Twilight doesn't belong to me.

It's a cold night, windy and clear, the stars set against the inky black sky like twinkling diamonds. I gaze up at them appraisingly, surprised they're so visible above the lit-up city, even without the moon to hide them. I can't remember them ever looking so brilliant.

Then again, maybe I've never paid attention before tonight, and for good reason. I've never waited this long for a damn cab, so it's not like I've had many opportunities to stand on the street corner and wax poetic over the way the stars look. It seems like all of Seattle is conspiring against me tonight.

With a belabored sigh, I tear my eyes away from the blackness above and focus again on the street. My arm's been waving around in the air for the past ten minutes. Thirteen cabs have passed me by, all filled with warm bodies. I shiver at the thought, reminded once again that I'm standing out here on the corner, practically a human Popsicle. I'm pretty sure that my toes are starting to blacken from frostbite. I frown at the thought, briefly upset that my $50 pedicure will be for naught when all is said and done.

"Fucking Jasper," I mutter, teeth chattering as I continue to wave my hand impatiently in the air. "'Oh, just hop in a cab and meet us for dinner, Rose. No big deal.'"

I let out a string of curses as a Yellow Cab zips by me, the light on its hood despondently dark, and then start whimpering. The cold is spreading upward. I can't lose my legs. They're my best asset.

Well, besides my boobs and my ass.

Oh shit, who am I kidding? I don't want to lose any of it.

"God, I promise if I get a cab right now, I'll never complain again," I whisper up at the sky. One of the stars I was staring at just moments ago twinkles prettily down at me and I inhale sharply, looking left and then right, waiting for the taxi that is surely zipping my way to show itself.

If anything, the street gets emptier. I roll my eyes. Apparently God has my number. Or maybe He's pissed that I haven't been to church in fifteen years.

"Fine, a day. I'll give you a day of no complaining if you give me a cab."

Nothing.

I consider just going back home, dinner plans be damned. But the apartment is too quiet, too empty. It's been a month since Royce moved out and I'm still not used to the solitude, so I start walking instead.

I finally manage to flag one down ten minutes and five blocks later. I rub at my cheek with my middle finger, looking up at the sky before I duck inside the cab, which reeks of something vaguely unpleasant.

Oh, but it doesn't matter. It's gloriously warm, the heater blasting color back into my freezing cheeks. It could smell like vomit and piss and I would still be nearly weeping with gratitude.

Actually…

My ringing phone interrupts my suspicious inspection of the seat and floor mats and I pull it out of my pocket, checking the caller ID before whipping it up to my ear in irritation.

"You're a real son of a bitch," I state matter-of-factly.

"Nope, just the older brother of one. Where are you?" Jasper shouts over a low din of noise.

"Where the hell are you, a heavy metal concert?" I reply. I pull my phone away from my ear. "Why are you screaming?"

"I'm at Black Bottle already," he bellows, naming the restaurant in Belltown that I'm finally on my way to. I roll my eyes for the second of what I'm sure will be many times tonight. Jasper came down with a cold last week and for some inexplicable reason it's hard for him to regulate the volume of his voice. He's been vacillating between whispering to me and blowing out my eardrum for the past five days.

"Take it down a notch, Axl, I can hear you. And by the way, you owe me for my cab ride over. It took me twenty minutes to get one."

"Whatever, just hurry up." His voice drops and I squint in concentration, as if that will help me decipher his hushed words. "Alice is on her second glass of wine already. She's going to be wasted by the time you guys get here."

My 'what the fuck' flag immediately goes up in conjunction with my eyebrow as I echo him. "'You guys?'"

There's a shuffling sound and some whispering, followed by a giggle and an "uh oh." Alice is going to be wasted, huh?

"What did you say?" Jasper mouth-breathes.

"What did you say? Who is 'you guys'? I'm a party of one here, as you're well aware."

There's more shuffling and Jasper clears his throat uncomfortably. Dammit. He always does that when he's about to deliver bad news and I have a sinking feeling I know what that news is.

Or rather, who that news is. My vision goes red.

"Tell me you did not invite Edward to dinner, Jasper."

"Okay, I didn't invite him to dinner."

"Jesus, you did!" I slump back against the cracked vinyl seat. The cab driver glances nervously at me in his rearview mirror and I flash him a plastic smile.

