“Bella’s married?”
Bella tensed in the doorway, her stomach clutched at the flabbergasted question voiced by her friends and the sudden stillness of the boy—no—man behind her.
She squelched the sudden urge to—run? Turn back and explain? To whom exactly? To Jacob or her friends? Deny?—her mind was just too befuddled to decide, so she did what anyone would do in her situation; she ignored it and wished it would go away.
She led the way to a small door that hid the stairs that led to her rooms. The butterflies that fluttered a storm inside her stomach grew talons when the door got stuck, she had to fight with it for several embarrassing seconds before it admitted defeat.
She perked up her ears to listen in to what the café crowd was talking about, frowning as she took the steps, what were they doing talking about me like that? If they want to talk about me without me knowing, shouldn’t they have waited for me to be out of hearing first? Isn’t that the proper etiquette for talking behind someone’s back?
She scowled at the dark narrow stairway and it wasn’t until she walked midway the stairs that she realized that she hadn’t heard a peep from the man that was supposed to be following her. For an insane moment an image of Jacob joining her gossiping crew, demanding to know the full story of what they were talking about flitted in her mind. She scoffed, no way Jacob would do that…right?
Pushing the thought away, Bella turned to see whether Jacob had followed her or not, but being Bella, she managed to bump against the nearest wall, tripped over her own two feet which of course sent her colliding to the opposite wall, her tangled feet slipping off the edge of the stairs and sent her tilting forward…
“What’s that?” Matt paused in his chewing to listen at the hard, slamming sounds that came from the back room.
The others stopped talking and tilted their heads to listen. After a few bumps came and went than all they heard was silence, Lulu waved a dismissive hand. “Probably Bella tripping over something or other.”
Gabriel frowned. “Shouldn’t we go check up on her?”
Tina smiled. “From the way Jacob’s been watching her, she’ll be fine.”
Misha—the resident lech—leered. “She’ll be more than fine if he’s the one she’s tripping over.”
Giggles burst over coffee and peach pie.
Bella was fine, physically at least, emotionally she was a wreck. Embarrassment and frustration were only a few among the emotions that turned her stomach as she found herself pressed against Jacob’s wide and muscular chest. In panic—desperate in her attempts to find something to hold on too—she slammed against Jacob’s hard body, her left cheek smothered against the front of his T-shirt when he easily caught her before she plunged to her death—well, all right maybe not to her death—broken bones, maybe. A concussion, definitely.
She could hear the strong, rhythm of his heart—was it just her or did Jacob’s heart start to pick up its pace?
“Are you okay?” The vibrations of his voice spread along his chest and tickled her face that was pressed against it, the sheer, scalding heat of him ran along the length of her arms that clutched at his waist like a lifeline. She was surprised that her legs hadn’t twined themselves around his and with the image of her slammed against walls as she fell down the stairs like those little iron balls in a pin ball machine, she almost did.
“Bella?” She felt his breath wisped the top of her head, the edges of his hair flared against her temples when he tried to see her face, the muscles at his waist shifted under her hands.
The full weight of the realization that yes, he is really here, struck her—like lightning streaking along her spine—it jolted her so hard that Jacob’s hands went around her without him really realizing it.
For a heartbeat, they were Jacob and Bella as they were again; when one is hurt, the other will try to heal it.
The blazing heat, the feel of his arms around her was so very familiar that Bella felt all the days where she spent her time—whenever she had time to spend—missing him rushed through her and it was so very tempting—especially when she felt him pull away and shame on her for even thinking it—to fake some sort of injury, God knows she’s been hurt often enough that she could act believably like she was in pain, but her mind cleared right away, a hand on her face to cover the blush on her cheeks. “Yeah, yeah. I’m OK. Thanks.”
She felt his palms—hard and rough—slid along her upper arms to stop above her elbows, pushing her away while steadying her on her feet, the movement so deliberate and final it made her insides twist. His face inscrutable, he took a step back and shoved his hands into his front pocket, his dark eyes meeting Bella’s in the light that leeched over the walls. Something passed through their eyes and it hovered and filled the space between them, clinging to her skin like spider webs; frail, delicate, one they could escape from with the slightest pull of their bodies.
“You should have a light here, and railings to hold on to.”
Bella blinked, breathed and turned away. “Sure, sure.”
She looked back in question when Jacob’s step faltered.
Suddenly, she had the weird sensation that the stairs—with Jacob at her back—had lengthened while she wasn’t looking. She almost sighed in relief when she touched the door that opened to her rooms.
The butterflies in her stomach flapped tremulous wings when she saw him frown at her door.
“What?”
“Do you have something against locked doors?”
The nature of his question was so unexpected that she merely stared at him. “Um, I’m always here anyway so I don’t see the point. I only lock the doors when we’re closed.”
He touched the door, gave the knob a few turns and scoffed. “You can hardly call this a lock.”
Annoyance flickered in Bella’s eyes. “Sorry, we ran out of dead bolts.”
“At the very least.” He turned the knob again before closing the door with a soft snick, muffling the sound of laughter from downstairs. She wondered why the sound was so ominous to her ears.
She walked into the dark of her room, squinting, groping along her walls and flicked on the light, seconds passed and nothing happened. So, she flicked the light switch again. Darkness still reigned.
Aggravated, she flicked the switch a few times again until she heard Jacob cough—to hide a laugh, maybe. “I think it’s dead, Bells.”
“I know that.” She snapped while she glared at the light switch.
“Do you have a spare?”
“Yeah, it’s—ow.” Tears crept out of her eyes when she stubbed her toes on a nearby chair. She heard him sigh. “Tell me where it is and I’ll get it.”
“I can get it.”
“Don’t be stubborn. Where is it?”
“Left closet above the kitchen sink.”
“Stay there before you break something.”
She heard him move—unhindered by any furniture, maybe they leaped out of his way for fear of destruction—and followed the sound of him ruffling through her closets.
She stood in the darkened silence for a few seconds, her fingers twitching at the edges of her T-shirt, wondering what he was doing. “Jake?”
And then there was light.
Bella blinked against the bright light that showered her modest rooms and found herself staring at Jacob’s T shirt clad chest, his hands just coming down from screwing on the light bulb—he didn’t even need a chair, the ceiling was that low—and they brushed her shoulders as they returned to his sides. Bella’s breath hitched at her throat, before she made herself release it, her feet stepping back from him on their own. “Thanks.” She made vague gesture with her hands to her right. “The bathroom is over here.”
She walked halfway across the living room and realized that she was bringing him into her bedroom—her footsteps hesitated but calling herself a fool, she persevered, even managed to spare him a smile. Not that he smiled back, he merely stared at her like he had no idea who she was.
Hurt evolved into anger and she stomped across her bedroom floor and flung open the door to the bathroom, glaring at him as she pointed. “Here’s the bathroom. There’s soap on the counter. Help yourself.”
She couldn’t quite make the several expressions that passed over Jacob’s handsome face—surprise, embarrassment that was quickly replaced by humor—before he opened his mouth to say, “My.”
She frowned at him then turned her eyes to where he was staring…and tried not to pass out from sheer I-hope-a-hole-would-appear-and-swallow-me-now embarrassment.
There, hanging at the length of the shower pole was a startling array of her drying underwear; dangling here and there in a shower of lace and delicate colors for all the world—well, Jacob—to see.
No comments:
Post a Comment