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When Rosalie Marcum moves to Seattle she vows to make a new start, to take control and make some changes. Her first brave adventure doesn't quite go as planned, but is certain to change her world forever. "I've not had any woman look at me the way you do," he whispers, voice husky. "I think you've been walking around with your eyes closed Jake," I laugh, raising my eyebrows at him, full of scepticism. His cheeky smile makes a timely appearance. "Oh, yeah, well, there's plenty of that." Modest as always. I'm just about to roll my eyes when his face turns serious again, stopping me in my tracks. "I mean, I've never had anyone look at me like they really..." He pauses, worrying his lip, "Like they really love me. Only me." Oh.

Jacob/OC pairing with the inclusion of several other characters from the Twilight series.

7. Chapter Seven

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I think my arm is feeling a little better, I got dressed all by myself this morning! A quick brush through my hair and I look passable, although admittedly I'm sporting some major bags under my eyes from my rather disturbed nights sleep. I can't stop beating myself up about making Jacob so mad at me. I'll have to try to make it up to him today; maybe I can cook breakfast or something… I creep out of his bedroom and down the hall into the dimly lit living room. Jacob's still fast asleep on the sofa, without a blanket. Isn't he cold? Then again he is like his own personal radiator. I lean over the back of the sofa carefully to get a better look. He looks adorable, curled up on his side, his mouth hanging just a little revealing his pearly whites. I dither as I straighten up again, wondering what to do. I feel kind of hyper-sensitive to my own behaviour. I keep questioning whether or not what I'm doing is acceptable, although it's a bit of a no brainer that I shouldn't be watching him sleep.

If I was at home right now I'd be tidying the place up, getting everything in its place for the day ahead, but I can't bring myself to touch anything just in case. A glance towards the kitchen and I start wondering about breakfast again, although making breakfast would require going into cupboards and we all know how that went down and… oh god Rosalie stop with the paranoia! Just stop. There's a simple solution to this, I'll just wake him up and ask. I hope he's a morning person.

I shuffle around to the front of the sofa and kneel down. My eyes level with his closed ones, I gently touch his shoulder, causing him to exhale heavily. The breath that passes over my face takes me back to last night, the look in his eyes right before he kissed me and I feel that familiar squeeze of the muscles in my stomach and the sensation of longing that comes with it. But, regrettably, I think waking him with a kiss might be crossing that line again.

"Are you gonna wake me up, or just sit there looking at me all morning?" I fall backwards onto my ass, making a little squeak of surprise as one of his beady eyes opens to look at me, twinkling with amusement.

"Scared the freaking life out of me…" I mutter, shifting myself back onto my knees, my heart pounding. I slap his shoulder and he just laughs at me, sitting himself up and rubbing his eyes. He offers me his hand and pulls me up onto the sofa to sit next to him and much to my surprise, he keeps his hand wrapped around mine. "Sleep okay?" I ask, still staring at the alien image of my hand being held ever so gently.

"Not really," he admits, turning his head that's leant back on the sofa to face me, "I feel like a jerk… getting so mad at you." I smile, giving his hand a little squeeze.

"Forget about it, honestly, it's all good. I'd forgotten about it already." You big fat fibber Rosalie Marcum, you big fat fibber. "You want some breakfast?" I ask before my conscience can keep hassling me.

"You cook?"

"Eh, I get by," I shrug, "I can make a pretty mean pancake."

"That'd be awesomely tasty." I reluctantly let go of his hand and get up, making for the kitchen. "I'll give you a hand. You need at least two." He gives my back a playful little shove so I shoot him a little glare over my shoulder and push open the door to the kitchen.

Oh lord. Oh heaven above. The sight that greets me makes my skin start to prickle and my palms itch. Dirty plates and tableware piled up on the draining board, empty packets littering the countertops, little piles of crumbs in the corners on the floor. I realise I've stopped dead in my tracks and my face must be showing some hint of my horror because Jacob coughs behind me and steps past. "I guess I could do with being a little more anal huh?" I drag my eyes away from the food hygiene standards massacre and try to plaster a smile on my face.

"No… no, don't worry about it." He leans closer, squinting at me.

"Are you… sweating?" Oh god, I am. I chuckle nervously, wiping my brow with my sleeve. "This is like an actual problem for you isn't it?" Why does this have to happen to me? Why can't I keep my weird compulsions to myself, I look like such an idiot, standing here sweating just because of a few dirty plates. "Hey, it's alright," he tells me, looking concerned, reaching out and touching my arm kindly.

"No, no it's not. I'm acting like such a freak." He pulls me closer to his chest and I realise when I'm stood against him just how tense my body is.

"We've all got our freaky stuff," he smiles, "Come on, you wash and I'll dry, yeah?" I nod as he lets me go, approaching the pile cautiously and starting the tap. As soon as the soapy bubbles start to foam I feel a million times more relaxed and even though it's a challenge with one hand, soon Jacob and I have a good system going. Oh god damn it. I drop a plate in the sink and it slops water up and over the side of the counter, right onto my shirt, soaking me through. Jacob starts to laugh as I stare glumly down at my stomach, so I grab a fist full of bubbles and water and fling it at him in vengeance.

"Hey!" He shrieks like a girl, dancing away, trying to dodge my splashes, his tongue poking out at the side. He discards his towel and the glass he's carrying and rushes at me, griping my wrist tightly and pulling it away from the sink.

"Jake, let go of me!" I giggle, trying to jerk free of his grasp.

"Nope!" He shoves his other hand into the sink, pulling up a handful of bubbles and pushes them into my face and into my hair while I squeal for mercy, trying to kick out at his shins with my eyes firmly closed to protect them from the soap.

"Jacob!" He laughs and then I feel his large hand move across my face, pushing back the bubbles from my eyes. When I open them he's got that intense look on his face again and my giggles die out rather abruptly This time I take the lead, standing on my tiptoes and pressing my lips fervently against his. Our faces wet with water, his nose glides over mine in-between kisses and when I bravely nip his bottom lip with my teeth he presses me back against the counter, wet t-shirt to wet shirt. His hand grips tighter on my wrist and I love the little pinch of pain that shoots up my arm and all the way down into the depths of my belly, making my legs feel funny and my head swim.

"Ow!" I exclaim and Jacob flies back from me, looking shocked and worried, eyebrows draw down tight.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks. He sounds unusually concerned, stepping closer to me again and lifting the arm of the wrist he'd been holding, checking it with dilated pupils.

"Wrong arm," I smile, "You just pressed on the sprain, that's all." He sighs in relief, and I can't help but wonder why on earth he's so worried, I'm hardly bleeding all over the floor or anything. "I'm fine." He cups my face in one hand, tenderly, and kisses me again, so softly this time and when he pulls away, his forehead leaning against mine, he's smiling at me. One more kiss and he pulls away completely, retrieving towel and heading back to the sink.

"Come on, I'm hungry."

"Me too," I growl suggestively before I even realise what I'm saying and once again the kitchen is filled with our laughter.