I can hear the irritation in Jasper's voice as he snorts. "You're acting like I invited Stalin to eat with us, Rosalie," he says in that infuriating, condescending older brother voice that I hate.

"You know what? You're a dick. I'm not coming," I state petulantly, burying my chin into the collar of my coat.

Jasper likes to ignore the fact that Edward and I can't stand the sight of each other, much less can hold a civilized conversation over an entire dinner. He and Alice are constantly inviting us to the same events and conveniently forgetting to tell one of us the other is coming. Sometimes I wonder if it's some kind of weird entertainment for them.

"Yes, you are," he sighs. "I'm picking up the tab tonight and I know you're morally opposed to turning down free meals."

It's infinitely annoying having a brother who knows me so well.

"I hate Edward," I remind him.

"You say that like I don't know."

"Do you? You and Alice always do this to me. I'm starting to wonder if you invite him to these things just to punish me."

"I invite him to these things because he's my best friend, Rosalie," he says dryly. "Let's turn down the Me Dial, okay?"

I sigh sharply. "Whatever. I'm just going to be a bitch the entire time."

"Wow, really?" he replies sarcastically. "Listen, hurry up, okay? We're starving."

He hangs up before I have a chance to respond and I throw my Blackberry into the furthest cavernous reaches of my purse, then cross my arms and resume my despondent stare out the window.

Edward Cullen. God, just thinking of his name makes my blood turn hot. That man lives to piss me off. I think the only person he loved to piss off more was Royce.

Oh, and piss him off he did. Royce hated Edward. He'd get this look on his face whenever he saw him, a glazed-over, mildly homicidal glint to his eye. Only part of it was due to the subtle digs Edward loved to get in whenever possible, which Royce made too easy for him, seeing as how Royce's favorite subject was Royce. No, it was also that he was sure Edward had a thing for me. Somehow it was always turned on me. I was accused more than once of hooking up with him behind Royce's back.

Which is really funny considering he was the one hooking up with a junior associate at his firm behind my back. Apparently guilt makes people paranoid. Who knew?

I push that thought to the back of my mind, ignoring the ache that starts spreading through my chest. I wonder if Edward knows Royce and I broke up. I'm sure if he did, I'd have heard his smug "I told you so" from across the city already. He gave me his unsolicited opinion on Royce often while we were still together, usually when he was drunk and I'd show up at happy hour without Royce, red-eyed and bitch-faced. He'd just hand me a shot and call Royce an asshole and then give me this wry smirk when I'd make some bitchy remark about glass houses and pots and kettles. Those conversations usually ended with a "fuck you" and a side helping of the silent treatment for the rest of the night.

God, I'm still bitter that Edward was right about Royce. You'd think after four years, I'd have seen it coming. But even with all the warnings, even after countless crying phone calls to Alice and the uneasy feeling that settled into my gut those last months before we broke up, I was still blindsided when I found out what Royce had done.

I haven't seen Edward since Royce moved out. It's one of the reasons I'm dreading this, because he'll have plenty to say and my pride is still so wounded. I'm not sure I'll be able to muster up the proper amount of verbal arsenic if the subject is broached and Edward gets his claws in.

I snap out of my reverie as the car coasts to a stop in front of Black Bottle. Handing the driver a $20, I hop out and haul ass inside, shaking off my melancholy as I go. The cold is nipping at my cheeks and nose and I rub at the tip, looking around the bustling restaurant in search of Jasper's blonde mop.

Instead, my eyes immediately find windblown chestnut and auburn. My eyes travel downward, following the path of unruly hair to the nape of a long, golden-skinned neck. Broad shoulders encased in a leather jacket are just below that, arm outstretched to drape over the back of a chair occupied by Alice.

I hear a sharp intake of breath and realize half a second too late that it was memaking that stupidly dazzled noise.

There's only thing more annoying than Edward Cullen himself, and that's how insanely attracted to him I am. I've tried to stop it, but it's no use. I'm as powerless against that smile and those eyes and that ass as every other girl. I just hide it better.

Or maybe not, given that Royce thought we were getting it on. No, Edward and I never hooked up, but I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about it once or twice.

Or many, many times.

Irritation washes over me at that thought and I look purposefully toward Jasper, waving as I catch his eye.

"Hey, guys," I say once I reach their table, studiously ignoring Edward. I can feel him watching me, though. My heart is pounding.

