To kiss a woman was a delirious experience, he decided as his lips fervently pressed against Rose's heart-shaped mouth over and over again. Now, he had some measure of sympathy for the stagehands who were always trying to get the curvaceous little ballet rats in a corner and steal kisses from them.

When Rose didn't pull away, he felt he might die of pure pleasure. Slowly, he let his hands wander and caress the firm, slender lines of her back, relishing the sound of his skin catching on the raw silk of her dress.

Oh, she smelled of rain and soap, and he longed to taste it on her skin. Would she let him? Did he dare? Suddenly, he grew tense and doubted, remembering her frightened eyes when Buquet had taken his liberties. And yet…yet somehow he found his mouth had wandered from her honeyed mouth and were searching out the warm, secret skin between her jaw and her neck.

He felt her jagged gasps as his hands firmly encircled her ribs, boldly holding her firmly and possessively. Oh, if only this were Christine! What pleasure he could give her! There was nothing he would not do to hear passionate bliss in his darling's voice.

With aching slowness that made his sinews crack with the effort of holding himself in check, he let his lips slide down the length of Rose's cool, graceful throat until they found the hollow at the base of it. From there, he worked his kisses back up to her mouth. By now, his kisses had become hungrier, more demanding, more daring. He opened her mouth with his tongue and freely tasted of her flavor of sugar and wine. One of his hands had wound itself into her tumbling brown mane, and he growled as he felt her slender hands clutching at the collar of his shirt, his shoulders, his arms.

She seemed to swoon in his embrace, and he nearly swooned himself at the pleasure of feeling her gentle weight of her lithe frame in his arms. Her warm breath was on his skin, and he found himself smiling, dazed and desiring this angel enshrouded in black in his arms. He let his eyes drift open to gaze at her, jarred for a moment that it wasn't Christine. But perhaps more jarring was the look in Rose's eyes as she returned his regard.

He had not had many occasions to learn what the expression of tenderness looked like in other people's faces. Fear, anger, hatred, greed – those he knew like his own reflection. Pity – yes, he had seen pity a few times. But…tenderness…

He nearly dropped her at the shock he felt at seeing such an alien expression on her ordinary features. She seemed transformed to his eyes – lighter, softer…even pretty. Gently, he lowered her down onto the thick, black velvet covers. His nostrils flared in surprise when she actually pulled him down with her, clinging to his shirtfront.

Did she not know what she was doing? Did she not care that she tempted the devil himself? God, her lips, her skin!

Unable to reason through the thick, viscous desire he suddenly felt surging through him, he fell upon her, his lips savagely taking hers, his hands roaming over her smooth belly as he stretched out alongside her so as not to crush her with his weight.

God! What was he doing? He was mad. She was mad. Bliss and madness were but two sides of the same coin. Drowning in kisses that fell like hard rain between them, he gathered her to him and groaned into her mouth with delight to feel her body pressed to his.

"Where is she?"

The woman's voice bounced and echoed jarringly off the uneven walls of the cavern. Rose's gasp was sharp and painful as she started in his embrace. But in a flash, he was off the bed, crossing his lair with large, angry strides of denied desire and territorial rage.

"Where is she?" Madame Giry's clear, angry voice rang out again as she faced the charging panther without fear.

"She is here," he growled, murder and menace making his voice thick and rough. "But you should not be."

"She is mine!" Madame Giry said icily, hiding away the sudden stab of fear she felt at the sight of his disheveled appearance, half-open shirt and darkly flushed skin.

He regarded her in burning silence.

"You cannot have her!" Madame Giry snapped.

"I do not want her!" he snapped back before he realized that the words were out of his mouth. "I want Chris…tine…"

He realized what he had said just as a small figure in sodden white silk flitted past them, seeming to fly up the steep ledge and disappear into the darkness.

"Then stay away from her," Madame Giry hissed, the murderous glint in her clear dark eyes almost as vivid as his own had been. She turned on her heel and nimbly left the cavern.

He stood there as if frozen. What had he done? What had he said? And yet…

…every word had been true. Hadn't it?


A/N: Sorry for such a long delay. I had to work through several versions of this chapter to get it right, and my muse needed a tune-up. So…it's a short chapter, but at least things are moving again. Thanks once more to all my reviewers. It makes all the difference in the world to me and keeps me going!

Kate S.