Christine stared at the scattered items on Erik's nightstand before her. His wristwatch, a silver Omega. An empty drinking glass. A faded photograph of his mother. His bedroom had three windows in the far wall, all facing the busy avenue below. They were high enough that Christine could see a fair distance into the city. The sounds of Paris in the morning mirrored those of her New York; she could hear dogs barking, cars honking, and the jarring noise of a siren.

She had awoken well over an hour ago, but she couldn't find the courage to wake the man that still slept beside her. Christine blinked, and glanced down to the hand that was curled over the dip of her waist. Heat flooded her face and chest at the memories of the night before. The way Erik had held her, kissed her. Touched her.

His room had been dark last night; so dark that Christine had barely been able to make out his shape at all. Sight had not mattered when so much of the night had been focused on her sensation alone. She had been touched there only twice in her life: once by her doctor during an uncomfortable routine exam; the second time had been by a boy she'd once dated in high school, an even more uncomfortable fumbling in the backseat of his Jeep.

That part of her had gone on ignored and neglected for years; as Christine had never met a man that appealed to her, sex had always remained a distant thing- an impossible thing meant for those who could settle for less. Even against the odds, Christine's heart had never freed itself from Erik's hold. She had waited so long for him.

Still reeling from the release, Christine knew exactly what Erik had done to her, how could she not? What had happened had been her first genuine exposure to the raw animal that was passion. In her first climax, she'd sobbed Erik's name. Entering his bedroom in lingerie, offering herself to his command had been a long-held fantasy that she'd abandoned to dreams. That the fantasy had been fulfilled gave her pause; when would Erik take her fully? She felt no fear for the act, only an eagerness she'd never known before.

She had never felt the way Erik had made her feel; never had she felt as drained, sore, or hungry for more as she did now.

Erik sighed in his sleep and his hand tightened on her, curling her closer to his body. Even in his sleep he wanted her. Christine turned just slightly so that she could see the exposed flesh that rested over her belly. Never, not in all their years together in Shalimar, had she seen his naked hands. Christine shifted again, her movements as quiet and controlled as she could manage, so that she could sit up and better examine him in the daylight. The window was still open from the night before, with warm, buttery sunlight streaming into the room along with a soft breeze. As Christine had moved to sit upright, Erik's hand slid down her body and now rested in her lap. Christine moistened her lips, remembering his hand being there the night before, and what he had made her feel.

Yes, hungry for more.

Carefully, she lifted his hand, cradled it with her own. It was a patchwork of deep, deep burn scars. The flesh was puckered and bunched in some areas, taut and shiny in others; a combination of Erik's own pale coloring and the deep rose of scar tissue, along with several white traceries. There was not an inch of intact flesh; from his palms to his fingertips to his wrists. Christine pulled back the sleeve on his shirt to see if the scarring had stopped there. It did not. The scars continued further up his arm, past the reach of her eyes.

Christine took a breath, understanding, finally, why he refused to be seen. She'd had her suspicions before now, of course, but it was a strange thing to behold the proof of those suspicions, and see Erik as he truly was.

She could only imagine his face.

Christine softly stroked the back of his hand, wishing that her touch could somehow make him whole again. She looked over to him, and this time found his golden eyes staring back at her.

Wordlessly, Erik pulled his hand from hers and slowly rose to sit up on the edge of the bed, with his back turned to her. She watched as he reached into the drawer of the nightstand on his side, and pulled on the pair of gloves he had stored there.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

Erik paused and shook his head, still turned away from her. "I don't want you to feel sorry for me, Christine. It was a long time ago." He fell silent then, thinking. Christine watched as he took a breath and gathered his own courage to bring up what had happened between them. "I should be the one to apologize to you. Last night, yesterday...it was a mistake. I never should have said those things to you, never grabbed you or demanded that you- this was never meant to get so out of hand-"

"What are you saying?"

