Ütle, et see ei ole naljakas ja sa saad jalaga. Ausalt.
Maret täna:"Kas see Twilighti raamat on hea?" Ma sellepeale:"Kas sa tahad kohe aknast välja lennata?"
Maret eile õhtul:"Kes see Taylor Lautner on?" Ma siis:"Kas sa tahad aknast läbi lennata nüüd või nüüd?"
Maret on lamp. Ja tal on esmaspäeval sünnipäev. Screw. Ma ei tea, mis ma talle kingin. /: Masendav. Depressiiiiivne. Screwww!
Edit. (:
Seekord siis need osad Bellsi esimesest raamatust, mis on... Päris head. :D
There you go, Soph. A ma ei pane tervet esimest peatükki, sest see ei ole kõik naljakas.
Ahjaaa. Ja ma ei viitsi neid nii panna, et nad oleks normaalselt. Arvatavasti on kuskil ikka ühes reas aint üks sõna vms.
“I promised we would try,” he whispered, suddenly tense. “If… if I do something wrong, if I
hurt you, you must tell me at once.”
I nodded solemnly, keeping my eyes on his. I took another step through the waves and leaned
my head against his chest.
“Don't be afraid,” I murmured. “We belong together.”
I was abruptly overwhelmed by the truth of my own words. This moment was so perfect, so
right, there was no way to doubt it.
His arms wrapped around me, holding me against him, summer and winter. It felt like every
nerve ending in my body was a live wire.
“Forever,” he agreed, and then pulled us gently into deeper water.
The sun, hot on the bare skin of my back, woke me in the morning. Late morning, maybe
afternoon, I wasn't sure. Everything besides the time was clear, though; I knew exactly where I
was–the bright room with the big white bed, brilliant sunlight streaming through the open
doors. The clouds of netting would soften the shine.
I didn't open my eyes. I was too happy to change anything, no matter how small. The only
sounds were the waves outside, our breathing, my heartbeat.…
I was comfortable, even with the baking sun. His cool skin was the perfect antidote to the heat.
Lying across his wintry chest, his arms wound around me, felt very easy and natural. I wondered idly what I'd been so panicky about last night. My fears all seemed silly now.
His fingers softly trailed down the contours of my spine, and I knew that he knew I was awake.
I kept my eyes shut and tightened my arms around his neck, holding myself closer to him.
He didn't speak; his fingers moved up and down my back, barely touching it as he lightly traced
patterns on my skin.
I would have been happy to lie here forever, to never disturb this moment, but my body had
other ideas. I laughed at my impatient stomach. It seemed sort of prosaic to be hungry after all
that had passed last night. Like being brought back down to earth from some great height.
“What's funny?” he murmured, still stroking my back. The sound of his voice, serious and
husky, brought with it a deluge of memories from the night, and I felt a blush color my face and
neck.
To answer his question, my stomach growled. I laughed again. “You just can't escape being
human for very long.”
I waited, but he did not laugh with me. Slowly, sinking through the many layers of bliss that
clouded my head, came the realization of a different atmosphere outside my own glowing sphere
of happiness.
I opened my eyes; the first thing I saw was the pale, almost silvery skin of his throat, the arc of
his chin above my face. His jaw was taut. I propped myself up on my elbow so I could see his
face.
He was staring at the frothy canopy above us, and he didn't look at me as I studied his grave
features. His expression was a shock–it sent a physical jolt through my body.
“Edward,” I said, a strange little catch in my throat, “what is it? What's wrong?”
“You have to ask?” His voice was hard, cynical.
My first instinct, the product of a lifetime of insecurities, was to wonder what I had done wrong.
I thought through everything that had happened, but I couldn't find any sour note in the
memory. It had all been simpler than I'd expected; we'd fit together like corresponding pieces,
made to match up. This had given me a secret satisfaction–we were compatible physically, as
well as all the other ways. Fire and ice, somehow existing together without destroying each
other. More proof that I belonged with him.
I couldn't think of any part that would make him look like this–so severe and cold. What had I
missed?
His finger smoothed the worried lines on my forehead.
“What are you thinking?” he whispered.
“You're upset. I don't understand. Did I… ?” I couldn't finish.
His eyes tightened. “How badly are you hurt, Bella? The truth–don't try to downplay it.”
“Hurt?” I repeated; my voice came out higher than usual because the word took me so by
surprise.
