a/n Remember that shit storm I mentioned? It came bearing snow and rain and thunder (yes, snow and thunder at the same time).

a/n 2 Okay. I need to say something before you read on. I'm halfway through writing part of this chapter, and I feel like you should know that there is sexiness ahead. I know when I say that, it's usually fairly mild, but this is the heaviest scene I've ever written. Ever. I'm not allowed to have sex for two weeks, so I'm taking it out on the characters.

Enjoy...

CHAPTER 9

It was a slow day in the shop. It was too hot out in the July afternoon sun to do any shopping, so Michelle supposed most of their usual customers were sitting at home, cooling themselves in the shade and sipping lemonade. She wished she could be with them, but she would settle for fanning herself by the open window that led into the cool ally behind the store.

Just as she was hoping there wouldn't be any customers so that she could go home, the telltale tinkle at the front of the shop sounded and, groaning, made her way to the front. Mrs. Mulligan, the shop owner, was already up front, chattering away to a girl with long, blond hair. Dropping inconspicuously to her knees, Michelle looked at a small piece of paper tacked behind the counter. Belogorov, Belogorov... Where is she?

Glancing at the measurements written beside the name Zinaida Belogorov, Michelle popped back up. "35-24-34?" she asked.

Zina looked over at Michelle and smiled brilliantly. "How do you always remember that?"

Michelle smiled. "It's what we pride ourselves on."

"And our Michelle is one of the best girls here!" Mrs. Mulligan smiled at Michelle. "Would you care to bring out some of our best day dresses?"

Michelle nodded. She walked to the back of the shop and studied the ready-to-wear dresses there, remembering that these were usually what Zina preferred. She was contemplating a blue and white stripped dress or a yellow dress when she heard the door again. Pulling both dresses, she stepped out of the back room and headed up front. She could hear a man's voice, deep and soothing, and very familiar, and her heartbeat quickened. Stopping short of being seen, she poked her head out just far enough to be seen.

There was Erik, arm in arm with Zina Belogorov, smiling and chatting away with Mrs. Mulligan. Zina was leaning against him slightly, looking up at him as he talked. He looked relaxed, and he laughed heartily when Zina teased him about his current state of dress, which was more informal than Michelle had ever seen him dressed. She wondered vaguely what they were doing together—why wasn't he with Christine?

Coming back around, Michelle put a smile on her face as she put on her acting shoes. "Here we are! They're both light and cool, so you shouldn't overheat in them." She could feel Erik's eyes boaring into her as she answered Zina's questions.

"I'm just going to pop in back, darling, try these on." Zina smiled and followed Mrs. Mulligan into the back. As soon as they were gone, Erik started in.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered frantically.

"I work here," she whispered back. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm with her."

"Why on earth are you out with Zina Belogorov buying dresses?"

"I'm buying it for her—I had to be here."

Michelle raised her eyebrows. "You're buying her dresses?"

Erik frowned. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Are you courting her?"

Erik sighed. "To an extent, yes. She keeps me company. I can't see myself marrying her, but she is a joy to spend time with. She's so full of life and energy all the time." He smiled slightly. "I enjoy her, and she enjoys me."

Michelle knew she didn't have much time. She had not seen or heard from Christine since leaving Adelia's, so she wasn't sure Erik even knew she was in town. "Are you happy?" she asked softly.

Erik frowned. "What do you mean?"

Michelle glanced back toward the dressing room briefly before she said quietly, "You don't think you could be happier with someone else?"

Erik's eyes widened. "You—you're not—"

He wasn't even thinking of Christine. He thought she was talking about herself. She shook her head. "No. I'm just being silly."

"Darling!" Zina popped in, posing in the yellow dress.

Immediately, Michelle stepped over to her. "I was just telling your friend here how lovely you always look in yellow." She smiled up at Zina as she checked the hem. "It's such a difficult color to wear."

"Really?" Zina didn't seem to have noticed anything odd. She swayed a bit, looking in the mirror. "I love it!" She turned to Erik, who rolled his eyes as she gave a small pout. As he reached for his money, Zina squealed with delight and clapped her hands together.