"What took you so long?" Alice says by way of greeting, standing and leaning over Edward to give me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

"Cab issues," I reply. I turn to Jasper, holding out my palm. "Pay up, darling brother."

A $20 bill appears out of nowhere between his fingers and I snatch it, kissing him on his stubble-strewn cheek.

"Princess," a smooth voice drawls. My nostrils flare as I turn. I'm almost grateful for his impeccable timing - when he opens his mouth, all of the fantasies that were swirling around in my sex-deprived mind vanish.

Kind of.

There's a drawn-out pause in which old western standoff music may or may not be playing. I let my gaze drift up and down the length of his lean body and then get momentarily distracted by the subtle ripple of his arm muscles as he shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it on the back of his chair. The standoff tunes are internally replaced by Marvin Gaye.

Let's get it on, indeed.

"Fuckward," I finally say, all sugar. One side of his mouth pulls up into an amused half-smirk.

"Oh Jesus, here we go," Jasper mutters, flopping back down in his seat. Alice shoots him a sympathetic glance, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. I roll my eyes.

"Why are you surprised, Jas?" Edward asks. "This is how Princess and I communicate."

"When are you going to stop calling me Princess?" I question, arching my brow. I can't remember the last time he called me by my name, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. The way he says my name is…

Well, it's hot. His mouth puckers around the 'Rosa', the tip of his tongue flicking out to caress the 'lie', his voice deep and smooth, almost crooning. And anything he does to turn me on just pisses me off further, so I don't discourage his nicknames too much.

"When you stop calling me Fuckward."

"But that's what you are," I argue.

"Oh, I see." Edward and I sink into our chairs in unison and his eyes narrow thoughtfully as he cocks his head. "In that case, I should probably change your nickname to -"

"Hey, we should definitely get the ceviche, don't you think?" Alice pipes up, waving her menu in Edward's face. "And maybe the tuna?"

"Did you know I was going to be here?" I ask, ignoring Alice's attempt at a subject change as I shrug out of my coat. I don't miss the way his eyes linger on me as he picks up his menu and I internally pat myself on the back for wearing a low-cut blouse. And then I internally slap myself for patting myself on the back.

"No, and what a pleasant surprise you are," he replies, finally finding my face again. "It's been too long."

I grab a menu, scanning it nonchalantly. "Funny, I was just thinking that it hadn't been long enough."

"Your comebacks get smarter every time I see you, Hale."

"I apologize." My voice is dripping with sarcasm, which makes him grin. I swear he gets off on this. "I'm not interested in wasting precious brainpower on a useless conversation, Cullen."

Edward sets his menu down, tilting his head. His eyes crinkle a little at the corners as his mouth pulls up slightly. "You're off your game. The sour bitch thing isn't really working for you tonight."

"The insufferable dick thing isn't working for you, but then again, you've been doing that for the past thirty years. I guess you're just used to it now."

"You've only known me for two," he points out.

I smile thinly. "I doubt that part of your overall winning personality was a recent development."

"Are you two done with your verbal foreplay for the moment?" Alice asks, smacking Edward with a menu. I notice suddenly that our waitress is hovering nearby, pen and paper in hand. "I'm starving."

"You're a mean drunk, Ali," Edward replies, rubbing his arm and snatching the menu from Alice's hand.

"Please don't mention foreplay when talking about my sister and best friend," Jasper adds. Alice throws him an impatient frown.

"Please get me a drink," I implore the waitress.

She blinks at me, unimpressed. But when Edward clears his throat and she turns to him, her insolent frown melts into a smile. He grins back, darting a glance at me before turning his full attention back to her. "We'd like a glass of Pinot Noir, two Jacks & Coke, and a whiskey sour." He looks across the table at me again and in the low light of the restaurant, his expression is almost soft. "Right?"

I nod, both annoyed and flattered that he remembers my drink order.

Alice orders approximately forty small plates of food and I look sideways at Jasper to find him gazing over at her. His expression is soft, too, with the addition of affectionate and disgustingly loving, and I know it's not the lighting.

Alice started out as my best friend in third grade and ended up as Jasper's wife. She grew up with Jasper and me, but it wasn't until our freshman and Jasper's junior year at the University of Washington that they finally started dating. Apparently I was the only one of the three of us that knew they were in love with each other long before that, but they figured it out eventually and have been nauseatingly happy ever since.