He raised one eyebrow, his lips a tight line.
I made a quick assessment, stretching my body automatically, tensing and flexing my muscles.
There was stiffness, and a lot of soreness, too, it was true, but mostly there was the odd
sensation that my bones all had become unhinged at the joints, and I had changed halfway into
the consistency of a jellyfish. It was not an unpleasant feeling.
And then I was a little angry, because he was darkening this most perfect of all mornings with
his pessimistic assumptions.
“Why would you jump to that conclusion? I've never been better than I am now.”
His eyes closed. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop acting like I'm not a monster for having agreed to this.”
“Edward!” I whispered, really upset now. He was pulling my bright memory through the
darkness, staining it. “Don't ever say that.”
He didn't open his eyes; it was like he didn't want to see me.
“Look at yourself, Bella. Then tell me I'm not a monster.”
Wounded, shocked, I followed his instruction unthinkingly and then gasped.
What had happened to me? I couldn't make sense of the fluffy white snow that clung to my
skin. I shook my head, and a cascade of white drifted out of my hair.
I pinched one soft white bit between my fingers. It was a piece of down.
“Why am I covered in feathers?” I asked, confused.
He exhaled impatiently. “I bit a pillow. Or two. That's not what I'm talking about.”
“You… bit a pillow? Why?”
“Look, Bella!” he almost growled. He took my hand–very gingerly–and stretched my arm out.
“Look at that.”
This time, I saw what he meant.
Under the dusting of feathers, large purplish bruises were beginning to blossom across the pale
skin of my arm. My eyes followed the trail they made up to my shoulder, and then down across
my ribs. I pulled my hand free to poke at a discoloration on my left forearm, watching it fade
where I touched and then reappear. It throbbed a little.
So lightly that he was barely touching me, Edward placed his hand against the bruises on my
arm, one at a time, matching his long fingers to the patterns.
“Oh,” I said.
I tried to remember this–to remember pain–but I couldn't. I couldn't recall a moment when his
hold had been too tight, his hands too hard against me. I only remembered wanting him to hold
me tighter, and being pleased when he did.…
“I'm… so sorry, Bella,” he whispered while I stared at the bruises. “I knew better than this. I
should not have–” He made a low, revolted sound in the back of his throat. “I am more sorry
than I can tell you.”
He threw his arm over his face and became perfectly still.
I sat for one long moment in total astonishment, trying to come to terms–now that I understood
it–with his misery. It was so contrary to the way that I felt that it was difficult to process.
The shock wore off slowly, leaving nothing in its absence. Emptiness. My mind was blank. I
couldn't think of what to say. How could I explain it to him in the right way? How could I make
him as happy as I was–or as I had been, a moment ago?
I touched his arm, and he didn't respond. I wrapped my fingers around his wrist and tried to pry
his arm off his face, but I could have been yanking on a sculpture for all the good it did me.
“Edward.”
He didn't move.
“Edward?”
Nothing. So, this would be a monologue, then.
“I'm not sorry, Edward. I'm… I can't even tell you. I'm so happy. That doesn't cover it. Don't be
angry. Don't. I'm really f–”
“Do not say the word fine.” His voice was ice cold. “If you value my sanity, do not say that you
are fine.”
“But I am,” I whispered.
“Bella,” he almost moaned. “Don't.”
“No. You don't, Edward.”
He moved his arm; his gold eyes watched me warily.
“Don't ruin this,” I told him. “I. Am. Happy.”
“I've already ruined this,” he whispered.
“Cut it out,” I snapped.
I heard his teeth grind together.
“Ugh!” I groaned. “Why can't you just read my mind already? It's so inconvenient to be a mental
mute!”
His eyes widened a little bit, distracted in spite of himself.
“That's a new one. You love that I can't read your mind.”
“Not today.”
He stared at me. “Why?”
I threw my hands up in frustration, feeling an ache in my shoulder that I ignored. My palms fell
back against his chest with a sharp smack. “Because all this angst would be completely
unnecessary if you could see how I feel right now! Or five minutes ago, anyway. I was perfectly
happy. Totally and completely blissed out. Now–well, I'm sort of pissed, actually.”
“You should be angry at me.”
“Well, I am. Does that make you feel better?”
He sighed. “No. I don't think anything could make me feel better now.”
“That,” I snapped. “That right there is why I'm angry. You are killing my buzz, Edward.”
He rolled his eyes and shook his head.