Erik sighed, and finally turned to face her. His eyes were haunted and he felt his heart lurch at the sight of her, a beautiful woman in his bed. His hands ached to be on her again, but he didn't trust himself to touch her. "I'm saying that I was wrong. I was horrible to you, when you deserved none of it. I'm sorry, Christine. I acted like an animal- no, worse. A madman! I had no right to judge what you've chosen to do with your life, no right to make the demands of you that I did. I've ruined our time together, and I'll understand if you want to leave-"

Christine shook her head. "No, Erik. I don't want to leave."

He frowned slightly, his eyes confused. "After what I said to you yesterday, you must hate me."

Christine shrugged in that carefree way she'd developed over the years, a gesture Erik remembered well. She knew that Erik was going to back out now; that in any minute, he would send her to her own bedroom, declaring it "inappropriate" for her to be in his, or some other nonsense.

No. She could not let him end this by casting her aside.

Erik had shown a vulnerable truth of himself to her yesterday: that he had grown attracted to her, that he was jealous and desired her for himself. Desire, coupled with his affection...

Christine refused to give up now- she loved him to the point where her heart was near bursting with it, she would die if he should turn her away now.

She wanted to be Erik's lover, and more importantly, his love- however, pride demanded that she address the things he had accused her of the night before. She leaned in close to him, and put her hand over his shoulder. Erik tried not to show any reaction, and willed his eyes not to leave her face- very difficult, when she was bathed in the sun, her every beautiful secret revealed to him.

Her fingers speared through his hair, stroking him in a gentle massage. Christine smiled to herself in slight triumph when his eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into her touch. "I don't hate you, Erik. I never could. As for what you said to me...you said you were jealous and that temper of yours is legendary, so I understand that you overreacted." She teased him a bit before her expression became serious, and her hand tightened painfully on his shoulder. "But just know this: if you ever again imply that I would give myself to a man for money, I might overreact by throwing your computer, your pictures, your books- and everything else you hold dear- off a bridge and into the Seine river."

Erik raised his brows at her bold statement, too stunned to laugh. Her bright eyes snapped at him, daring him to challenge her statement. He was wise not to do so.

Christine's lips quirked slightly. "Will you hand me my robe, please? You set it on that chair last night."

Erik felt his heart constrict at the mention of what had went on between them. Her lack of embarrassment seemed only to enhance his own; she was comfortable to be so exposed. Was she simply accustomed to be in a man's bed, or was it that she felt safe with him? Erik didn't know how to ask her such a question, and he wasn't sure if he wished to know her answer.

Quickly, he stepped over to his desk to retrieve her robe, and handed it to her without meeting her eyes. Erik felt a shame he never knew was possible, so deep that he felt a leaden guilt sink into his stomach. How could he have made such demands of her? Touched her in such a way, without offering anything to her for the privilege?

He had to make things right between them.

Christine arranged her hair in the mirror and thought again of what had happened the night before. No question that she wished to continue along this path; Erik had revealed his desire for her, and his affection was never in doubt. If he both desired and cared for her, why couldn't he see that they should be together? More than anything, she wanted to talk to him- but she didn't want him to enter into a relationship with her simply because she'd suggested it.

She wanted Erik to choose her by his own choice.

Was that asking for too much? Christine didn't think so, though obviously it would take longer to achieve. Erik wasn't known for rushing into things, and for that matter neither was Christine. She wanted it to happen, but she wanted it to happen right.

Her expression grew dreamy as she recalled the kisses he'd feathered over her throat, the way his lips had tasted on her own, and the strength she'd felt in his body. She had never been held by a man; the power of Erik's arms had been surprising and wonderful. She understood now, why he had not removed any of his own clothing, but still she yearned for him to be revealed to her. She wanted him to be naked, his every secret revealed to her eyes. She wanted to give herself to him fully, to give him the peace and passion that no other woman ever had. Christine felt drugged, euphoric.

She wanted Erik again, fiercely, and she blinked several times to clear her mind.

Now is not the time to let my imagination get the better of me, she thought. As she had been raised both in Shalimar and in the American culture, she had conflicting views of a woman's seduction of a man. Could she seduce Erik without losing his respect? Would he see her as empowered and independent or simply wanton?

