Page 419 of The Christmas Wife

He turns off the main road and onto a road that curves around the hillside and heads down toward the water. Below us, the sea stretches out, a mass of darkness, and I shiver. I wrap my arms about myself. He must notice it, for he flips a switch and the air circulating through the Jag grows warmer. He positions the vents, so they’re focused on me, then presses the button for the seat warmer. That’s the kind of man he is, so cued into my needs.

He won’t let me get cold, will make sure I want for nothing… Except maybe, for an emotional commitment from him.

No, that’s not true. Regardless of what he says, we’ve made so much progress. If not, I wouldn’t be here. If not, he wouldn’t have taken this step of bringing me with him to a place where it will only be the two of us for the next week. Another shudder rolls through me. This one is thicker, syrupy. This one is the kind that slides through my bloodstream and coils between my thighs. He reaches the level of the beach, drives down a road,that's rocky enough to make the Jag bumps as he eases it along. He finally brings the car to a stop and switches off the engine. In the silence that follows, broken only by the sound of metal cooling, he stares through the windshield. "Do you really need me, though?"

"Of course, I do."

And when he finally looks at me, the pain in his eyes shoots an arrow through my heart.

"Eddie," I whisper, "what is it? You can tell me anything."

"Are you sure?"

44

Edward

"I’m not who you think I am."

"So you keep saying."

"I can’t be redeemed, Belle. There are things in my past, things I've done, things which were done to me… Things that cannot be undone."

"Tell me, Eddie, I want to know everything. I can help, Eddie."

"And if I don’t want you to?"

She swallows.

"If I don’t want to share them with you, what then?"

Her features pale, and her eyes take on a hurt look. And when she glances away, it’s as if the sun has been hidden by an eclipse. A-n-d this is me. The bastard who cannot help but hurt her. I saw her at Angarrack, witnessed the happiness on her face, her friendliness as she spoke to that woman. Her exuberance as she skipped along to take a picture in front of the lights.

And then, I came along and spoiled it all. I was suspicious of that woman, of everyone near her. It's ingrained in me to be cautious, and she’s right; it's because of the incident.Could I come out and tell her that? No. Could I have been more reticent, more withdrawn through the journey? Of course, not.

I thought I'd learn to lower my walls, to give in to her wants, her needs, to share my past, the events that formed me. I want to dig out my heart and lay it at her feet. I want to shatter the last remaining barriers around my soul and give her a peek. I want to show her I can be the kind of man she'll flourish with. The kind who will compliment her, who will be her partner, her other half. Who will not hold her back. Who will be worthy of her trust. I want…a present and a future with her. The kind I could never imagine for myself. I want her. Only her. And when she finds out what I’ve done to bring her to me, she's going to hate me. And I have to tell her everything. It’s the least I can do. If I were a better man, I’d let her leave me… But I’m not. Instead, I've brought her to the one place where it won’t be easy for her to leave.

"I’m sorry," I force out the words. "Sorry I hurt you."

When she continues to stare straight ahead, I run my fingers through my hair.

"This is who I am, Belle. I’m not the kind given to romantic gestures and?—"

"You took me to see one of the most famous Christmas light displays in the country when you couldn’t stand being there. You gave me your grandmother’s engagement ring. You picked out our wedding rings. You’re wrong, Edward." She stabs a finger at me. "You are the most romantic person I know. You know, instinctively, how to please me. If you’d only let yourself be and stop hiding behind that alpha-holish, brutish, don’t-give-a-damn-front."

I scoff. "I brought you to the middle of nowhere for your honeymoon. I don’t think that’s romantic."

"Is this place special to you or not?" She scowls.

When I don’t reply, she snorts. "That’s what I thought. Bet you’ve never brought anyone else here."

Again, I stay quiet, and she throws up her hands. "That’s what I mean. Your every gesture is romantic."

"My spanking you was romantic?’

"Yes."

"My withholding orgasms was romantic?"

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