Chapter Forty-three
For a long time, he simply held her. She lay quite still his arms, her cheek resting against his.
It was if there had been no separation, as if nothing had ever come between him.
That promised night in the little apartment above La Belle Vivre had come at last as he tugged the wrinkled silk dress from her body.
He felt her twist her body closer, as if she could not bear even a shadow of separation from him.
He sat up and removed his own rumpled clothing, feeling her hands shake as she tired to help him with the buttons of his white shirt.
Then he pressed her back down against the pillows, his hands slowly exploring her body as she whispered his name.
His lips followed the same path as his hands, as if the tenderness could erase the cruelty of the previous hour.
God only knew what the morning would bring. There was still the matter of de Chagny and the letters of transit. Major Hetzner and his men were still in Casablanca…
But, for a little while, he would let himself know peace and pleasure.
He entered her so slowly this time, not wanting to hurt her again. Her hands were spread against his chest and she arched her body up against his, trying to draw him in deeper.
"Please, Erik…I want all of you."
He did not move except to let his lips graze against the sensitive curve between her collar bones.
He wanted to say something to her, but this was not the time for words. And what could he tell her that she did not already know or sense?
She whimpered, her hungry cries melting into moans of ecstasy as he moved against her and within her. Her hips rose, eagerly matching his every movement.
"Oh…Erik…mon Dieu…Erik," she sobbed breathlessly as she felt her soul drowning in his gentle, but relentless passion.
He gasped her name like a dying prayer as his own body convulsed with his release.
And, finally, they slept with their bodies tangled together and his face hidden in the cascade of her hair.
It was still dark when Erik sat up in bed, one arm still around Christine's waist.
He heard footsteps in the club below, the sound of a door closing…voices.
He shook her gently, cursing the need to disturb her now as she sighed and tried to snuggle against his chest again.
"No, Christine, wake up"
As she opened her eyes, he eased himself out of her arms and picked up her gown from the floor.
"There is someone downstairs. It might be just be Sam," he said, not wanting to alarm her too much, "get dressed as quickly and as quietly as you can."
He heard her wince as she rose and pulled the dress over her head, smoothing it down with shaking hands.
He gathered up his own clothes, hurriedly putting on his shirt, trousers, and shoes.
In the next room, he found his mask and wig. When both were in place, he turned to see Christine watching him from the bedroom door. There was a sudden sadness in her eyes when she saw the mask.
She crossed the room slowly and put her arms around his neck, pulling his head down so she could give him one more kiss.
"Erik, I love you."
He smiled…for the first time in so long…and brushed his thumb against her cheek.
"Wait here, Christine."