Author's note: Thanks to all of you who have been reading and reviewing! It really fires me to write more when I see people are enjoying it. Your comments also make me smile so thank you again for contributing to my happiness.

I was unaware that I had disabled anonymous reviews and have since corrected that. If it was holding some of you back, the restraint has been removed.

Enjoy!

p.s. just to remind you, Christine just tip-toed out into the living area...

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Erik

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I pulled off the mask as I stood in front of my bathroom wash basin. I had no mirror in this room, no mirror anywhere but in Christine's room, no need to torture myself with my own visage. I splashed water on my face and my hands halted for a moment as they touched the marred flesh on my left side. Mother always said it was the left side because I was evil, or was I evil because it was the left side. Either way, my mask had become a part of me. I rarely touched the 'skin' beneath it and mostly forgot it was even on my face. It was molded precisely to the contours of the left side of my face so that as long as my expressions weren't too overt, which was rarely a problem, the mask stayed perfectly settled over my empty cheek. My only issue was the little sore spots that would crop up if I worked with it on. It dug into my nose, the ridge of my cheekbone and my left eyebrow when I worked, probably because I couldn't help a little furrow of concentration while I bricked and mortared. It was another reason I preferred to work at night. Monsters only come out in the dark.

I grabbed the towel and dried it off. Tomorrow was already wednesday and I hadn't ventured to the current house site in almost a week. Bernard was almost done and I was going to delay the completion if I didn't visit and finish my work. I just didn't know what to do with Christine. I would have to think on it.

Which was not hard to do because my thoughts kept drifting to her anyway. I had a woman staying in my domain. She knew my terrible past, my gross misdeeds against humanity, my horrible face and yet, she had not recoiled from me. She held me! Even brief as it was, I had never been held before by anyone and now Christine had done it twice. I liked my first hug far more, but the thought of it made me think of other not so innocent things and I hastily replaced my mask, pressing it tightly into place.

She is an angel for accepting all you've told her. How dare you have lecherous thoughts about her! You should be flogged for even looking at her! I railed at myself for a few minutes and then realized I was truly insane over her. I saw her as this untouchable angel of light and mercy that had descended into the darkness to save the monster. I was crazy.

I pulled down my robe tiredly. Crazy or not, I still had to put out the fire in the living area.

---

Christine

---

The door to his bedroom was ajar and I could see his bed through the crack. The bedspread was plush and black, with dark red cushions and drapery framing the intricately carved wooden headboard. The luscious darkness, and immense size of the bed stopped me in my tracks and I stared at the shimmer and flicker of candlelight on the dark sheen of his bed linens.

I closed my eyes to halt the charging of my heart. Breathe, I told myself. It is just a bed.

I crossed to his desk which had been cleared except for blank paper and ink. I was not going to snoop through his drawers. I turned to the piano and ran my fingers over the keys remembering how he'd played this morning and during our short lesson. I could barely believe I'd only been here for one day. It seemed much longer than just one day.

I heaved a sigh as I traced a black key with one fingertip.

"Christine?" I jumped a foot in the air at my name on Erik's lips and spun around to behold him framed in the doorway to his room. The door was wide open and I could see a plush fur rug mounded with colorful equally plush pillows. There was a black divan beside the fireplace that currently held no fire. My eyes flicked back to Erik.

His hair was messy and flopping forward over the eye in the mask, covering the top portion of the mask and causing him to peek through the strands at me, looking extremely young, though the look in his eyes under his hair was not a young look. He was surprised but sad and tired in a way that made him seem centuries old. He was wearing an oriental looking short robe of black satin with gold and red threads winking at me in the low light over a pair of loose black pants. It was wrapped tightly around his torso and he looked strong and lean, the vee of his chest, pale and unblemished.

"Is everything alright?" he ran his hand through his hair to try to pull it back into place and I noticed he no longer had his gloves on. I hadn't noticed right away because his hands were so white they were almost the same color as his gloves. The pale slender perfection of his hand rode through the black silk of his hair again and my breath caught in my throat. I reached out to him sort of desperately and he responded accordingly. He came forward quickly his hands out to help me. Our bare fingers brushed and lighting ran up my arm. Before he could react and step away from me, I pushed our hands together, entwining my fingers with his. I heard his breath leave his body and I felt like mine was locked in place. We both stared at our intertwined fingers.