I took a deep breath. I was feeling more of the soreness now, but it wasn't that bad. Sort of like
the day after lifting weights. I'd done that with Renée during one of her fitness obsessions.
Sixty-five lunges with ten pounds in each hand. I couldn't walk the next day. This was not as
painful as that had been by half.
I swallowed my irritation and tried to make my voice soothing. “We knew this was going to be
tricky. I thought that was assumed. And then–well, it was a lot easier than I thought it would
be. And this is really nothing.” I brushed my fingers along my arm. “I think for a first time, not
knowing what to expect, we did amazing. With a little practice–”
His expression was suddenly so livid that I broke off mid-sentence.
“Assumed? Did you expect this, Bella? Were you anticipating that I would hurt you? Were you
thinking it would be worse? Do you consider the experiment a success because you can walk
away from it? No broken bones–that equals a victory?”
I waited, letting him get it all out. Then I waited some more while his breathing went back to
normal. When his eyes were calm, I answered, speaking with slow precision.
“I didn't know what to expect–but I definitely did not expect how… how… just wonderful and
perfect it was.” My voice dropped to a whisper, my eyes slipped from his face down to my hands. “I mean, I don't know how it was for you, but it was like that for me.”
A cool finger pulled my chin back up.
“Is that what you're worried about?” he said through his teeth. “That I didn't enjoy myself?”
My eyes stayed down. “I know it's not the same. You're not human. I just was trying to explain
that, for a human, well, I can't imagine that life gets any better than that.”
He was quiet for so long that, finally, I had to look up. His face was softer now, thoughtful.
“It seems that I have more to apologize for.” He frowned. “I didn't dream that you would
construe the way I feel about what I did to you to mean that last night wasn't… well, the best
night of my existence. But I don't want to think of it that way, not when you were . . .”
My lips curved up a little at the edges. “Really? The best ever?” I asked in a small voice.
He took my face between his hands, still introspective. “I spoke to Carlisle after you and I made
our bargain, hoping he could help me. Of course he warned me that this would be very
dangerous for you.” A shadow crossed his expression. “He had faith in me, though–faith I didn't
deserve.”
No siin nagu nüüd pole enam naljakas. Ma tahaks nüüd Jacob'i raamatut võimalikult kiiresti lugema hakata, niiet ma nüüd lisan selle teise naljaka osa. :D
He sighed. He may have started humming again, too, but I was under before I could be sure.
Later, when I awoke in the dark, it was with shock. The dream had been so very real… so vivid,
so sensory.… I gasped aloud, now, disoriented by the dark room. Only a second ago, it seemed,
I had been under the brilliant sun.
“Bella?” Edward whispered, his arms tight around me, shaking me gently. “Are you all right,
sweetheart?”
“Oh,” I gasped again. Just a dream. Not real. To my utter astonishment, tears overflowed from
my eyes without warning, gushing down my face.
“Bella!” he said–louder, alarmed now. “What's wrong?” He wiped the tears from my hot cheeks
with cold, frantic fingers, but others followed.
“It was only a dream.” I couldn't contain the low sob that broke in my voice. The senseless tears
were disturbing, but I couldn't get control of the staggering grief that gripped me. I wanted so
badly for the dream to be real.
“It's okay, love, you're fine. I'm here.” He rocked me back and forth, a little too fast to soothe.
“Did you have another nightmare? It wasn't real, it wasn't real.”
“Not a nightmare.” I shook my head, scrubbing the back of my hand against my eyes. “It was a
good dream.” My voice broke again.
“Then why are you crying?” he asked, bewildered.
“Because I woke up,” I wailed, wrapping my arms around his neck in a chokehold and sobbing
into his throat.
He laughed once at my logic, but the sound was tense with concern.
“Everything's all right, Bella. Take deep breaths.”
“It was so real,” I cried. “I wanted it to be real.”
“Tell me about it,” he urged. “Maybe that will help.”
“We were on the beach. . . .” I trailed off, pulling back to look with tear-filled eyes at his
anxious angel's face, dim in the darkness. I stared at him broodingly as the unreasonable grief
began to ebb.
“And?” he finally prompted.
I blinked the tears out of my eyes, torn. “Oh, Edward . . .”
“Tell me, Bella,” he pleaded, eyes wild with worry at the pain in my voice.
