Bella's chest shook with a silent giggle. His reactions were always so dramatic, tempting Bella to go against his wishes for the sake of riling him. However, watching his eyes flutter and muscles relax at her touch, she found it hard to imagine doing anything else. She continued with her cleaning until he abruptly caught her wrist, and, using the most gentle—almost pleading—voice, requested for her to cease her efforts.

Her gaze flickered to where his hand met hers, surprised to find that she'd relaxed, not stiffened, under his touch. His hand so was large, so dirty, she noticed, causing the giggle to finally escape her lips.

"Now I'm going to have to wash myself," she teased, obliging him by gently pulling her hand away. She folded the rag, revealing the clean side, and gently brushed it across the dirt prints he'd left across her wrist. "I'll feed you, but you need to do something about that," she added, motioning to his arms and hands as she stepped away from him. "I should think that a man is capable of washing his own hands, no?"

The moment she turned her attention back to the kitchen counter, her cheeks flushed. She was all too aware of her feelings—or at least her attraction to him—and all too aware that she didn't want him to be aware.

Lord help her.

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