His were so long and delicately made compared to mine, his touch cool and callused. The interlacing felt very intimate, especially since we were both in only our nightclothes. I had to try twice to answer his question, there was a lump in my throat, but I finally managed to say, "Everything is fine."

---

Erik

---

I'd been embarrassed that she saw me with my hair mussed. I had a bad habit of running my hands through it when I took off my gloves. And my gloves were definitely no longer on my hands and now I was looking down at my bare grotesque hand laced with hers and words were difficult to formulate.

"Everything is fine," she whispered quietly. That tore my eyes from our hands because when I'd asked if she was okay she hadn't seemed to be. She'd looked wide eyed and out of breath and almost frightened.

"I could not go to sleep leaving this unfinished," her voice came stronger and surer of itself if still not very loud. Leaving what unfinished? What the devil was she talking about?

Her hand rose to my mask and I stiffened waiting for her to do her worst. Would she rip it off to remind herself of the beast? Would she ply me for more information?

Her fingertips stroked the cheek of the mask and my eyes widened.

"You know that I am very grateful for you, right?" she stroked my masked cheek again and I felt like I might have a stroke. The way she was looking up at me made me wonder if she was sleep walking. Surely she was not in her right frame of mind to be touching me and looking at me so…so…adoringly.

"I thank God every night that you came into my life," and she wrapped her arms around me again trying to give me her gratitude and adoration but I stiffened against it and she pulled away blushing and looking down.

"I'm s-sorry," she stammered as she stepped away, "I know you don't like to be touched." I stared at her, barely believing that I'd just ruined feeling her body against mine and wanting to fix it right away.

"It's not that I do not like to be touched," I explained quickly. "I merely am not used to the physical contact." And I want to touch you so badly that it seems wrong to get what I want.

She smiled shyly at me, "And I am very used to physical contact."

My heart hammered in my chest at the small smile on her face. No one had ever been grateful for me, and I highly doubt anyone had ever thanked God for my existence. No one but this beautiful lonely creature who was craving physical contact and I, like some kind of moron, had declined?

"I suppose I could get used to it," I was trying to keep her from hearing the excitement and longing in my voice but knew it had come out completely wrong. How could she stand my constant rudeness?

She chewed on her lip briefly, her brow furrowed at me, "You make it sound like a chore."

"That was not my intention," I said quickly, bowing my head in apology, wondering if I had already botched this terribly. Why couldn't I just behave properly around her? I stared down at her bare toes for a moment and she stepped forward, hiding them from my view. I looked up so she wouldn't think my eyes had travelled anywhere else on her body and she was reaching for me. I felt extremely awkward as she slipped her arms around me and cuddled her cheek to my chest. I stiffened against her softness, unsure of myself, unsure what was proper when all I could think of was running my hands over her hair, through her hair, down her back, holding her tight to my body, feeling her gentle curves against my hard planes…

"Please Erik," she begged squeezing me even tighter, "Let me hold you."

I willed myself to relax. She wants to hold you! Let her hold you, fool! I breathed out slowly letting some tension unravel from my shoulders and down my back. She knew the things I'd done and what I looked like beneath the mask and she still wanted to hold me. I was a bewildered mix of wanton desire and childlike wonder. With all the tentativeness of a young boy I reached up to touch her hair, still waiting for my hand to be slapped away. When she didn't, I pulled the ribbon from her hair and watched as her hair sprang outward to double its size. I ran my bare hand over the curls feeling how soft and springy they were. Suddenly eager, I buried both hands deep into the abundance of curls and held her fast to my body. I clutched to her like a life-raft as I drowned in her acceptance. It flowed between us and cleansed me. It flowed over me and christened me with her energy. I couldn't breathe as her grip tightened on me, to the point that I thought I might black out and then she loosened with a sigh and relaxed into me, as comfortable in my arms as she had been sitting in my armchair. Her hands began stroking my back and I knew it was time to pull away before my body began to embarrass me.