I've always secretly been envious of their relationship, have measured the kind of love they have against my own. But Royce and I never fell into the familiar, deep love that Jasper and Alice seemed to automatically have. I knew, especially at the end, that love didn't feel the way I felt with Royce, or more importantly, the way Royce made me feel. Being with him wasn't easy. Leaving him was.

I don't know what's written on my face when our waitress returns with drinks, but when I look across the table at Edward, he's watching me carefully.

I can't read him at all.

I let Jasper and Alice steer the conversation, sipping at my drink distractedly. Edward and Jasper shoot the shit about work for a while – they're both graphic designers at a small ad agency – and then Alice takes over, giving us the latest on the renovations she and Jasper are making. They bought an adorable Craftsman-style house a few months ago just outside of the city. Jasper grumbles about it being a money pit, but I know he loves that they're making this house their home.

"What's the latest with you, sis?" Jasper asks a few minutes after our food is delivered, his mouth full of grilled lamb.

"Same thing as ever, Jasper," I reply shortly. I hope my tone conveys that I don't want to take this conversational path.

Alice holds up a scallop impaled on her fork and waves it around. "Have you seen any new apartments lately?"

Et tu, Alice? Jesus, how else can I convey that this is the last conversation I want to have in front of Edward? My bitch face doesn't seem to be working.

I've been looking for a new place to live since Royce left. I'm desperate to get out of our apartment - it's too big and too empty and holds too many memories. I want new ones that are just mine. "Not since the loft in Belltown last weekend."

"You looking for new apartments?" Edward speaks up.

I let out a sharp sigh, glaring at Jasper out of the corner of my eye. He shrugs, gesturing to Edward with his fork. "He already knows."

"Oh, he knows that Royce cheated on me? That's fantastic, Jasper."

There's a pause. "Yeah, he didn't know that part." He's got that concerned older brother twinkle in his eye and Alice smiles at me sadly from across the table. Their pity feels heavy against my skin, uncomfortable.

I can't even meet Edward's eyes, but I know he's looking at me. "You want to get it over with?" I ask my whiskey.

Edward's voice is low. "Get what over with?"

I take a deep breath and level my gaze at him. He's looking back at me, his elbows resting on the table. He leans in, the candlelight dancing off his features. God, he's gorgeous and the way he's looking at me is so distracting. I almost forget that we're with Jasper and Alice, that they're watching all of this.

"I'm sorry -" he starts.

"No, you're not," I interrupt, my cheeks flaming with irritation and embarrassment. If Alice and Jasper's pity is a weight on me, I don't know what to describe Edward's as. It goes right to my bones, makes them feel hollow and fragile.

He exhales impatiently. "Can I finish what I was going to say?"

I set my jaw and cross my arms, mentally prepare myself for what he's about to tell me. "Fine."

"I'm sorry that he hurt you like that. Am I sorry you broke up? No. Royce was a prick and I meant everything I ever said to him. He deserved to hear it from someone. I know you weren't saying it to him." He stops, gazing down at the table as he twists his glass absently. He looks up and his eyes dart to all of us, like he forgot where he was. He looks at me last and then shrugs, his mouth pulling up slightly. "And I hope to god the next guy you date isn't such an asshole, because Jasper and I need another guy for poker nights."

My jaw has completely unhinged from my head. Completely.

"Hear, hear," Jasper says, raising his glass. His hand closes around my wrist underneath the table and he squeezes gently. I have to swallow hard three times to dissolve the lump that's suddenly sitting in my throat.

I look over at Alice, who's smiling behind her wine glass and looking sideways at Edward. When she meets my gaze, she raises her glass slightly and I wonder if she knew this was coming.

But how? Of all the scenarios I've played out in my head on how this conversation would go, this didn't even make the top one hundred. Or thousand. Or million.

"Not what you expected me to say?" Edward guesses and that smirk is back, but it's not the same. It's almost unsure and it shakes me.

"I…" Have no idea what to say.

"You may think I'm an asshole, but I never wanted to see you get fucked over, and I wouldn't make light of your situation," he continues.

I want to tell him to shut up, because he's chipping away at something inside of me, crumbling this wall that I've had up with him since we met at his and Jasper's work Christmas party two years ago.

