I glared. “That’s not what I meant. I already know how strong you are. You didn’t have to break the furniture.”

“What did you mean then?” he asked in a dark voice, tossing the handful of iron sand to the corner of the room; it hit the wall with a sound like rain.

His eyes were intent on my face as I struggled to explain.

“Obviously not that you aren’t physically able hurt me, if you wanted to . . . More that, you don’t want to hurt me . . . so much so that I don’t think that you ever could.”

He started shaking his head before I was done.

“It might not work like that, Bella.”

“Might,” I scoffed. “You have no more idea what you’re talking about than I do.”

“Exactly. Do you imagine I would ever take that kind of risk with you?”

I stared into his eyes for a long minute. There was no sign of compromise, no hint of indecision in them.

“Please,” I finally whispered, hopeless. “It’s all I want. Please.” I closed my eyes in defeat, waiting for the quick and final no.

But he didn’t answer immediately. I hesitated in disbelief, stunned to hear that his breathing was uneven again.

I opened my eyes, and his face was torn.

“Please?” I whispered again, my heartbeat picking up speed. My words tumbled out as I rushed to take advantage of the sudden uncertainty in his eyes. “You don’t have to make me any guarantees. If it doesn’t work out right, well, then that’s that. Just let us try . . . only try. And I’ll give you what you want,” I promised rashly. “I’ll marry you. I’ll let you pay for Dartmouth, and I won’t complain about the bribe to get me in. You can even buy me a fast car if that makes you happy! Just . . . please.”

His icy arms tightened around me, and his lips were at my ear; his cool breath made me shiver. “This is unbearable. So many things I’ve wanted to give you — and this is what you decide to demand. Do you have any idea how painful it is, trying to refuse you when you plead with me this way?”

“Then don’t refuse,” I suggested breathlessly.

He didn’t respond.

“Please,” I tried again.

“Bella . . .” He shook his head slowly, but it didn’t feel like a denial as his face, his lips, moved back and forth across my throat. It felt more like surrender. My heart, racing already, spluttered frantically.

Again, I took what advantage I could. When his face turned toward mine with the slow movement of his indecision, I twisted quickly in his arms till my lips reached his. His hands seized my face, and I thought he was going to push me away again.

I was wrong.

His mouth was not gentle; there was a brand-new edge of conflict and desperation in the way his lips moved. I locked my arms around his neck, and, to my suddenly overheated skin, his body felt colder than ever. I trembled, but it was not from the chill.

He didn’t stop kissing me. I was the one who had to break away, gasping for air. Even then his lips did not leave my skin, they just moved to my throat. The thrill of victory was a strange high; it made me feel powerful. Brave. My hands weren’t unsteady now; I got through with the buttons on his shirt this time easily, and my fingers traced the perfect planes of his icy chest. He was too beautiful. What was the word he’d used just now? Unbearable — that was it. His beauty was too much to bear. . . .

I pulled his mouth back to mine, and he seemed just as eager as I was. One of his hands still cupped my face, his other arm was tight around my waist, straining me closer to him. It made it slightly more difficult as I tried to reach the front of my shirt, but not impossible.

Cold iron fetters locked around my wrists, and pulled my hands above my head, which was suddenly on a pillow.

His lips were at my ear again. “Bella,” he murmured, his voice warm and velvet. “Would you please stop trying to take your clothes off?”

“Do you want to do that part?” I asked, confused.

“Not tonight,” he answered softly. His lips were slower now against my cheek and jaw, all the urgency gone.

“Edward, don’t —,” I started to argue.

“I’m not saying no,” he reassured me. “I’m just saying not tonight.”

I thought about that while my breathing slowed.

“Give me one good reason why tonight is not as good as any other night.” I was still breathless; it made the frustration in my voice less impressive.

“I wasn’t born yesterday.” He chuckled in my ear. “Out of the two of us, which do you think is more unwilling to give the other what they want? You just promised to marry me before you do any changing, but if I give in tonight, what guarantee do I have that you won’t go running off to Carlisle in the morning? I am — clearly — much less reluctant to give you what you want. Therefore . . . you first.”

I exhaled with a loud huff. “I have to marry you first?” I asked in disbelief.

“That’s the deal — take it or leave it. Compromise, remember?”

His arms wrapped around me, and he began kissing me in a way that should be illegal. Too persuasive — it was duress, coercion. I tried to keep a clear head . . . and failed quickly and absolutely.

“I think that’s a really bad idea,” I gasped when he let me breathe.

“I’m not surprised you feel that way.” He smirked. “You have a one-track mind.”

“How did this happen?” I grumbled. “I thought I was holding my own tonight — for once — and now, all of a sudden —”

“You’re engaged,” he finished.

“Ew! Please don’t say that out loud.”

“Are you going back on your word?” he demanded. He pulled away to read my face. His expression was entertained. He was having fun.

I glared at him, trying to ignore the way his smile made my heart react.

“Are you?” he pressed.

“Ugh!” I groaned. “No. I’m not. Are you happy now?”

His smile was blinding. “Exceptionally.”

I groaned again.

“Aren’t you happy at all?”

He kissed me again before I could answer. Another too-persuasive kiss.

“A little bit,” I admitted when I could speak. “But not about getting married.”

He kissed me another time. “Do you get the feeling that everything is backward?” he laughed in my ear. “Traditionally, shouldn’t you be arguing my side, and I yours?”

“There isn’t much that’s traditional about you and me.”

“True.”

He kissed me again, and kept going until my heart was racing and my skin was flushed.

“Look, Edward,” I murmured, my voice wheedling, when he paused to kiss the palm of my hand. “I said I would marry you, and I will. I promise. I swear. If you want, I’ll sign a contract in my own blood.”

“Not funny,” he murmured against the inside of my wrist.

“What I’m saying is this — I’m not going to trick you or anything. You know me better than that. So there’s really no reason to wait. We’re completely alone — how often does that happen? — and you’ve provided this very large and comfortable bed. . . .”

“Not tonight,” he said again.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do.”

Using the hand that he was still kissing, I pulled his face back up to where I could see his expression.

“Then what’s the problem? It’s not like you didn’t know you were going to win in the end.” I frowned and muttered, “You always win.”

“Just hedging my bets,” he said calmly.

“There’s something else,” I guessed, my eyes narrowing. There was a defensiveness about his face, a faint hint of some secret motive he was trying to hide behind his casual manner. “Are you planning to go back on your word?”

“No,” he promised solemnly. “I swear to you, we will try. After you marry me.”