“What do I sound like?" I asked, more breathily than I intended. God, so predictable.He considered his answer for a moment before he gave it. "Dissonant," he said finally."Meaning?"Another long pause. "Unstable."Hmm.He shook his head. "Not the way you're thinking," he said, the shadow of a smile on his lips. "In music, consonant chords are points of arrival. Rest. There's no tension," he tried to explain. "Most pop music hooks are consonant, which is why most people like them. They're catchy but interchangeable. Boring. Dissonant intervals, however, are full of tension," he said, holding my gaze. "You can't predict which way they're going to go. It makes limited people uncomfortable - frustrated, because they don't understand the point, and people hate what they don't understand. But the ones who get it," he said, lifting a hand to my face, "find it fascinating. Beautiful." He traced the shape of my mouth with his thumb. "Like you.”

“He shook his head. "Some people think that they like music,but they have no idea what it's really about. They're kindding themselves. Then there are people who feel strongly about music, but just aren't listening to the right stuff. They're misguided. And then there are people like me." ... "People like you," I said. "What kind of people are those?" ..."The kind who live for music and are constantly seeking it out, anywhere they can. Who can't imagine a life without it. They're enlightened.”

“He shook his head. “No. Because there's no one else out there who understands you like I do.”I waited for more. “That's it? You're not going to elaborate on what that means?”Those green eyes held me. “I don't think I need to.”

“Connor suddenly reached out and touched the side of my face with his finger, right near my eye. “You have the most beautiful eyes,” he said softly, and I nearly melted.“I’m not going to sleep with you,” I said softly, feeling the need to clarify that point.“I’m not asking you to,” he said, tilting his head down slightly. Ever so gently, he pressed his lips to mine.”

“That I wasn't mad at you. Can't you see that Bella?" He was suddenly intense, all trace of teasing gone. "Don't you understand?""See what?" I demanded, confused by his sudden mood swing as much as his words."I'm never angry with you - how could it be? Brave, trusting . . . warm as you are.""Then why?" I whispered, remembering the black moods that pulled him away from me, that I'd always interpreted as well-justified frustration - frustration at my weakness, my slowness, my unruly human reactions . . .He put his hands carefully on both side of my face. "I infuriate myself," he said gently. "The way I can't seem to keep from putting you in danger. My very existence puts you at risk. Sometimes I truly hate myself. I should be stronger, I should be able to-"I placed my hand over his mouth. "Don't."He took my hand, moving it from his lips, but holding it to his face."I love you," he said. "It's a poor excuse for what I'm doing, but it's still true."It was the first time he'd said he loved me - in so many words. He might not realize it, but I certainly did.”

“He finds his way up the side of my neck, biting me just a little, moving lightly back and forth, like he's searching for a special spot. When he finds it, I make small sound I've never heard myself make before, like a gasp. He traces his tongue in slow circles around that spot. I realise my hands are just lying in my lap, doing nothing. I concentrate on lifting my arm and reaching for his face, but he catches my hand and holds it tightly at the wrist. His lips leave the spot and find their way back to my mouth, which is waiting, hoping for his return. He plants a gentle kiss on my lower lip and then whispers in my ear, "I just got lucky, Rose.”