I held her away from me by her shoulders and we stared at one another. The firelight behind her lit her hair with sparkling colors and though her delicate features were shadowed from the dim room, they somehow were radiant. Her hair glistened like a halo around her head and she glowed, truly like an angel, in her thin pale robe.

Of course she was an angel, to accept me, damaged as I am.

I struggled to say something eloquent, something beautiful to extend this moment. I wanted to cling to this moment of intimacy, explore it completely. "You have the most spectacular hair," I lifted strands and let them fall from my fingers slowly.

Christine's lashes fluttered as she smiled and looked down demurely. "Thank you," she reached for said hair and I knew she was uncomfortable. It was her tell. I stepped away figuring I'd crossed the friendship line. So a passionate hug is okay but I can't give you a compliment? I wanted to grunt again but manfully squashed the urge.

"My father always loved my hair," her voice was thick, "He said it was like my mother's but I don't really remember…" she couldn't go on and I stood there like a dolt. She heals me and then seeks me to heal her but I had no knowledge of those powers. She looked away and wiped her face trying to be discreet. I automatically reached for my handkerchief and realized I was standing before her in my nightclothes and she was standing there in her threadbare robe that did nothing to conceal how short her chemise was or the curve of her hip and the line of her bare legs beneath. She shifted and the fire, that so romantically set her hair ablaze, was now setting my loins ablaze by revealing the break between her two legs.

That fire needed to be put out.

I stomped over to the fire and set about my task, rather harshly seeing as the fire had kept us warm all day and barely deserved my rude disturbance of its hot glowing embers. My jaw was clamped rather tightly and when Christine sniffed indelicately I felt even worse. How do you comfort an angel? These death dealing hands shouldn't even be touching this angel.

I definitely had to get better at this. I wanted to be around her but she needed comfort and 'physical contact' with another human and if I couldn't control my mindless lust to feel a woman's body next to mine…I didn't even need to finish that thought. I would never rape her, I sneered at the dying fire. But touching her….I could get used to it, my words came back to me. If she wanted physical contact then I would just submit myself to whatever she wanted.

I smiled, a rare occurrence, and I was glad she couldn't see the smile. It felt devilish on my lips and I closed my eyes to quell the feeling as I rose.

Which turned out to be a stupid thing to do. Closing your eyes as you stand. You would think I would have more grace than to step on the sash of my robe, not only opening the knot but half yanking it off my shoulder as I stumbled unable to fully rise. I quickly righted it and myself but Christine, who so kindly told me staring was rude, happened to be staring at me and by the look on her face, had seen quite a lot of my pale scar riddled torso. She looked like her eyes were going to pop out of her head as she backed a few steps and then stammered, "I th-think I sh-should go to bed."

I agreed heartily. Yes, get this strange, exhilarating day over with. Run off to bed, blessed angel and innocent siren.

"Good night Erik," she called softly from her door before it closed and I was left alone in my dark living room. I wondered if every day was going to be as frustrating and enjoyable as today had been.

---

Christine

---

As soon as I closed the door I let out a trembling breath. It was becoming a regular thing, me trembling for a moment when I left his sight but it wasn't fear that caused my body to shudder. It was sheer exhilaration.

I felt like a fairytale beauty who was taming the wild beast. His wonder at my actions had been visible on his face, almost as if I so bewildered him that he couldn't conceal it. When it took him so long to put his arms around me and then he held me so tightly, I'd known he had never had a hug before and the power I felt as I held him had rushed from my head to my toes.

The sight of his partially bared chest though, had startled me badly. Not because it was hideous but because it was not. Even with various scars and one particularly bad one that slashed through his nipple, his chest had looked so pale that I wanted to put my hand next to it to marvel at the difference and so tight and hard and hairless and…

Not something I should be thinking about! I burned though, because I'd wanted to peel the robe from him to see the scars that his terrible life had left on his body. Of course he would have scars stupid girl, he fought hundreds of people in duels to the death. Perhaps his face was a result of one of the victorious battles. The thought still made me tremble, that he at one time had done nothing but kill people.