Sighing, Christine asserted that she did not have to cater to one ideal or the other. Why should she? Much like Erik, she had been raised in two differing cultures, and taken something from each. The expression of "A lamb in the kitchen, a tiger in the bedroom" could certainly be applied. For Erik, she would be fiercely loyal and dedicated to pleasing him. She balked at the idea of losing her identity in favor of his, but she would strive to be all that he could ever hope for, just as he would be for her.

For years now, she had followed her heart. First in school, then with signing to her modeling agency, and in her choice to pursue Erik, however subtle her original plans had been. Her heart thumped in her chest, reassuring her that she had to make the man see how happy they could be, if only he would allow it.

It was a risk to their frienship, but couldn't she now, especially now, choose for herself what would be for the best?

Yes. I have to take that chance.

Christine smiled to herself in the mirror and turned to the closet to select her clothes for the day.

Erik had been pacing the living room when she found him. His mind had been racing, trying ultimately too hard to understand both himself and the girl that now shared his home. He'd shouted at her, accused her and forced a kiss on her before commanding her to his bedroom- and she had come to him!

The man still could hardly believe the truth of it.

That Christine had willingly come to him, submitted and allowed him to take her to his bed was beyond astounding. She had not protested his kisses or stopped him from touching her...

But then why would she? Certainly another man has kissed her, touched her, taken her...

Erik clenched his fists at the thought, ready to kill any man that would look at her, let alone anyone that she had been involved with! He knew he had no right to judge her past, especially as circumstances had forced disclosure from him. She knew he'd taken lovers within the Shaliman palace, the "arrangements" he'd made with courtesans and the women he'd frequented in France.

Erik shook his head, embarrassed to have revealed so much of what he preferred to keep private.

Christine had seen his hands. He'd woken up to her touching his hand, cradling and stroking it as she'd held it between her own delicate digits. He couldn't have helped but to watch her; he'd studied her expression as she'd been studying the scars covering his flesh. There had been no disgust in her face, only a deep concentration, an intense focus.

Erik flexed the fingers on his right hand, the hand she had touched, the hand that had touched her...

He took a deep breath, ready to tear the room apart in his frustration.

"You'll wear a hole in the floor if you keep pacing that way,"

Erik's eyes shot to the stairs, where Christine was descending. She smiled at him while he could only stare back at her, dumbfounded. Though casually dressed for the day in spectacular new jeans and a flowing Grecian blouse, Erik could feel his mouth begin to water at the sight of her. She looked so beautiful in the sunlight streaming in through the windows, so vibrant and alive.

She put her hands out to him and without thinking, Erik lifted them to his lips for a soft kiss. Her taste was drugging.

Christine found her voice first. "Hello, Erik."

"Hello, Christine."

An awkward silence passed between them, neither sure what to say. There were so many things unsaid, unexplained, that neither of them knew where to begin. Erik didn't wish to begin anywhere, he wanted either of two things: to take Christine back to his room so that he might have her properly, or to escape the isolation of his apartment with her all together. The latter won out.

"Christine, let me take you to breakfast," he said suddenly. He was eager to be with her, but he wished to be with her in public, out in the open with the sun coming down to greet them. The apartment was smothering, he wanted to escape their scene of anger and passion, but only if Christine was with him.

She smiled at his suggestion, slightly uncertain, and nodded. "Um, sure, Erik I'd love some breakfast. Did you have a place in mind?"

She moved to the kitchen counter to retrieve her purse, leaving Erik to think on his feet. "Ah, McDonald's!"

"McDonald's?"

"Yes! Wouldn't you love a taste of home?" He said erratically, knowing he sounded like an idiot but that it was too late to stop. He promised himself that he would sit down and explain everything to her later that night. Today was their day, no matter what happened between them that evening.

Christine frowned. "No, I wouldn't. I didn't come all the way to France for a Quarter-pounder with cheese."

Erik smirked at her. "You know, in France they call it a Royale with cheese."

Despite the awkwardness that hung over them, Christine had to laugh. Maybe they were just being too tense, and Erik had the right idea, that stepping out would be for the best. Fresh air could clear their heads, or at least relax their moods. Then they could speak, sort out their feelings and Christine hoped, moved forward together.

She laughed, and after a moment, Erik joined her.

