Disclaimer: To my great regret, Erik, Christine, Madame and Meg Giry are the creations of Gaston Leroux and/or Andrew Lloyd Webber. The plot, such as it is, belongs to me.

A/N: Please read and let me know what you think.

NO ONE BUT HER

Chapter Five—Touch Me, Trust Me?

"Oooh! Those pig-headed, stubborn . . . men!" Christine entered her bedroom and flung her hat and gloves onto a nearby table. Propping her hands on her hips she surveyed her comfortable surroundings, searching for something she could hit without hurting her hand. She rounded on Meg, who entered from the small nursery that was adjacent to the bedroom with a frown on her face and a finger pressed to her lips. "Just because—"

"Quiet! I just now got Stephen to go to sleep! If he wakens, there'll be hell to pay and you know it!" Meg hissed. She took Christine by the arm and led her to one of the chairs that sat in front of the bay window, pushing her down on the seat. "Now, what is it that has you so irritated?"

"Raoul's business manager, that's what! Just because I'm a woman and a mother, I'm not supposed to have a brain and be able to think for myself. There are some details that need to be taken care of and I am incapable of doing it!"

"Did Raoul discuss these things with you?"

"Yes, and he told me specifically what he intended to do, which is almost the exact opposite of what is going to happen, unless I can find a way to prevent it." She jumped up and began to pace.

"Talk to Erik." Meg spoke quietly. "From what I've been able to figure out, that is how he's been making a living these last four years. I think he might have been comfortably well off before—I mean, getting 'rent' from the owners of the opera, and not spending all that much of it, except perhaps on clothes now and then. But Maman has told me that he has made some brilliant business investments since then, has even advised her on what to do."

"Will you stay and watch the children, Meg?" Without waiting for an answer, Christine went to the armoire and pulled out a simple day gown of light blue linen. "What time is it?" She glanced at the watch pinned to her bodice. Barely two in the afternoon. "Good; I should have plenty of time to get there and back before dinner." She dressed hurriedly, grabbing up her hat and gloves from where she'd thrown them, never hearing Meg's admonition to be careful.

Erik cradled his forearm against his stomach and carefully walked toward the house. The stallion, Thunder, had tried to take a chunk out of him while attempting to get to the mare, Brandy, who was in season. Erik sighed, knowing that he must keep the two separated, since he did not want Brandy to be having a foal for another year yet. The sound of someone coming up his drive at a fast pace made him glance up sharply.

Recognizing the buggy as the one Christine had driven the day she'd brought the children, he moved quickly toward her, reaching the side of the buggy almost before it stopped. "Christine, what's wrong? Are the children all right?"

Startled by the sight of him, for a moment she could do no more than stare. His exertions had left a sheen of perspiration on his chest, and his shirt was undone nearly to his waist, his dark hair mussed. The blue of his shirt darkened his eyes to turquoise, and her mouth went dry. Then she saw the bite mark on his left forearm and the blood dripping from it and forgot everything else.

"What happened?" She jumped from the buggy before he could assist her and grabbed his good arm. "Come into the kitchen and let me look at that."

"It's nothing, really. I've had much wor—" The look she gave him could have melted iron and wisely he choked off what he'd been about to say. I only hope I can endure your touch without doing something stupid, love.

In the kitchen she worked the handle on the pump at the sink and wet a cloth she grabbed up from the counter. She turned to him, and grabbing the sleeve of his shirt, ripped it all the way to the shoulder seam so she could see the wound more clearly. Taking his hand she pulled his arm over the edge of the sink and pumped out more water.

He hissed as the cold water hit the wound, and she pulled his arm free of the water to look more carefully at the puncture. "What happened?" she asked again, frowning at the jagged edges of the wound.

"Thunder—my stallion—tried to get to the mare by going through me," he told her through teeth clenched as much from her nearness at the pain. "Damnation, woman! That hurts like hell! What are you doing?"