Hopping down from her stool, Zina went to remove the dress so that Mrs. Mulligan could hem it. Erik and Michelle were left alone again.

Erik cleared his throat. "I suppose I should pay..."

Michelle wasn't thinking as she stepped behind the counter and took the money from Erik. Then, before she could stop it, her mind flashed back to the last time he had given her money...

The morning sun was bright on Michelle's face when she awoke. She was still sore from their escapades the night before, and she sat up, rubbing her eyes. Erik was nowhere to be seen, but there was a plate of fruit and a glass of water sitting on a nearby table.

Michelle dressed in the clothes she had worn upon arriving the previous night before she sat down at the table. She was finishing up an orange when she heard the door open behind her. Turning, her eyes found Erik's and she smiled at him. He gave her a small smile in return and sat down across from her. He was halfway through the morning paper and she was working on her second orange when he suddenly asked, "Will you be alright?"

Looking up, Michelle couldn't think for a minute what he was speaking of. The she realized. "Oh." She nodded, sucking on a piece of fruit. "That was my last night. I'm packed. I'm going to look for a flat—get a real job."

"Speaking of jobs..." Erik trailed off, looking awkward. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a thick envelope. "There's some extra in there."

Michelle opened it and her eyes bulged. "Erik, I couldn't possibly—"

He waved a hand. "I just want to know that you're safe."

"I will be," she said softly. "Thank you." Standing up, she popped the last bit of orange in her mouth. "I should get going."

She was halfway out the door when Erik called her name. "Here," he said softly, handing her a slip of paper. She looked down—there was the name of a man, and an address. "A business associate of mine," he explained. "Just tell him you're an old friend of mine from Paris and give him this." He handed her an envelope. "He and his wife are quite hospitable. They'll take you in until you find somewhere to stay. Jules does owe me a favor or two." He chuckled, but then he turned serious. "You take care of yourself," he said firmly. "If anything goes wrong, you can go to any good building firm in town—they'll know how to find me."

Michelle smiled gently up at him before leaning up to kiss his cheek. "Thank you for everything, Erik."

He smiled back. "Be good."

"Never."

And then, she was gone.

Michelle snapped back and put the money quickly in the register, handing Erik his change. "Here."

"I never got to ask if Jules was good to you."

"He was wonderful." She closed the register, looking back to see if Zina was coming. "I couldn't figure out where I knew him from, then he said he used to work for you in Paris. I remembered him hanging around Madame Giry at the opera house." A new thought suddenly occurred to Michelle. "Have you heard from her at all? Madame Giry, I mean."

Erik smiled. "I wondered if you'd ever ask about her. She's doing well. Opened a small studio for dance, although from the sound of it, it won't be small for long."

"Of course not, with all the talent she still has to offer. Has she written about Meg at all?"

"Married."

"Really?"

"Three years ago. Already has a boy, now they're having another. I'm waiting to hear what it is—she should have had it by now, come to think of it."

Michelle sighed heavily. "Do you have their address? I'd like to write her—I need to get in touch with Meg about... Well, it's personal."

Erik's eyes softened. "Ah. What was his name?"

"Name." She looked down, fidgeting with her fingers. "He went off to fight... somewhere, God knows where. I promised I'd write him once I'd settled down, but that was four years ago. I'm sort of wondering if Meg would be able to find him."

"I'm sure she will. If there's one thing Meg is good at, it's listening to gossip—I'm sure those ears of hers will pick something up."

Michelle laughed, and Zina chose that moment to enter. She looked at the pair of them laughing for a moment, seeming a bit confused and a bit annoyed. Erik took her arm, pulling her close and planting a kiss on her temple. "I'll be sure to sent Meg's address over—I think I've got it somewhere. If not, I shall simply have to send you Madam's, and you will have to tell her all about how you've given up dance."

Another laugh escaped Michelle's lips before she could stop it. Looking a bit sheepish, she smiled apologetically at Zina before saying, "I've gained too much weight since then. And I'm out of shape. It's been seven years, after all."

"I'm sorry." Zina seemed to be trying to catch up. "Do you two know each other?"