"All right, I'll have breakfast with you, Erik, but only if you promise me we'll go for baquettes and coffee instead of anything off the Dollar Menu."

Surprising him, Christine took his arm. Despite all that was hanging over him, Erik could only match her smile with his own.

He was lost when it came to resisting her.

Hours later, and Erik was still at a loss as to how to mend the damage he felt he'd done to their friendship with his cruel words and demands from the day before. Theirs was an infinitely delicate situation, made even more complicated by what had happened in his bedroom. He wanted Christine again, but how could that ever happen? No. She had come to him once, and Erik had given her pleasure rather than take his own fill- he hadn't deserved to even feast his eyes on her, let alone take her body with his own.

I want her again, but do I deserve her? We had a chance to become more than friends and I might have ruined it- accusing her, commanding her...

As they walked, Erik felt her arm slip into his, and smiled to her. Christine had been doing things like that throughout the day; taking his arm when he offered it, standing close to him, smiling and sunny and charming. She was such a wonderful girl. He didn't understand how she could be enjoying her time with him now, after everything he'd accused her of. Why hadn't she been angry with him for what he'd said? Was it that her pleasure from the night before had overwhelmed her anger?

Christine is almost behaving as if she wants-

If she wanted me, I don't believe I have the strength to resist her- but it would be wrong to, wouldn't it, to begin an affair with her? She is precious to me, and she may only be hurt when the time came to end things. This is Christine, not some other woman that I could forget so easily.

It was an endless inward conflict for Erik: he felt he should be damned for the way he'd treated her the night before, but if Christine desired him now after the pleasure he'd given her, then he did not have the will to resist her if she approached him again.

What would happen when night fell?

"You're so pensive, Erik. Positively brooding. What's wrong?"

Erik looked over to see Christine's concerned face. He glanced up. The sky was orange with the setting afternoon sun. His pulse quickened. "Nothing is wrong, Christine. Just thinking, that's all."

She raised her eyebrow at him.

Erik shook his head and tightened his hand over hers, almost surprised to realize that they had been walking hand-in-hand for several blocks. He stopped and turned to face her fully. Behind the mask, he furrowed his brow. Anyone that saw them might think that he was simply a man on an evening walk with his mistress. He lifted his free hand to her face, brushing his fingertips along the high curve of her cheek.

"Just thinking," he repeated.

Christine didn't have to ask what he was thinking about. Their relationship had occupied her thoughts for most of the day as well, however unlike Erik, Christine's mind was focused on how best to move them forward rather than sort out what was right or proper or socially appropriate. Last night had been the proof to her of how good they could be together. She longed to give Erik the pleasure that he had given her. Her heart ached to be his lover.

Erik glanced over to see that they were near the Tiffany storefront, where he had planned to take her yesterday before he had allowed his jealousy to make an idiot of him. He led her toward the store. "Besides, I owe you a present, Christine."

She began to protest, "No, Erik, you don't need to give me anythi-"

He turned to her, a slight smile playing about his lips. "Please, Christine. When a king gives a gift, it must be accepted." He paused outside the store, taking in the sight of Christine on the poster.

It was not vulgar in any way, in fact it was perhaps the most modest of campaigns that Christine had done. This poster in particular was an overhead shot of her laying upon a lounge, with a dark sheet draped over her body, revealing just enough to suggest that she was nude beneath it. Her only adornment was a silver pendant necklace, the showcase piece in the year's new collection.

Reflecting now, and much more calm, Erik had to admit that it was a beautiful photograph. It had an elegant, dreamscape quality that made him think of dark, sensual operas. Her eyes bore into his from the picture, tempting and challenging him. Erik didn't like that so many others could see her in this way, it was a pose that should have been kept private, for a lover alone.

For me alone.

Still, he refused to let his jealousy overwhelm his logic again. Erik glanced at her. "Once we return to the apartment, I want you to tell me the story of how you came to be on posters like these."

Erik might have posed his request as a question, but Christine was no fool, it was only another thinly veiled command.

She nodded. "I'd be happy to explain."

"Good. But first, your gift." Erik pulled open the door and allowed Christine to step into the store before him.