Twilight - Stephenie Meyer [102]
He waited for me to respond, growing anxious when I didn’t. “Are you scared?” he asked.
I waited for a minute to answer, so the words would be true. “No. I’m fine.”
He seemed to deliberate for a moment. “I’m curious now, though,” he said, his voice light again. “Have you ever . . . ?” He trailed off suggestively.
“Of course not.” I flushed. “I told you I’ve never felt like this about anyone before, not even close.”
“I know. It’s just that I know other people’s thoughts. I know love and lust don’t always keep the same company.”
“They do for me. Now, anyway, that they exist for me at all,” I sighed.
“That’s nice. We have that one thing in common, at least.” He sounded satisfied.
“Your human instincts . . . ,” I began. He waited. “Well, do you find me attractive, in that way, at all?”
He laughed and lightly rumpled my nearly dry hair.
“I may not be a human, but I am a man,” he assured me.
I yawned involuntarily.
“I’ve answered your questions, now you should sleep,” he insisted.
“I’m not sure if I can.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No!” I said too loudly.
He laughed, and then began to hum that same, unfamiliar lullaby; the voice of an archangel, soft in my ear.
More tired than I realized, exhausted from the long day of mental and emotional stress like I’d never felt before, I drifted to sleep in his cold arms.
15. THE CULLENS
THE MUTED LIGHT OF YET ANOTHER CLOUDY DAY eventually woke me. I lay with my arm across my eyes, groggy and dazed. Something, a dream trying to be remembered, struggled to break into my consciousness. I moaned and rolled on my side, hoping more sleep would come. And then the previous day flooded back into my awareness.
“Oh!” I sat up so fast it made my head spin.
“Your hair looks like a haystack . . . but I like it.” His unruffled voice came from the rocking chair in the corner.
“Edward! You stayed!” I rejoiced, and thoughtlessly threw myself across the room and into his lap. In the instant that my thoughts caught up with my actions, I froze, shocked by my own uncontrolled enthusiasm. I stared up at him, afraid that I had crossed the wrong line.
But he laughed.
“Of course,” he answered, startled, but seeming pleased by my reaction. His hands rubbed my back.
I laid my head cautiously against his shoulder, breathing in the smell of his skin.
“I was sure it was a dream.”
“You’re not that creative,” he scoffed.
“Charlie!” I remembered, thoughtlessly jumping up again and heading to the door.
“He left an hour ago — after reattaching your battery cables, I might add. I have to admit I was disappointed. Is that really all it would take to stop you, if you were determined to go?”
I deliberated where I stood, wanting to return to him badly, but afraid I might have morning breath.
“You’re not usually this confused in the morning,” he noted. He held his arms open for me to return. A nearly irresistible invitation.
“I need another human minute,” I admitted.
“I’ll wait.”
I skipped to the bathroom, my emotions unrecognizable. I didn’t know myself, inside or out. The face in the mirror was practically a stranger — eyes too bright, hectic spots of red across my cheekbones. After I brushed my teeth, I worked to straighten out the tangled chaos that was my hair. I splashed my face with cold water, and tried to breathe normally, with no noticeable success. I half-ran back to my room.
It seemed like a miracle that he was there, his arms still waiting for me. He reached out to me, and my heart thumped unsteadily.