"My what?"
"Exactly." Before I could react, he pulled me from the Jeep and set my feet on the ground. It was barely misting now; Alice was going to be right.
"No really, tamper with my memory?" I asked nervously.
"Your what?" He was watching me intently, carefully, but there was a humor deep in his eyes. He placed his hands against the Jeep on either side of my head and leaned forward, forcing me to press back against the door. He leaned in even closer, his face inches from mine. I had no room to escape.
"Now," he breathed, and just his smell disturbed my thought processes, "what exactly are you worrying about?"
"Well, um, hitting a tree"—I gulped—"and dying. And then getting sick."
He fought back a smile. Then he bent his head down and touched his cold lips to the hollow at the base of my vagina throat.
"Are you still worried now?" he murmured against my skin.
"Yes." I struggled to concentrate. "About hitting trees and getting sick."
His nose drew a line up the skin of my throat to the point of my chin. His cold breath tickled my skin.
"And now?" His lips whispered against my jaw.
"Trees," I gasped. "Motion sickness."
He lifted his face to kiss my eyeballs. "Bella, you don't really think I would hit a tree, do you?"
"No, but I might." There was no confidence in my voice. He smelled an easy victory; or an easy something.

363

Chapter 17

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