Calmly she ignored his outburst and continued to put pressure on the wound. "If you keep pressure on some wounds, they stop bleeding sooner." Slowly she peeled away the cloth, and smiled when the bleeding did not continue. "You see? Now we need to wrap it carefully—oh, do you have any whiskey?" At his raised eyebrows she said, "The alcohol helps keep infection away."

He gestured behind them. "I think there's a bottle of cognac in one of the cupboards." She stood on tiptoe, but couldn't reach the top shelf. Before he could stop himself, he leaned past her, intentionally trapping her between his body and the cabinet. The softness of her pressed against him and the tantalizing scent of her nearly made him forget his promise. Quickly he pulled the bottle down and handed it to her. "This is going to hurt, isn't it?"

The hard, warm length of him pushing against her and the smell of horses and sweat and him made Christine forget where she was for a moment. No! she cried silently. I cannot weaken; I cannot be unfaithful to Raoul. She tightened her fingers around the neck of the bottle and took a deep breath. When she turned to answer him, the look on his face nearly made her drop the cognac. "Please, Erik, don't!" she begged.

Backing away from her, he raised his uninjured hand in submission. "I'm sorry, Christine. I don't mean to frighten you. But when you are near me, I—"

At that moment she uncorked the cognac and poured some on his wound, making him howl in pain. Suddenly wary of just what he might do, she put the bottle down and moved quickly to the other side of the kitchen.

"You did that on purpose." His voice was even, but his eyes flashed a warning at her. Slowly he walked toward her, and skittishly she backed away, until she could go no further.

"Yes, I did it on purpose! Raoul has been gone only a few months and—"

"And you loved him. Oh, yes, I know very well exactly how much you loved him—so much so that you were willing to sacrifice yourself to me so he could be free." His face only inches from hers, he stared deeply into her eyes. "And how much I wanted love like that for myself," he whispered and turned away.

"I know you loved me—you said as much that night. And—you loved me enough to let us go, rather than force me to stay with you, as I'd said I would." Swallowing, she asked quietly, "Where does that leave us?"

"I don't know." Sounding defeated, he ripped what remained of his sleeve off and went to the counter. He picked up a square of cloth, clumsily trying to fashion a bandage for his wound with one hand.

Suddenly her hands took the cloth from him and gently she wrapped it around his wound, her light touch sending sparks shooting up his body and making him groan softly. Her eyes flew to his and he merely shook his head, unable to trust his voice. Finally she tied the ends together and told him not to get the bandage wet. Needing something else to occupy her hands, she gathered up the used cloths and took them to the sink.

"Why did you come here today, Christine? Not to doctor my wound, certainly."

"Meg suggested that I come and talk to you. Raoul's business manager is making an ass of himself, and I can't do anything about it. Because I'm a woman, I have no brain and can't make complicated business decisions." Disgusted, she told him what had been said and decided in the meeting that morning, adding, "Raoul distinctly told me he wanted to do the opposite, but my word isn't good enough for them."

"And he wrote down none of these instructions, just told you what he wanted done? That doesn't sound like him," mused Erik. At her surprised look, he said, "Unbeknownst to Raoul, we did some business together in the last few months, and I know he was an astute businessman. And you knew him better than I—he would have written down something about this? Where would it be?"

Frowning, Christine chewed her bottom lip, distracting him to no small degree. Her eyes lit up as she remembered, "There's a drawer in the bottom of his desk that he kept locked and I now have the only key. If there are instructions, they would be in that drawer." Delighted, she flew across the room and into his arms. "Oh, Erik, thank you!"

His arms folded around her and he held her close, savoring the scent of her and the softness of her body against his. "You're welcome, love," he whispered and gently set her away from him. At her confused look he explained, his voice ragged, "My control hangs by a very thin thread where you are concerned. I know you only wanted to thank me for making you remember the drawer, but . . . Christine, have you no idea what you do to me?"