At the same time, god, I want to hear everything.

"Okay," I say finally, clearing my throat when the word comes out hoarse.

"Okay?" Edward repeats teasingly, his eyebrows rising with the corners of his mouth. "Don't strain yourself there, Hale."

Somehow I know he's taking us back to where we're comfortable and I thank him in the only way I can.

"What do you want me to say, Cullen?" I snipe. "Congratulations for being a nice guy for a minute?"

He chuckles and Jasper shakes his head, moving us on to the next subject, but Alice is still watching me with that secret little smile. Like she knows. Like she can tell the way I'm looking at Edward now is different.

The rest of dinner is uneventful, but I can barely eat. There's no room in my stomach for the food; it's too twisted in knots. An inexplicable energy buzzes between Edward and me, like the spark that his words ignited in me are hanging in the air, too. I feel his eyes on me whenever I'm not looking at him, which is far too often. I can tell he feels it, too; his knee bobs erratically underneath the table. His foot hits mine twice, but he doesn't apologize either time, just stares at my mouth and then into my eyes. I can't even muster up the energy to be a bitch to him. He's completely derailed me.

It was easier to resist him before, when I told myself that he was just a dick. Now I'm not sure I'll be able to.

True to his word, Jasper pays and we all bundle up and make our way out of the restaurant. I swear I feel Edward's hand on the small of my back, but then he's next to me instead of behind, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Thanks for dinner," I say once we get outside. I shiver my way over to Jasper and plant a kiss on his cheek. He gives me a quick squeeze, tells me he loves me and will call me tomorrow, and then moves over to Edward. They do their dumb guy handshake and I'm so busy watching them that I don't feel Alice until she's got her arms wrapped around me tightly.

"What a night, huh?" she murmurs.

"Did you know he was going to say those things?" I ask, breathing in her familiar honeysuckle scent. She's worn the same perfume since she was in high school and it roots me.

"I didn't know know, but I had a feeling."

"How?"

Alice pulls back and grins, patting my arm. "Oh, I don't know, I have eyes and common sense? Night, Rosie."

"I hate that nickname," I call after her as she drifts over to my brother.

"Better than Princess, right, Edward?" She nudges his shoulder.

"Oh, I don't know," he replies, his eyes piercing when they meet mine. "I'm kind of partial to it."

"All right, we'll see you guys later. We're going to go home and make a baby." Alice punches Jasper's arm and he lets out a laughing yelp. "Just kidding. We're going to practice making a baby."

Alice rolls her eyes and blows us kisses and they disappear around the corner, leaving Edward and me. Alone.

God, I don't trust myself right now and what I might do if we're alone like this for much longer. I'm used to having Royce as a roadblock for my attraction, or Edward's smart ass mouth. Without either of those, I'm on shaky ground.

"I guess I should get a cab. I'll see you later, Cullen," I mutter, not meeting his eyes. I turn on my heel to find a cab, but he grabs a hold of my wrist. My fingers curl into my palm.

He drops my hand, but his fingers linger briefly on the inside of my wrist. When I look at him - finally, because I can't help myself - he's so close. Too close. "I'll ride with you," he murmurs.

"What?"

"Our places are in the same direction."

Alarm bells are ringing in my head, but I turn them off and nod. Edward steps in front of me, lifting his arm to hail a cab coming down the street, and it slides soundlessly up to the curb. He opens the door for me and we look at each other for a long moment. I don't know what he's thinking. Hell, I don't know what I'm thinking.

Maybe I shouldn't think at all.

It's dark and silent in the backseat as we wind our way through the streets of Seattle. He sits close, breathing quietly, his clothing rustling as he shifts once, twice. Warmth emanates off of him and I can feel his eyes tracing the contours of my face. I stare at the headrest in front of me, my own eyes tracing the graffiti scrawled in barely legible letters. 'Fvck', it reads, and my swallow echoes against the padded and ripping interior.

"Hey, Hale." His voice is low, mellifluous.

"What."

I don't want to encourage conversation right now, not when I'm two seconds away from climbing over the console dividing us and cutting the mounting sexual tension with a proverbial knife – my mouth on his, my hands exploring his body. Just the thought of it sends my heart slamming against my chest and the breath leaves my lungs. I turn my head toward the window so he can't see the naked longing on my face and my exhalation causes the glass to fog.