But it wasn't as if Erik had asked for that life. He'd had no choice, kill or be killed. His life or theirs? It wasn't a choice at all.

Thinking of our hug lightened my mood again. I'd never been hugged so completely or so thoroughly. I was glad he would let me touch him, to me it seemed odd not to, so his permission eased that awkwardness. I was also glad it was not my touch that made him tense but the unfamiliarity with it.

I stripped off the robe and tossed it over the chair as I climbed into bed. The sheets were cool but began to warm immediately under the substantial blankets as I prayed. I started with the Lord's Prayer as I usually did, and felt like I wasn't just saying it for me anymore. I didn't know if anyone had taught Erik about the benevolence of God but perhaps if I prayed for him, God would hear me and give him some comfort. For as much as he hid behind his cool façade, I knew now that it was only another mask. The true man was revealed in the turbulent sorrow in his eyes and the desperate way he hugged me. It showed me more effectively than a thousand words how truly alone he felt.

I would fix that. I burrowed into the blankets and got a mouthful of hair. I quickly jumped up to get another ribbon. If I left it loose at night it turned into a rat's nest on my head so I was quite diligent about tying it up. I crawled back into the soft bed thinking of Papa and how he used to braid my hair for me every night, lovingly combing out the knots. Tears filled my eyes and I rolled onto my back to stare at the dim ceiling.

At least I was not alone. I had Erik. Was I truly the first person to be kind to him and see beyond his face and his cold demeanor? It was a terrible thought, to be so alone for his whole life.

But then, he did say he just wanted to be left alone. That thought was even more terrible. He thought he deserved to be alone.

Tears spilled from my eyes more for Erik than for Papa but I cried myself to sleep so often that I couldn't even remember it in the morning.

---

Erik

---

Sleep, an elusive and evil mistress, as always. Without my drug induced slumber I was forced to wake numerous times, each time some dream tearing me from my restless oblivion to thrust me back into my reality with a panicked heart. After a particularly vivid dream where I was covered in my own blood and shackled to a wall, the sound of a whip in my ears, I rose shakily to start the day.

The little sleep that I'd managed to get was barely comfort to the vivid images that would now plague me through the day. I hated to sleep without my concoction but I couldn't blissfully snooze while Christine was left alone. What if she needed something or what if she got worried at my absence and tried to come in and wake me and couldn't and began to panic…

I would just make do without sleep and make myself some very strong coffee.

---

Christine

---

When I woke, in what I assumed was the morning, I was left with a feeling of peace. I didn't know if I'd dreamed but I felt the joy that a new day brings fill me and opened the closet to take a look at all these clothes he bought for me.

They were all exquisitely made, some very fancy, meant for parties and others meant to wear in the home and I found two new wrappers in the back, one black and one white. The black one reminded me of his so I pulled it out, knowing mine was quite tired, and then stared at it hypnotized by the picture that was embroidered magnificently around it.

It could only be the glorious peacock. The blue slender necked bird had a tail like an enormous fan made of those splendid feathers. A tear came to my eye at the sight.

I wanted to rush out and thank him profusely but then thought it might make me seem less excited about everything else he'd purchased and done for me. I also was not fit to be seen yet so I pulled it on over my old wrapper and tied the sash. It was similar to his oriental robe but longer and I wondered if those winking threads last night had been in the shape of an animal. The sleeves were large bells of fabric and I felt extravagant as I looked into the mirror.

The only time I'd worn black was to my father's funeral and that dress had been borrowed. My skin looked very pale next to the black, almost translucent, as tears filled my eyes. I quickly busied myself washing my face and as I dried it I peeked at my reflection one more time from behind the towel. The black did suit me. It made my lips look redder, my skin look whiter and my hair and eyes more golden than the boring brown that I knew they were.

I didn't feel like me in it and I took off the beautiful garment and hung it back up.