But I couldn't. Instead I clutched my arms around his neck again and locked my mouth with his
feverishly. It wasn't desire at all–it was need, acute to the point of pain. His response was
instant but quickly followed by his rebuff.
He struggled with me as gently as he could in his surprise, holding me away, grasping my
shoulders.
“No, Bella,” he insisted, looking at me as if he was worried that I'd lost my mind.
My arms dropped, defeated, the bizarre tears spilling in a fresh torrent down my face, a new sob
rising in my throat. He was right–I must be crazy.
He stared at me with confused, anguished eyes.
“I'm s-s-s-orry,” I mumbled.
But he pulled me to him then, hugging me tightly to his marble chest.
“I can't, Bella, I can't!” His moan was agonized.
“Please,” I said, my plea muffled against his skin. “Please, Edward?”
I couldn't tell if he was moved by the tears trembling in my voice, or if he was unprepared to
deal with the suddenness of my attack, or if his need was simply as unbearable in that moment
as my own. But whatever the reason, he pulled my lips back to his, surrendering with a groan.
And we began where my dream had left off.
I stayed very still when I woke up in the morning and tried to keep my breathing even. I was
afraid to open my eyes.
I was lying across Edward's chest, but he was very still and his arms were not wrapped around
me. That was a bad sign. I was afraid to admit I was awake and face his anger–no matter whom
it was directed at today.
Carefully, I peeked through my eyelashes. He was staring up at the dark ceiling, his arms behind
his head. I pulled myself up on my elbow so that I could see his face better. It was smooth,
expressionless.
“How much trouble am I in?” I asked in a small voice.
“Heaps,” he said, but turned his head and smirked at me.
I breathed a sigh of relief. “I am sorry,” I said. “I didn't mean… Well, I don't know exactly what
that was last night.” I shook my head at the memory of the irrational tears, the crushing grief.
“You never did tell me what your dream was about.”
“I guess I didn't–but I sort of showed you what it was about.” I laughed nervously.
“Oh,” he said. His eyes widened, and then he blinked. “Interesting.”
“It was a very good dream,” I murmured. He didn't comment, so a few seconds later I asked,
“Am I forgiven?”
“I'm thinking about it.”
I sat up, planning to examine myself–there didn't seem to be any feathers, at least. But as I
moved, an odd wave of vertigo hit. I swayed and fell back against the pillows.
“Whoa… head rush.”
His arms were around me then. “You slept for a long time. Twelve hours.”
“Twelve?” How strange.
I gave myself a quick once-over while I spoke, trying to be inconspicuous about it. I looked fine.
The bruises on my arms were still a week old, yellowing. I stretched experimentally. I felt fine,
too. Well, better than fine, actually.
“Is the inventory complete?”
I nodded sheepishly. “The pillows all appear to have survived.”
“Unfortunately, I can't say the same for your, er, nightgown.” He nodded toward the foot of the
bed, where several scraps of black lace were strewn across the silk sheets.
“That's too bad,” I said. “I liked that one.”
“I did, too.”
“Were there any other casualties?” I asked timidly.
“I'll have to buy Esme a new bed frame,” he confessed, glancing over his shoulder. I followed
his gaze and was shocked to see that large chunks of wood had apparently been gouged from
the left side of the headboard.
“Hmm.” I frowned. “You'd think I would have heard that.”
“You seem to be extraordinarily unobservant when your attention is otherwise involved.”
“I was a bit absorbed,” I admitted, blushing a deep red.
He touched my burning cheek and sighed. “I'm really going to miss that.”
I stared at his face, searching for any signs of the anger or remorse I feared. He gazed back at me
evenly, his expression calm but otherwise unreadable.
“How are you feeling?”
He laughed.
“What?” I demanded.
“You look so guilty–like you've committed a crime.”
“I feel guilty,” I muttered.
“So you seduced your all-too-willing husband. That's not a capital offense.”
He seemed to be teasing.
My cheeks got hotter. “The word seduced implies a certain amount of premeditation.”
“Maybe that was the wrong word,” he allowed.
“You're not angry?”
He smiled ruefully. “I'm not angry.”
“Why not?”
“Well . . .” He paused. “I didn't hurt you, for one thing. It was easier this time, to control myself,
to channel the excesses.” His eyes flickered to the damaged frame again. “Maybe because I had
a better idea of what to expect.”
A hopeful smile started to spread across my face. “I told you that it was all about practice.”
He rolled his eyes.