"Can I use your bathroom? I don't think I can wait until I get to my apartment."

Is he lying? It sounds like he is, or maybe I just want him to be. I want it to be an excuse.

I whisper my response. It's short. I don't trust myself right now. "Yes."

Air streams steadily out of his nose and I turn to him, my eyes sharp on his, which are dark, unreadable. His face is shadowed, lighting up intermittently as we pass under street lamps.

"Puke in my house and you die. I just had it cleaned."

His lips curl up into a wicked smile. My pulse is pounding against the delicate skin of my wrist. I can see it moving out of the corner of my eye and I drop my hand next to my thigh, out of sight, though I know the cab is too dark for him to notice.

"That's not why I need it. I'm not drunk." He looks closely at me, searching my face. "Are you?"

I want to say no, but what will my excuse be if I do something stupid? Instead I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, running my tongue against it, and look out the window again.

We pull up to my building a few minutes later and I scramble for the door, tripping out onto the street. I lean back down to throw the driver the crumpled-up bill I've had clenched in my sweaty hand but am met by Edward's face less than an inch from mine.

"I paid," he says, unfolding himself from the backseat and slamming the door. I open my mouth to say something – 'thank you', 'back the fuck up', anything will do – but instead I turn on my heel and practically run to the front door, hastily punching in the door code.

We walk in silence up the stairs, his footsteps behind me falling in time with the heavy thump of my heart. He's close, too close and at the same time so far away. I sprint the rest of the way, trying to get to and unlock my door before he can catch up so that I can distance myself once we get inside. I briefly consider locking myself in my room until he leaves, but that seems dramatic, not to mention completely obvious.

His legs are longer than mine, though, and he does catch up just as I'm sticking the key in the lock. I make the mistake of looking over at him, my fingers clutching at the cold metal like a lifeline.

His hands are stuffed into his jacket pockets and his eyes are hooded, his lips parted slightly. He's staring at my mouth.

I'm vaguely aware of both shaking and nodding my head as his icy fingers close around my wrist, pulling my hand away from the keys. My mouth moves with silent words – a plea for him to stop, to start? – but then I'm pressed against the door and he's pressed against me and his breath is on my lips. He smells like mint and leather, like soap and warmth.

We stare at each other for what feels like forever. His eyes search my face, looking for permission.

I give it to him when I close my eyes. And then I feel the whisper-soft touch of his nose against my jaw line and my head tips backward to allow him better access, banging softly against the door. I shudder against him but remain still otherwise until his mouth is against my ear.

"I want you, Rosalie."

Just four words undo the entirety of my resolve, what I've been holding on to so stubbornly. Or maybe it's the way he says my name, thick with longing, unfamiliar in his timbre.

It doesn't matter what it is, just that this is and we are, and I push against his chest, maneuvering my lips to meet his. Our mouths are instantly open, ragged breath and tangled tongues. My hands reach up and make fists in his hair and his reach down to cup my ass and pull me closer against him.

God, I want to hate him right now for making me feel this way, for touching me the way he is. And I want to hate my disloyal body for responding so readily to it, my legs for wrapping around his waist, my hands for clutching at the silken strands of his hair as his teeth scrape lightly against my pulsing jugular. But I don't. It feels too good.

And I don't stop, not when he reaches past me and unlocks the door, not when we stumble into the darkness of my apartment. I know exactly what I'm doing, what he's doing, what we're about to do together and I can finally admit to myself that I want this. I want him.

We find a wall in the hallway and he pushes me up against it, fumbling with the buttons of my coat. I practically rip his off of him and it lands in a heap at our feet. Mine follows close behind and then our shirts are gone, too. Feeling his skin against mine for the first time is unbelievable. I can feel his heart pounding so hard and my hand goes to his chest, right over it. I move to kiss him but he ducks away, placing a palm against the wall next to my ear.

"Are you drunk?" he asks.

"Why do you keep asking me that?" I mean to snap, but it comes out as a moan because his body against mine feels so good.

"Because I want to make sure."

"Make sure –" I stop when his mouth covers mine and his tongue slides in, teasing. He's deliciously hot, minty and insistent and I whimper, my hands making fists in his shirt. When he pulls back, I'm completely breathless and so turned on that I have to rub my thighs together, trying to relieve the ache between them.