Today was the second practice I was missing and I felt guilty for being absent. Mme Giry may decide I was too much trouble, seeing as I was not the most effortless dancer and now I was missing practices too. I laced on the ballet slippers that Meg had loaned me and warmed up my legs while I began to warm my voice. I hummed to myself as I plied and stretched. Minutes passed as I tried to practice the dances I'd been taught in the confines of the bedroom, but after a few near mishaps I thought I better stop lest I break something of Erik's.

Thinking of Erik made me realize I had no clue what time it was and I wondered if I should make an appearance. I hadn't heard the piano yet but he was probably up. I thought I should check and quickly pulled all my hair back and grabbed the plain white wrapper from the back of the closet. I made sure the wrapper was tightly closed over my chemise and then cracked the door open to peek.

The fire was crackling happily and all the lamps and candles were blazing. A strange pleasant smell assaulted me and I inhaled deeply opening the door all the way. What was that aroma?

Erik was at his desk, writing but he turned at the sound of my door with all of his masks in place.

"Good morning," I smiled shyly walking out towards him. He uncoiled himself from the chair and stood to bow formally to me.

"Good morning Christine," I shivered at the first dose of the day of his intoxicating voice. Every time he opened his mouth was a miraculous event. "Would you care for some coffee or shall I make you some tea?" he offered and I wondered if coffee is what I was smelling and decided to try something new.

"Coffee please. Thank you."

He moved into the kitchen, elegant as always, in his choice of clothing. The pants and vest were both ebony black and the contrast of the white dress shirt made the royal blue ascot stand out as if it was made of sapphires. His hair gleamed as if still wet and he looked very glamorous, and here I was wearing only a wrapper with my hair in a ponytail.

I followed him and glanced at the wall where he'd made that crack disappear yesterday. There was no crack this morning and I wondered if I'd imagined it. I stood by the table tracing patterns with my fingers while he poured me a cup and placed the saucer in front of me.

"Would you care to sit?" he asked as he pulled out the chair for me. I watched his fingers gesture to the seat and with a quiet thank you, lowered myself down. He was wearing his gloves again. I had hoped that after last night he would trust me more.

I cupped the teacup in my hands and inhaled over the inky brown liquid. It smelled divine but my mind was preoccupied with how incongruous it was to have him hiding in his own home. How could I tell him it was not necessary without embarrassing him? Did he always dress up to this degree? Was he doing it because I was here? He looked like opulent royalty as he sat across from me, with his own cup retrieved from his desk, and caught my staring eye. I looked away as my cheeks heated.

I wanted him to be comfortable around me but then I still felt so awkward around him. I lifted the coffee to finally taste this wonderful smelling drink, not knowing what else to do.

---

Erik

---

The morning had begun at my writing desk, fortified with coffee, with a quill poised and ready to put words, ideas, or experiments to paper. But I sat there seized with thoughts of Christine. I frowned at the blank paper knowing exactly why my brain was so full of her image. She had not reacted at all as I'd expected, her tears of compassion, not of terror and her gentle touch, her fierce hug. My frown relaxed as I thought of something to put on paper. I began to draw absently thinking of her face. I didn't understand why she was still here, maybe she knew she could not take care of herself and was willing to endure me to receive the level of care she required. She was proving to be quite a delicate creature, but against all the odds, I still had her here under my wing and I would not question it.

I put down the ink, a rough image of an averted face, sketched quickly. It was Christine, her hair unbound, her head bowed, her lashes would look as if they were resting on her cheeks, those cheeks flushed with emotion, her lips curved slightly…

I stood to refill my coffee my hands lightly trembling.

Was this love? This quickening in my breast at the mere thought of her, the breathless wonder when she touched me, the confused thoughts when she spoke to me…

Was this only lust? Surely that made more sense. She was absolutely beautiful and was not obverse to spending time with me. What more did I need to lust after her?

Could I feel both lust and love towards her? Or after quenching my desire to taste her would I lose interest? My lips twitched realizing I'd already tasted her and it had done nothing to quench my darkest desires. I licked my lips remembering the soft silky feel of her mouth against mine and the curved allure of her womanly form pressed…

I hastily swallowed some coffee to steady myself. That is not why she is here, Erik! She needs your protection, not your erection.