My stomach growled, and he laughed. “Breakfast time for the human?” he asked.
“Please,” I said, hopping out of bed. I moved too quickly, though, and had to stagger drunkenly
to regain my balance. He caught me before I could stumble into the dresser.
“Are you all right?”
“If I don't have a better sense of equilibrium in my next life, I'm demanding a refund.”
I cooked this morning, frying up some eggs–too hungry to do anything more elaborate.
Impatient, I flipped them onto a plate after just a few minutes.
“Since when do you eat eggs sunny-side up?” he asked.
“Since now.”
“Do you know how many eggs you've gone through in the last week?” He pulled the trash bin
out from under the sink–it was full of empty blue cartons.
“Weird,” I said after swallowing a scorching bite. “This place is messing with my appetite.” And
my dreams, and my already dubious balance. “But I like it here. We'll probably have to leave
soon, though, won't we, to make it to Dartmouth in time? Wow, I guess we need to find a place
to live and stuff, too.”
He sat down next to me. “You can give up the college pretense now–you've gotten what you
wanted. And we didn't agree to a deal, so there are no strings attached.”
I snorted. “It wasn't a pretense, Edward. I don't spend my free time plotting like some people
do. What can we do to wear Bella out today?” I said in a poor impression of his voice. He
laughed, unashamed. “I really do want a little more time being human.” I leaned over to run my
hand across his bare chest. “I have not had enough.”
He gave me a dubious look. “For this?” he asked, catching my hand as it moved down his
stomach. “Sex was the key all along?” He rolled his eyes. “Why didn't I think of that?” he
muttered sarcastically. “I could have saved myself a lot of arguments.”
I laughed. “Yeah, probably.”
“You are so human,” he said again.
“I know.”
A hint of a smile pulled at his lips. “We're going to Dartmouth? Really?”
“I'll probably fail out in one semester.”
“I'll tutor you.” The smile was wide now. “You're going to love college.”
“Do you think we can find an apartment this late?”
He grimaced, looking guilty. “Well, we sort of already have a house there. You know, just in
case.”
“You bought a house?”
“Real estate is a good investment.”
I raised one eyebrow and then let it go. “So we're ready, then.”
“I'll have to see if we can keep your 'before' car for a little longer. . . .”
“Yes, heaven forbid I not be protected from tanks.”
He grinned.
“How much longer can we stay?” I asked.
“We're fine on time. A few more weeks, if you want. And then we can visit Charlie before we
go to New Hampshire. We could spend Christmas with Renée. . . .”
His words painted a very happy immediate future, one free of pain for everyone involved. The
Jacob-drawer, all but forgotten, rattled, and I amended the thought–for almost everyone.
This wasn't getting any easier. Now that I'd discovered exactly how good being human could
be, it was tempting to let my plans drift. Eighteen or nineteen, nineteen or twenty… Did it really
matter? I wouldn't change so much in a year. And being human with Edward… The choice got
trickier every day.
“A few weeks,” I agreed. And then, because there never seemed to be enough time, I added,
“So I was thinking–you know what I was saying about practice before?”
He laughed. “Can you hold on to that thought? I hear a boat. The cleaning crew must be here.”
He wanted me to hold on to that thought. So did that mean he was not going to give me any
more trouble about practicing? I smiled.
“Let me explain the mess in the white room to Gustavo, and then we can go out. There's a place
in the jungle on the south–”
“I don't want to go out. I am not hiking all over the island today. I want to stay here and watch
a movie.”
He pursed his lips, trying not to laugh at my disgruntled tone. “All right, whatever you'd like.
Why don't you pick one out while I get the door?”
“I didn't hear a knock.”
He cocked his head to the side, listening. A half second later, a faint, timid rap on the door
sounded. He grinned and turned for the hallway.
I wandered over to the shelves under the big TV and started scanning through the titles. It was
hard to decide where to begin. They had more DVDs than a rental store.
I could hear Edward's low, velvet voice as he came back down the hall, conversing fluidly in
what I assumed was perfect Portuguese. Another, harsher, human voice answered in the same
tongue.
Edward led them into the room, pointing toward the kitchen on his way. The two Brazilians
looked incredibly short and dark next to him. One was a round man, the other a slight female,
both their faces creased with lines. Edward gestured to me with a proud smile, and I heard my
name mixed in with a flurry of unfamiliar words. I flushed a little as I thought of the downy
mess in the white room, which they would soon encounter. The little man smiled at me politely.
