CHAPTER FOUR

"I have to go out tonight for a bit, Christine," he said after clearing their dinner dishes away.

"Out?"

He smiled. "I do occasionally leave the opera house."

"What are you going to do?"

"You don't trust me? Must I be up to some nefarious purpose?"

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't mean that at all. I was just curious."

He threw on a black cloak that she hadn't noticed lying on the piano bench. "If you must know, I'd arranged a temporary apartment for Madame Giry and her daughter. I want to see if they have everything they need."

Christine felt her brows shoot up. "Ooh. May I go?"

His gaze turned dark. "What's this? Finally heeding your lover's plea to try to find an escape?" He took a step toward her. "I'll never let you go, Christine."

She pursed her lips, deciding that to fight him when he was in this mood would be futile. "May I at least send them my letters, then?"

"Letters?" he asked.

She nodded. "I wrote them earlier, when I thought to have no hope of ever seeing them again – or even of having my letters delivered. I would like to reassure them that I'm okay."

Erik put his hands to his face and ran them wearily down. "I'll give them your letters. But you'll see them again when the opera reopens. You won't always be confined to these quarters. Judging by the noise from upstairs, work has already begun."

"You're so confident of your ability to keep me confined within an entire opera house?"

He nodded. "I am. You'll find no escape that way."

"What about Raoul?"

"I think my threat will carry the day. If he becomes a problem, I may have to make other plans. Viscounts aren't immune to 'accidents'."

"Please don't hurt him," she whispered before good sense could instruct her otherwise.

Erik's gaze turned more malevolent. "Still pleading for his life? You are a scheming wench, aren't you?"

"That's not fair. I just don't wish the murder of a good man."

"Tell me, Christine. Do you regret your choice every single day? Are there any moments when you are happy here?"

She thought long and hard. "I don't regret my choice, Erik."

"I don't think I believe you. You were going to marry him."

She shook her head. "No, I don't think I was. I just hadn't worked up the nerve to tell him. Everyone would have thought me insane. I wasn't quite ready to face that."

"So you chose music over no music." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," she replied, answering anyway. "You give me more than Raoul ever could."

His face grew pained. "But he could give you everything," he whispered. "Everything you deserve. I can only give you darkness."

"I love the darkness when it has you in it, when it carries your voice."

She saw him stiffen.

"Run fetch your letters," he said, turning away from her toward the lake. "I'll deliver them."

She did as he commanded and watched as his form grew smaller across the expanse of candlelit water.

When he returned, she was half asleep on the luxurious sofa. "How are they?" she asked, concerned and hopeful.

He nodded. "Everything is as it should be. They are fine. I have promised to return to them in three days time. They will have letters for me to return to you."

"Oh, really? That's wonderful!"

"Are you so lonely here?"

She laughed. "A bit. I'm surprised to miss the bustle of the opera house, but in some of the quiet moments I find that I do. Other than that…" She shrugged. "You're surprisingly good company."

He smiled at her beneath the mask as his hands went to undo the ties of his cloak. He walked over to her and lay it across the back of the sofa. His black evening jacket followed, and then his hands hovered over the top button of his shirt.

Christine felt her eyes go wide.

Watching her closely, he undid first one button and then another. "I find evening dress very…constraining," he told her.

"Then why wear it all the time?"

He laughed. "I have my reputation as the opera ghost to uphold."

"I thought you'd given that up?"

"I suppose I have, but I guess I just want to look as much like a man as I can for you. You deserve a gentleman, someone civilized. If I dress the part, maybe one day I can be that for you."

She felt her gaze drift to the skin and stretch of chest hair revealed by his now open shirt, and she felt his eyes on her.

"Or would you prefer less of a gentleman, Christine?"

She looked up at him. "I'm sorry…what did you say?"

He watched her for a moment. "Would you like to see me again, Christine? Are you brave enough to say it?"

She almost laughed. "When have you ever known me to be brave?"

He snorted and nodded at her – but he also started releasing the remaining buttons – and Christine found herself holding her breath.

When he shrugged out of his shirt, she couldn't stop her roving gaze.

"Why do you like the sight of me?" he asked. "In this respect, don't I look like any other man?"

"I don't know about other men," she replied, stating what she thought should be obvious. "You just look like Erik. You look beautiful."

"How can you say such things to me?" he whispered.

"It's true," she replied simply.

He growled at her. "Then prove it. Touch me."

When she didn't move, he stalked over to her and pulled her up by her wrists, holding them to his chest. "Touch me, Christine."

She looked at his smooth skin. "I…I don't know how."

Her admission seemed to shake him from his black mood. He released her hands and put his arms around her, pulling her close. Then he placed a soft kiss on the top of her head. "Forgive me," he said. "I would not spoil the thing I love."

Christine suddenly felt that things were going all wrong. She turned her head and placed a soft kiss on the expanse of skin between her hands. She noticed how warm he was, and she slid her hands up to grip his shoulders.

"I don't find you repulsive, Erik," she said, trying to look up at him. All she could see was his jaw, and it was clenched tight. His chest heaved against hers.

"Do you think you could ever love a creature such as me?" he asked, not looking down.

It was her turn to take a deep breath. "I…I don't think I know that yet."

She saw him nod. "But you…you like this? Me holding you like this? Touching me?"

She lowered her head and rested it against his chest. "I do."

"Can I kiss you, Christine?" Now his blue eyes blazed down into hers.

She shook her head. "No," she replied, seeing hope die on his face. "Not with your mask on."