I glanced at her closed door wondering what was keeping her from coming out. Was she afraid now? I turned back to the desk and stared at the picture I'd drawn. I slid it into one of my drawers so as not to embarrass Christine should she come out and find me fantasizing about her.

I picked up the quill and stared at the blank paper again.

COME ON! I prompted myself. Think of something besides this utterly fascinating woman…

Her door opened right then and I practically tripped over myself to bow to her and get her settled at the table with some coffee. Her hair was pulled back tightly this morning and it made her look very young and fresh with no hair to distract from the radiance in her eyes. I wondered how she could still look so innocent after hearing I was a killer.

She was wearing her ballet slippers and the new white wrapper that I'd purchased for her. I was glad to see her in something I bought but wondered why she hadn't dressed yet. I preferred for her to be fully dressed because then it would not be so terrifyingly easy to undress her. Not that I would ever remove her clothing. I rolled my eyes at myself as I retrieved my coffee from the desk. But if she closed her eyes while trying to stand...

I sat across from her wondering what questions she would have for me today but she barely looked at me. She kept her head bowed over her cup and sipped and smelled in delicately little movements for a good ten minutes until I decided I would have to be the one to start the conversation.

"Do you need to practice your dancing?" her head came up, one hand pulling some curls over her shoulder to toy with them idly.

"I do. We practice every day, whether we have parts or not. It keeps us moving together and then those of us who do not have a part can…" she trailed off as she met my eye and I wasn't sure what on my face persuaded her to stop. I encouraged her to continue with a raised eyebrow.

"Can what?" I pressed and she blushed and looked back into her cup. How she managed to look both alluring and unsure at the same time I do not know. Maybe it was just me and my warped view of things.

"Well, we can..." she began tracing patterns on the table, "we can substitute if someone falls ill. Practicing every day together keeps us from getting lazy or forgetting the dances." She seemed uncomfortable so I took over.

"You have no part in the current opera but if someone were to injure themselves or fall ill then you could take their place seamlessly. It is a perfectly sound training habit." It had been one of my suggestions that the dancers take larger parts. Mme Giry ran a tight ship and should be able to showcase not just her talent but her talented girls. "Do you require accompaniment?" I wanted to be of service to her, anything she needed or wanted I wanted to give her.

She looked behind her at the piano and chewed thoughtfully on her lip. "That would be very nice of you," she stood smoothing down the front of the wrapper and I stood pulling down on my vest.

"Would you prefer music from the current opera or the next?" I propped open the piano lid and quickly moved some of the furnishings around to give her more room. As I straightened I looked for her because she had yet to answer my question. She looked down when our eyes met and answered quietly.

"The next please." She rose on her toes to test the movement on the carpet and I was riveted to her foot.

"Is the carpet going to hinder you?" I asked politely though I stared impolitely at the arch her slippered foot created while she tested a few pirouettes on the carpet. I wanted to take that foot into my hands and unwrap the ribbons like I was unwrapping a present and then slowly run my fingertips over the ankle bones and up her calf…

I tore my eyes from her feet waiting for her to answer me, ready to roll up the thick carpet if she said it wouldn't work. Her eyes flicked to mine finally and she shook her head. "If I practice on carpet then dancing on the hardwood stage will be like dancing on clouds."

I didn't know what to say to her sudden exuberance so I gestured to the center of the carpet and half bowed as I turned to walk to the piano. She seemed different today. Yesterday she had been quietly eager if a little withdrawn but today she was entirely withdrawn, only speaking if spoken to and afraid to meet my eyes. It was as if she was looking with new eyes and had to become accustomed to it. With my prompting she would answer but she'd yet to ask a single question and I found that I kind of missed them. It certainly filled the awkward silence.

Perhaps, now that she'd had time to fully digest everything I'd told her she was scared. I glanced at her as I sat at the keys, she did seem nervous and it hurt me to see it so clearly.

