried to sound detached. "Your demands are marriage" - I couldn't say the word without making a face - "paying my tuition, more time, and you wouldn't mind if myvehicle went a little faster." I raised my eyebrows. "Did I get everything? That's a hefty list."

"Only the first is a demand." He seemed to be having a hard time keeping a straight face. "The others are merely requests."

"And my lone, solitary little demand is -"

"Demand?" he interrupted, suddenly serious again.

"Yes, demand."

His eyes narrowed.

"Getting married is a stretch for me. I'm not giving in unless I get something in return."

He leaned down to whisper in my ear. "No," he murmured silkily. "It's not possible now. Later, when you're less breakable. Be patient, Bella."

I tried to keep my voice firm and reasonable. "But that's the problem. It won't be the same when I'm less breakable. I won't be the same! I don't know who I'll be then."

"You'll still be Bella," he promised.

I frowned. "If I'm so far gone that I'd want to kill Charlie - that I'd drink Jacob's blood or Angela's if I got the chance - how can that be true?"

"It will pass. And I doubt you'll want to drink the dog's blood." He pretended to shudder at the thought. "Even as a newborn, you'll have better taste than that."

I ignored his attempt to sidetrack me. "But that will always be what I want most, won't it?" I challenged. "Blood, blood, and more blood!"

"The fact that you are still alive is proof that that is not true," he pointed out.

"Over eighty years later," I reminded him. "What I meant was physically, though. Intellectually, I know I'll be able to be myself . . . after a while. But just purely physically - I will always be thirsty, more than anything else."

He didn't answer.

"So I will be different," I concluded unopposed. "Because right now, physically, there's nothing I want more than you. More than food or water or oxygen. Intellectually, I have my priorities in a slightly more sensible order. But physically . . ."