Eclipse - Stephenie Meyer [168]
His face hardened. “And I can be your best man at the wedding?”
It was a moment before I could speak, and still the only answer I could give him was, “Please.”
“That’s what I thought,” he said, his face going calm again, but for the turbulent light in his eyes.
“I love you, Bella,” he murmured.
“I love you, Jacob,” I whispered brokenly.
He smiled. “I know that better than you do.”
He turned to walk away.
“Anything,” I called after him in a strangled voice. “Anything you want, Jacob. Just don’t do this!”
He paused, turning slowly.
“I don’t really think you mean that.”
“Stay,” I begged.
He shook his head. “No, I’m going.” He paused, as if deciding something. “But I could leave it to fate.”
“What do you mean?” I choked out.
“I don’t have to do anything deliberate — I could just do my best for my pack and let what happens happen.” He shrugged. “If you could convince me you really did want me to come back — more than you wanted to do the selfless thing.”
“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