"I knew Michelle back in Paris."

"Ah." The other woman's face relaxed and she smiled at Michelle. "I suppose I should have guessed that—I never put much thought into your accent. I'm horrible at guessing accents, in any case." She smiled up at Erik. "Are you ready to go?"

He nodded, and tipped his hat at Michelle. "It was good to see you."

"You, too."

The door jingled and he was gone, leaving Michelle with a dress to hem and many thoughts racing though her mind.

\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\

The pounding on the door was what woke Christine, but she tried her best to ignore it. It didn't go away, so she finally got out of bed and answered it. Archie stood in her door frame with a smile. "Are you ready to go?"

Dinner. She had forgotten. "I just need to get dressed." She rubbed her eyes and let Archie in.

"Are you alright?"

Christine nodded. "I feel like I can't get enough sleep."

"There's something going around, that's for certain." Archie waved a dismissive hand. "Nothing worse than a cold in July."

Christine smiled. "Would you mind horribly if we stayed in?"

He smiled back, brushing a stray hair from her face. "You come over to my house and I'll have the cook make you some wonderful chicken soup. How does that sound?"

An hour and a half later, Christine was at Archie's, lying in bed, eating soup. It tasted a bit different than usual, but Christine attributed that to the fact that she was so exhausted. She had just put the bowl down when Archie entered the room again, this time with a glass of water.

"Drink up," he said. "You need to keep hydrated."

Christine downed half the water before handing it back to Archie. She snuggled down beneath the silk sheets while Archie went to open a window. A cool breeze blew in from outside and Christine was very comfortable and cozy as she drifted off again.

Hours later, she awoke from a dream that left her shaken. In her dream, she had been in bed with someone. He had been caressing her and whispering sweet nothings in her ear. The voice had sounded so familiar, but she couldn't place it with a name or even a face. She could still feel his hands on her skin...

She rolled over in bed, trying to fall asleep again, but it was pointless. She exhaled harshly, flopping onto her back. She tossed and turned for a while, unable to sleep due to the fact that, every time she closed her eyes, she could hear him, feel his hands on her, feel...

Becoming annoyed, Christine looked over at the door. It was closed and latched. No one would come in, she was sure—it had to be past midnight, and she knew Archie was usually in bed around eleven. She surrendered to her thoughts as her hands wandered over her own body, almost of their own accord. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she closed her eyes again and let herself remember back to a time before she had come to London, back in Paris, when a man of such sensuality had loved her so deeply, it had frightened her. She thought of the things she had once thought of to escape from the truth of her reality with Andrew, things that still made her head spin and her body shake...

Pushing her face against her pillow, Christine cried out as she let go of what she had been holding back for so long. She shook and convulsed for what felt like an eternity before her body finally relaxed. Exhausted, Christine sighed again, although this was in a better humor, before she rolled over and closed her eyes.

She fell asleep and dreamed...

There was no light in the room. Her companion seemed to have been gone for some time, having only just returned. Normally, she would have wanted to turn up the lights and talk to him, but tonight, she could care less. She couldn't remember the last time she had lain with a man and received pleasure, and this man's kisses promised her that pleasure that she so missed.

Their clothes slowly melted off, and in the darkness, Christine found that she could hide the physical scars of her past, making the emotional ones easier to ignore, as well. She felt his lips on her breast, tugging at the skin there. She moaned, feeling her head fall back as she laced her fingers into his hair. They stumbled drunkenly toward the bed, falling onto it. He landed on top of her, and the feel of his weight on her was sinfully delicious. She pressed her bare chest against his, moaning as one of his hands made its way between them to rest at the place where her legs joined the rest of her. Her knees fell apart as he touched her. A moan escaped her mouth as he continued caressing her, his other hand working at her breast, and his mouth giving kisses and little bites to her neck. She frowned when his hand left her, but she very nearly screamed when he replaced it with his mouth. Never in her life had she felt anything like this—the thought alone of performing this act on Christine would have sickened Raoul, bu this man seemed to enjoy giving her pleasure. She felt him moan softly as his tongue flicked against the most sensitive part of her. The ache that had been building inside of her became stronger as he slid two fingers inside of her, thrusting them in and out as his mouth worked above them. In an instant, the landslide began and Christine was nearly screaming as she came.

