Chapter Two
Christine pressed herself against him as he caressed her, moaning softly at his gentle touch and at the sound of his voice whispering her name.
"Erik," she pleaded, growing lightheaded with desire, "I don't want to wait until tonight. I need you now."
He shook his head and set her on her feet.
"I need you, too," he said, standing, "but wait…wait until tonight. I promise you heaven."
They heard a voice in the lobby downstairs, humming and coming closer.
"It sounds like Sam is here," Erik remarked as he straightened his tie. Christine picked up her comb and, sitting on the leather settee by the window, quickly put up her hair.
A thin man with elaborately combed gray curls peered into the room.
"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"
"Oh, no, Sam," Christine answered, glancing over at Erik.
"We were just waiting for you," Erik added, lighting a cigarette, "Christine's ready for the final rehearsal."
Sam sat down at the piano and opened the cover. Arranging the music on the rack, he smiled at the singer.
"Well, then, Miss Daae. What shall we begin with?"
"The last song, please," she replied, smoothing her skirt and coming over to the piano.
You must remember
this, a kiss is just a kiss. A sigh is just a sigh as time goes by...
As she sang, she looked across the room to Erik. He was
leaning back against the bar, his blue-green eyes closed as he
listened to her. The sunlight streaming through the café's
large window shone in his thick brown hair.
He was so handsome, she thought. Almost too handsome to look at.
It's
a fundamental story, a fight for love and glory. A case of do or die
as time goes by.
He took a long drag at the cigarette and
she blushed, knowing what pleasure his hands and lips had already
given her…wondering what new passion the night would bring.
The harsh sound of a ringing telephone cut into both her song and her reverie.
"I'll answer that," Sam said, rising from the bench, "Yves said he'd call about the last minute arrangements for the doormen."
When Sam had gone, Erik took his place at the piano and began to play.
"Sing for me, my Angel."
She recognized the song he was playing. It was one of his own, one he'd written for her.
Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses…
"Don't
stop, Christine. Keep singing," he instructed her, as he ceased to
play and rose.
Slowly, gently, night unfurls its
splendors…
Coming close to her, he traced his fingers along her delicate collar bone. It was a trick he taught her…if she could concentrate on her singing when he touched her like that, nothing could distract her during a performance.
He'd used the trick on other singers, but he had never enjoyed it as much as he did with Christine.
He smiled. She already given him her heart, her mind, her voice. Tonight, she would give him her body and soul.