"That you won't regret this when it's over," he replies. His expression is unreadable, but there's something in his voice, this trace of vulnerability that does something weird and uncomfortable to my heart.

"I won't."

He looks at me for a long moment, like he's not sure he believes me, but his palm is ghosting up my stomach. I shudder when he cups my breast, his thumb moving back and forth over my nipple.

"Where's the bedroom?" His voice is husky, his eyes heavy on me.

"End of the hall," I whisper.

We get there eventually. I lose my jeans before we even get through the doorway of my bedroom. He would've lost his, too, but I was so distracted by the way his tongue and mouth felt licking and sucking down my neck that I forgot how to work a belt buckle. Still, I manage to get them off before we hit the bed.

I fall back onto it and he follows, hovering over me, barely touching. He draws my arm over my head, his hand grasping my wrist, and I bite my lip, waiting and wanting. His eyes move over me like I know his hands will soon.

"Jesus, you're beautiful," he murmurs and his eyes follow the path that his fingers make, tracing along the swell of my breasts and down the middle of my stomach. My skin shivers underneath his touch and he looks up at me, one corner of his mouth pulling up. "It's too bad about that mouth of yours."

"Oh, Cullen, you haven't seen the half of what I can do with my mouth."

"Promise?" His eyes get dark and that smirk I usually hate spreads across his lips. I don't hate it so much right now. I want to bite at his bottom lip and then run my tongue across it.

He sits back on his heels, pulling my legs over his thighs. His fingers curl under the waistband of my thong, tugging at it.

"I'm not promising you anything," I state.

But I am promising him something when my hips lift off the bed and his fingers skim down my legs with my underwear. I kick them the rest of the way off as he flicks the front clasp of my bra. And then his hands smooth the fabric away, sliding over my breasts, and I arch up into him, letting out a moan when he pinches my nipples.

"We'll see," he says in a low, rough voice. My thighs tense in anticipation. And then he's on top of me, his boxer briefs the only things separating us. His skin against mine feels…god, so good. He moves against me, an infuriatingly slow grind, and swallows my impatient groan. His mouth is warm, his tongue teasing and tempting and then deep and insistent when my fingernails scratch lightly over his back. I can feel the muscles underneath my fingertips, can feel them in his stomach and thighs, contracting and releasing with the movement of his hips.

"Did you have this bed when you and King were together?" he asks suddenly, pulling away.

I stare at him, already missing the feel and taste of him. "What?"

His gaze is intent on me. "Did Royce fuck you in this bed, Rosalie?"

"Yes," I reply, too stunned to say it's none of his business.

He grins mischievously, shifting over me as his hand drifts down my side. "Good."

"God, you're a dick," I breathe out, on fire from his touch.

"You like it." Hiis voice drops and my stomach does, too, when he says, "Let me show you how good it can be. What you deserve."

I open my mouth to respond – to tell him to fuck off, to tell him that he's right, to ask him what he thinks I deserve – but then his hand is between my legs and he starts stroking and teasing me and I can only moan. He looks down at where he's touching me, making a sound low in his throat and deep in his chest and it's like a match is lit.

He covers my body with his again and we both tug at the last layer of clothing separating us until he's naked with me, over me. I dig in my nightstand for a condom and hand it to him, watching as he rolls it on. His hands are shaking slightly. From what, I don't know, but I feel the energy between us again, charged. It ignites me in a new way, from the base of my spine to the top, spreading through veins and awakening nerves. My body just responds to his, like it was meant to. I answer to his fingertips and his mouth and the hands that are spreading my knees, pushing one up and out when he presses against me again.

He says my name when he slides in, looks down at me with half-closed eyes and slackened mouth, and we find the perfect rhythm slowly, testing one another out. His hand goes back to my wrist, holding it above my head. I let him take that control from me. I want him to have it. His mouth is everywhere – on my mouth, down my jaw and neck, sucking at the spot right beneath my ear.

I discover that he likes it when I moan in his ear, when I say his name. He goes faster, deeper when I ask for more. Our fingers lock together. The bed creaks with our effort, but then he starts talking to me and I can't hear it anymore, just hear him say how good and wet and fuck, Rosalie. Him saying my name like that, like he craves me, wants to consume me, nearly undoes me completely.

Then, "Are you close?"