"When you are ready I will begin with the opening ballet," my voice was curt again, as I drew myself further inside. She did not want to break friendship with me but she was still frightened. Of course she would be frightened. I killed people for a living. I was retired but that can't stop me from being what I am. Monster.

I was watching her blankly waiting for her to nod that I could begin but she kept me waiting. She tested a few movements and then turned her back to me to re-wrap the dressing jacket. She folded it up, pulling the hemline to her knees and tightened the sash expertly so it would not slip down. I almost swallowed my tongue as my hands began to tremble. It was one thing to watch the dancers on stage but to have one with bared legs and slippered feet, alone with a lusting man.

I looked away hastily. What was I doing ogling her like that? My eyes slid back to her as she twirled a few more moves on the carpet, before pulling the ribbon from her hair and shaking her head to muss the curls. She straightened and looked over at me, smiling brilliantly, within her cloud of tousled hair.

"Ready Erik," she beamed and I was stunned. I turned to the keys forgetting what song I was playing for a second. She smiled so intensely. No one who was scared could put the brilliance of the sun into a smile.…could they?

My hands came down on the opening chords, knowing where they had to go. It was a good thing too, because my eyes could spare not a moment for the keys. My eyes were all for her. She moved to the music like she let it inside her and it propelled her through Mme Giry's careful choreography. I'd watched her dance at the Masquerade but somehow this was vastly different. Maybe because I now knew her instead of her being a stranger; maybe because it was so intimate to be creating the music that made her move so enticingly across the floor. She twirled and stretched her body, dancing her way into my heart.

More like my loins, which were noticeably tighter than when she had started. I tried to pry my eyes from her but, traitors that they were, they much preferred to stare, rudely, at Christine. She bent and flexed and moved to the music, kicking her leg up past her head at one point and I had to look away. Don't look. Don't look.

I looked again as she rolled on the floor in a manner that had me grinding my teeth and when she arched into a sitting position and threw her long hair back as she sat up, I fumbled on the keys. I stared at my hands in shock. I NEVER fumbled on the keys.

Of course, I also never had beautiful young women rolling around on my living room floor. Damn Hannibal with the bloody slave girls dancing….

Christine was hugging her legs to her chest with her cheek on her knees, looking at me calmly and I did something else that I never do. I began to stutter.

"F-forgive me I…" scrambled for an excuse, "I forgot to take my gloves off. My hand slipped…" I stopped where I was and began pulling off the gloves. My hand slipped when your sexual movements on my floor made me want to come join you there and take you up into my arms and have your neck bend back just like that while I trailed kisses down to your…

"Did you want to begin from where we left off or do you need to start from the beginning?" please say from where we left off, my brain may die of oxygen deprivation if we have to start again.

"No, here is fine," she said quietly and I glanced at her as she lay back down on the ground. I looked back at the keys. Just kill me now and end my suffering, I begged, but no lighting could reach so far into the ground so I gave her a few bars as lead in and purposefully did not look her way as she sat up and rose to her feet. When she was once more vertical I let out the breath that I'd been holding and concentrated on the music. I closed my eyes and caressed the keys with the emotion that I felt deep inside me and the music began to pulse within me. I began to add to the music using my dexterity to play more than was required. Her dancing practice became secondary as I lost myself in the rhythm, the cadence, the notes. The music danced for me. It swirled madly from my fingers, lush with the desire of my hungry soul. The music was me and I made it for her.

The silence that greeted my ears was ruined only by the thumping in my chest. To give yourself so completely to the music was tiring but I figured I could do one more dance if I concentrated only on my hands. I looked over at Christine and found her staring at me, her chest rising and falling rapidly, as if the last half of her dance had been more strenuous.

"Would you like to continue?" I asked bravely.

Christine brought her hand to her forehead lightly and I noticed it was shaking. I stood already alerted to her status before she spoke, pressing her hand to her chest, "I…don't believe I can." She was oddly breathless and swayed dangerously.

"What is it?" I rushed to her side expecting her to faint again and cursed myself for forgetting to give her breakfast. In my concern for her welfare I forgot I was not wearing my gloves and reached for her wrist to check her pulse. She flinched at my cold hands and I pulled them away but not before I felt the rapid speed of her heart. "Do you feel faint again?"