He kissed his way up her body, stopping to give attention to her breasts before continuing to her mouth. Reaching down, he pulled her legs up around his waist and pulled her up until she was on her back and he, on his knees. Slowly, inch by glorious inch, he slid his body inside hers. She had never felt more filled by a man than she did at that moment, as if their bodies had been made for one another alone.

For a good minute or so, neither of them moved—they simply enjoyed the feeling of connection. Then, he began to move slowly in and out of her. Whatever he was doing felt amazing, and she felt him brush up against a place inside her she had never felt before. There was so much pressure, it was almost unbearable. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing and where he was hitting, as he sped up a bit and pressed his hand against her pelvis. The pressure increased and immediately, she was taken again by the waves of pleasure that he was so willing to begin.

She felt him shaking, heard his crying out, as he came with her. His thrusts were more powerful than they had been before he released into her, collapsing on top of her. After a few minutes, he rolled off to the side, and he pulled her close. He played with her hair for a moment before asking, "Is this your real hair?"

She had forgotten the wig. Laughing, she pulled it off so that he could play with her curls. They lay together in silence for a while before he asked, "What is your name?"

"Katie," she said softly, wanting to say her real name, but not sure why she couldn't. She was about to ask his when there was a knock on the door.

"Sir?" A man's voice was calling through. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, George."

There was a pause. "You're sure?"

"Go away."

"Goodnight, then, sir." There was a teasing tone in George's voice, and Christine heard a door close, and a voice next door say, "Sounds like Baron McLeod is having fun."

"He's alright?" a woman's voice asked.

Christine had stopped listening. Even in her drunken state, she remembered her promise not to so much look at McLeod. Now she was in his bed...

"I have to go," she said, sitting up. She stumbled in the dark, trying to find her clothes. She threw the wig back on and was jumping into her dress when the flash of a match lit up the room a bit. Christine was too embarrassed to look at him, and she stumbled, still drunk, toward the door, hearing him call after her to come back. She heard him tripping over furniture and calling for George as she fled out the door and hastened down the long hall toward the stairs.

She was almost around the corner when she heard George's door open. "Wait!"

She glanced back, fleetingly. The man she assumed was George was buttoning up a shirt. A pair of shoes were tossed into the hallway after him just before Christine turned and fled down the stairs. She tripped again on the way out of the hotel, throwing her hand out to catch herself. A passing cabbie pulled over, asking if she needed assistance. She pulled herself inside and, after giving him a destination, fell asleep against the side of the carriage...

The carriage stopped and she stepped out. Archie was standing on his head at the front of the opera house, waiting for her with a bottle of champagne. "Let's watch the cows."

"Cows?"

Suddenly, there were cows thundering down the street behind her. She turned. "Oh! Those cows!" She reached for the champagne and popped the cork into the stampede. She and Archie sipped their drinks while they watched first cows, then sheep, then a number of purple birds parade through Covent Garden...

Christine awoke from a dead sleep to Archie's voice. "Christine? Can I come in?"

She looked out the window to see a gloomy, rainy morning. "Yes," she called, reaching over for a dressing gown and pulling it on as she climbed out of bed.

Archie poked his head in. "Did I wake you?"

She nodded. "It's alright."

"Have any good dreams?" he asked, setting a tray of porridge and toast in front of her.

Frowning, Christine sipped the water that was on the tray. "I had one, but all I can remember of it was watching animals in Covent Garden."

"Animals?"

She laughed, realizing how silly her dream had been. "They were stampeding down the street." She took a bite of porridge, trying to remember what had led up to her being at the opera house. It had been something good—she couldn't remember what, though. Shaking her head, Christine went back to breakfast. It was just a dream, after all. Nothing important...

a/n I'm twisted and evil, I know. May seem pointless, but if you pay attention to details, you may notice a few things. This chapter is dedicated to Busanda. You're a smart cookie, B. See if you can figure out what's up. I have faith.

R/R, all! Hope you enjoyed my nastiness.