But the tiny coffee-skinned woman didn't smile. She stared at me with a mixture of shock,
worry, and most of all, wide-eyed fear. Before I could react, Edward motioned for them to
follow him toward the chicken coop, and they were gone.
When he reappeared, he was alone. He walked swiftly to my side and wrapped his arms around
me.
“What's with her?” I whispered urgently, remembering her panicked expression.
He shrugged, unperturbed. “Kaure's part Ticuna Indian. She was raised to be more
superstitious–or you could call it more aware–than those who live in the modern world. She
suspects what I am, or close enough.” He still didn't sound worried. “They have their own
legends here. The Libishomen–a blood-drinking demon who preys exclusively on beautiful
women.” He leered at me.
Beautiful women only? Well, that was kind of flattering.
“She looked terrified,” I said.
“She is–but mostly she's worried about you.”
“Me?”
“She's afraid of why I have you here, all alone.” He chuckled darkly and then looked toward the wall of movies. “Oh well, why don't you choose something for us to watch? That's an
acceptably human thing to do.”
“Yes, I'm sure a movie will convince her that you're human.” I laughed and clasped my arms
securely around his neck, stretching up on my tiptoes. He leaned down so that I could kiss him,
and then his arms tightened around me, lifting me off the floor so he didn't have to bend.
“Movie, schmovie,” I muttered as his lips moved down my throat, twisting my fingers in his
bronze hair.
Then I heard a gasp, and he put me down abruptly. Kaure stood frozen in the hallway, feathers
in her black hair, a large sack of more feathers in her arms, an expression of horror on her face.
She stared at me, her eyes bugging out, as I blushed and looked down. Then she recovered
herself and murmured something that, even in an unfamiliar language, was clearly an apology.
Edward smiled and answered in a friendly tone. She turned her dark eyes away and continued
down the hall.
“She was thinking what I think she was thinking, wasn't she?” I muttered.
He laughed at my convoluted sentence. “Yes.”
“Here,” I said, reaching out at random and grabbing a movie. “Put this on and we can pretend to
watch it.”
It was an old musical with smiling faces and fluffy dresses on the front.
“Very honeymoonish,” Edward approved.
While actors on the screen danced their way through a perky introduction song, I lolled on the
sofa, snuggled into Edward's arms.
“Will we move back into the white room now?” I wondered idly.
“I don't know.… I've already mangled the headboard in the other room beyond repair–maybe if
we limit the destruction to one area of the house, Esme might invite us back someday.”
I smiled widely. “So there will be more destruction?”
He laughed at my expression. “I think it might be safer if it's premeditated, rather than if I wait
for you to assault me again.”
“It would only be a matter of time,” I agreed casually, but my pulse was racing in my veins.
“Is there something the matter with your heart?”
“Nope. Healthy as a horse.” I paused. “Did you want to go survey the demolition zone now?”
“Maybe it would be more polite to wait until we're alone. You may not notice me tearing the
furniture apart, but it would probably scare them.”
In truth, I'd already forgotten the people in the other room. “Right. Drat.”
Gustavo and Kaure moved quietly through the house while I waited impatiently for them to
finish and tried to pay attention to the happily-ever-after on the screen. I was starting to get
sleepy–though, according to Edward, I'd slept half the day–when a rough voice startled me.
Edward sat up, keeping me cradled against him, and answered Gustavo in flowing Portuguese.
Gustavo nodded and walked quietly toward the front door.
“They're finished,” Edward told me.
“So that would mean that we're alone now?”
“How about lunch first?” he suggested.
I bit my lip, torn by the dilemma. I was pretty hungry.
With a smile, he took my hand and led me to the kitchen. He knew my face so well, it didn't
matter that he couldn't read my mind.
“This is getting out of hand,” I complained when I finally felt full.
“Do you want to swim with the dolphins this afternoon–burn off the calories?” he asked.
“Maybe later. I had another idea for burning calories.”
“And what was that?”
“Well, there's an awful lot of headboard left–”
But I didn't finish. He'd already swept me up into his arms, and his lips silenced mine as he
carried me with inhuman speed to the blue room.
Ja siit hakkab seitsmes peatükk, ehk siis Bellsi esimese raamatu viimane peatükk. Ma nüüd hakkan Jake'i raamatut lugema. Naerge.