"No," she took a few deep breaths before she could explain further. "I've never heard the music so clearly," she shook her head, "Not just heard it but felt it." Her eyes closed in reverence and my eyebrows both lifted, shifting the mask slightly and I quickly pushed it back into place with annoyance. "After we started again, I felt like I was a conduit for the music…I've never felt so much…I don't know," she finished lamely opening her eyes to gaze at me adoringly. "Did you do that Erik?"

"I highly doubt…" I stopped in the middle of my dismissal and thought about it. Did I not just pour myself into the music? Could she really feel it? Her wide believing eyes tipped the scales for me and, embarrassed, I straightened my vest bashfully. "Perhaps I did, though I assure you it was not intentional. I've not played for an audience in quite some time."

She smiled at me and dropped her gaze, "You are very good."

"Surely the result of many hours spent practicing," and though my words brushed it off, I swelled with hope inside. If she could stand here smiling sweetly and compliment me. then maybe she was not scared of me. But staring at her bowed head I remembered her flinch at my unwanted touch.

"I think I've had enough dancing practice for today. But thank you very much for playing," she glanced up under her lashes and she looked so shy, sweet, coy, enchanting…

"It was my pleasure," I assured her, caught in the golden depths of her light filled eyes. I did not notice her hand moving for mine until she touched me. I tried not to stiffen but it was always my first line of defense. Her fingertips trailed over the back of my bare hand where it hung by my side and then she picked it up, cradling it in her warm dainty hands, gently. I felt like I was watching someone else, that this could not be me, that this was not Christine who gazed at my hand like it was a work of art. I peeled my eyes from her face to make sure my hand was still the same. I almost grimaced at the sight of the white bony thin fingers framed by her perfect appendages. I looked back at her face to see that wonder in her eyes and it confused me.

"Will you play for me…just like that, sometime when I'm not dancing?" her fingers were tickling the palm of my hand in a rhythmic motion and I never realized that it would be physically difficult to think while she touched me.

"Yes, of course, if you like…" I sounded like an idiot but she rewarded me with an ecstatic smile before bending to kiss my knuckles.

"You shouldn't hide such beautiful hands, Maestro," she murmured and I was sure I heard her wrong.

"I beg your pardon?" I asked more than a little bewildered and aroused at the silk of her lips on my hand. She dropped it like it was suddenly hot and she backed away grasping handfuls of her hair.

"Oh, uh…I should be getting dressed," she turned as she kept talking, "It won't take me long. I'll be out shortly," and she retreated to her room and closed the door.

I stood there for a moment feeling so many things buzzing through me. It was almost too much, all the new feelings she arose in me and I could barely believe that they were happening to me. Had my music really touched her so deeply? All I had done was alter some of the melodies, adding more intricacies as I went. What would happen if I played her some of my own music with the same vigor? Would she be able to handle it? And did she say Maestro? Did she know both of it's meanings? Was I teacher or master?

I felt a chill as I recalled the many people in Persia who asked me to hypnotize them before I killed them. The Shah had no idea that I was capable of it and always put my next adversary in the cell across from mine. I'm sure it was to torment both me and my opponent but the cells were blessedly dark and all we had was our voices. Some people would not speak, even when I spoke my line. "Confess to me what you have done to deserve the death I bring?"

The Shah was not a stupid man. He had me ask the opponents if they knew why I was going to kill them and report back to him what they revealed. They usually spilled everything bad they had ever done in their lives, down to the most ridiculous things and ending with a plea to be spared for being so obedient. No one was ever spared. But I did give them a choice. Be aware or be unaware. Some proud men would not hear of it, but many allowed me to cloud their mind with my exceptional voice. I had been very careful to never use my persuasive tone with Christine and she acted so crazily most times that I pushed that chilly thought away.

I looked down at my bare hands wondering what exactly she had said about my hands. I held them out in front of me for a few moments to study them. Beautiful? I hardly think so. Perhaps it was time to test my hearing.