I am, but those three words take me beyond it. I lose control completely and my body isn't mine anymore but his, and he takes it all, moaning into my hair. I don't know when I begin and he ends, just that we finish together.

We lay for a long time, remembering how to breathe and letting our bones and muscles grow back. We don't talk with words, just touch. His fingertips brush up and down the inside of my wrist. I could fall asleep like this, but then the bed dips and shifts. I watch him through half-open eyes when he gets up and goes to the bathroom. We pass in the hallway after he gets out and as I'm heading in and he pins me against the wall, takes my chin in his hand and covers my mouth with his. This kiss is slow and sleepy, sated.

When I pad back into the bedroom, I'm nervous. I feel exposed and not because I'm completely naked. I don't know what to say to him after what we've just done, especially considering the fact that for the past two years, we've basically hated each other.

Or at least pretended to. I guess I always knew our antagonism was a cover for something else, even if I refused to admit it. Maybe I didn't want to admit it because I didn't want to want this and be disappointed if it didn't happen.

But it has. And now that I have it, I'm not sure what to do with it.

I stop and Edward looks up at me and then wordlessly lifts the covers. It's strangely intimate. I like him in my bed, inviting me back in like it's his, too. I climb in and curl up, facing him. He pulls me close and I fit right against and into him.

"That was even better than I thought it'd be," he says finally, his words muffled against my hair.

A thrill goes up my spine. He's thought about this. About us. Thank god I wasn't the only one. "What did you think it'd be?"

"Fucking amazing." He pauses and pulls back to look at me. His fingers dance along the curve of my waist and I stare at his bottom lip and how it puffs out slightly, how his lids droop. His eyelashes are almost indecently long.

God, I really like looking at him this close. And having him naked in my bed doesn't suck, either.

"I was pretty good, wasn't I?" I sigh.

He gazes at me, his mouth twisted up. "Will it feed your ego to know that I've wanted this to happen since the first time you bitched at me?"

"You deserved that," I shoot back, remembering our first interaction. "The first thing you said to me was that you could see my bra through my dress."

"I could, and I'm sure everyone else could, too. I thought you should know."

"You told me in front of the president of your company, Edward."

He laughs and his eyes crinkle in a way that I think I might end up liking a lot, especially when it's directed at me. "Damn, and he was so pissed at me for telling you."

I shudder and he laughs again, his fingers continuing to make a circuit from my hip up to my ribs, grazing against the curve of my breast before moving back down again.

"Edward?" I ask, suddenly remembering his words from earlier.

Let me show you how good it can be. What you deserve.

It makes me shiver just thinking about what he said. I want to know what he means.

"Hmm?"

"You said something a little bit ago…" I begin and then trail off, not sure how to phrase it.

"Oh, I think I said a lot of things." He grins. "So did you."

"Can I finish?"

"You already -"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I huff, flipping over. "Forget it."

"Jesus, Hale, get over it," he says. His words are softened by the kiss he places on my shoulder. "Tell me. Please?"

I lay there until he takes me by the hip and rolls me back over. I can make out his features clearly, even in the darkness. A sliver of moonlight seeps in through the blinds, alighting on his hair, which is wild from my fingers.

"What do you think I deserve?" I finally ask.

It's his turn for silence. His eyes move over my face – above my eyes and below, on my mouth – before he meets my gaze. He slides a hand under the pillow. His cheek is mashed against it, making him look almost boyish. "A hell of a lot more than what Royce gave you."

He doesn't say that he'll be the one to give me more, or even that he's capable of it. But when he says, "Can I stay?" I wonder if that's what he means.

I can't help my smile. "You just don't want to pay for the cab fare home."

"That's mostly untrue," he replies, his voice already heavy with sleep.

I stay quiet for a minute, just to let him sweat it out, even though we both already know what my answer is going to be. "All right, but stay on your side of the bed."

He scoots closer at my warning, wraps his arm around my waist and buries his nose into my neck. I feel his smirk radiating against my skin. I'm not sure he wants to cuddle as much as he wants to piss me off and invade my space. And just like that, we're back to where we were before this, only not. It's different now.

And damned if I don't love it.

So many thanks to fngrcufs and UofMAnne for the midnight hour look-through and hand-hold. LightStarDusting, this is for you. Happy, happy birthday, baby! I love you more than 7500 (you know I have trouble with brevity) or a million words can express.