His face grew pained. "Why do you ask that of me? Can't you allow me my dignity?"

"Your mask is not your dignity. It's your fear. I don't want you to be afraid of me."

"Me? Afraid of you?"

She nodded. "You threatened me with an eternity of your face before my eyes. I hold you to your threat."

"But…why?" he asked in a voice that cracked on the question.

"I want to see you, Erik. I want to see your face as much as I want to see the unmarred parts of you."

His face was still pained as he looked at her. "You can't mean that. I know you can't."

"I'm your friend, Erik. I'll never lie to you."

He gave a bitter laugh. "Your very presence here is a lie. This façade of friendship is a lie. I've poisoned it with my ultimatums and my imprisonment. Everything you say is a lie…It must be."

She leaned back against his arms and spread her fingers out against his skin. She slid her hands from his shoulders back down to his chest. When her palms grazed his nipples, he sucked in a gasping breath. Then she moved her hands back up and out to caress his upper arms.

She stopped for a moment to wonder when she'd decided to do this, but it didn't seem to matter as the heat of his skin seared into her. She ran her fingers down his throat, then up along his uncovered jaw. She traced his lips with a single finger, and returned his heated stare.

"Take off the mask and kiss me, Erik."

"But, Christine…"

"You're a very stubborn man."

He lowered his hands to the small of her back and pulled her tighter against him, allowing her to feel his desire. "I am a man, Christine. I just don't want you to lose sight of that. I fear it will be hard for you to remember when confronted with this face."

"You are not your face. I know what you are."

On a heavy sigh, he removed one hand from her back and raised it to his face. The mask came off slowly, and she thought he was giving her time to adjust to the sight.

It was as she remembered, but she didn't feel the rush of pity she'd expected. She reached up to touch the scarred skin, but he shrank back from her.

"Please don't touch me out of pity."

She thought she saw the beginnings of tears in his eyes. "I don't quite know what I'm feeling right now," she admitted, "but it isn't pity. I just want to touch you."

He slowly leaned forward. "No one has ever wanted to touch me."

"Then I'm honored to be the first," she said, grazing his skin with her fingertips. She skimmed over raised scars, sunken scars, the drooping skin underneath his eye. She ran her hand into his wispy hair, then down the back of his head, pulling him to her.

"Would you like to kiss me now?" she asked softly.

He gave a groan. "I've never dared to hope to kiss you."

"But you want to."

"God help me, yes, I want to. I want to so badly."

She stood up on her toes. "Kiss me, Erik. Please."

He slid one hand into her hair and slowly lowered his face to hers, watching her as long as he could. Then he feathered his lips over hers.

She slid her hand down to the back of his neck and pulled him closer, pressing her lips to his this time. They opened their lips at the same time, and the motion of Erik's mouth grew harder, more fevered. His tongue danced into her mouth, and she sucked on it, prompting him to groan and pull her tighter against him.

She briefly wondered where her plan of friendship had gone wrong, but his insistent mouth begged her not to care. And when he released her to rain kisses along her jaw and throat she gave up the analysis. It was too good just to feel what he was doing to her. Just to feel him against her.

She set her hands moving against his skin once more, but then Erik stepped back.

His eyes were wide, and he was looking at her with something between wonder and pain.

"Do you think I'll suddenly take pity on you and let you go?" he asked.

Christine's shoulders sank. "Don't let your fear take something beautiful away from us. Please, Erik. Don't do that."

She looked up to see him shaking, and she moved to stand against him once more. "I don't want you to let me go. Not right now. I want your arms around me."

He gave a strangled gasp. "Do you even know what you're asking?"

She shook her head. "Not really."

He grabbed her arms and dragged her forward for another searing kiss. "Do you like my kisses, Christine? Do you really?"

"I love your kisses. Please, don't stop."

Another tortured gasp, but his lips returned, and she felt more enflamed with every brush of his flesh against hers.

Finally, Erik lifted his head and stepped back once more. "Christine, we have to stop this. I want you so badly, but I want all of you. I don't think you're ready to give me that."

"I…" She really had no answer. She knew too little of what he wanted from her.

Erik raked a hand through his hair.

"Will you leave the mask off?" she asked.

His eyes closed. "If you wish it."

"You can kiss me better without it in the way."

He looked at her. "And will I be kissing you again?"

"If you want to."

He leaned his head back. "I thought I'd run out of prayers, Christine, but you make me beg for patience – and for this not to end."

Christine dragged herself back to her room at his insistence. She watched him as he stood watching her, his face still bathed in wonder. She felt proud to have brought him such an emotion, and she felt bitter disappointment that she didn't know what she was doing. She knew women took lovers all the time, but she'd never considered herself that type of woman. She hadn't even been considering herself a woman for very long. This was all so new.

And why Erik? She couldn't answer that except to surmise that the bonds they shared were growing stronger in their enforced companionship.

A sudden thought flickered into her mind and refused to be replaced. If he released her, would she go? An ache in her chest started up at the thought of leaving him, of not seeing him every day, of not seeing him the way she had seen him these few weeks – smiling, relaxed…longing.

And that was the problem, she thought. She couldn't be his friend because somewhere along the way she'd begun to long for him, too. She longed to feel his beautiful hands on her body.

She let her mind wander with that thought, and others soon followed on its heels – images of mouths and hands. She wanted him, she realized. She wanted him as a lover.

She waited until the notes of his organ ceased and she heard him enter his room. Then she lifted her curtain door and followed him in.

He didn't see her when she entered, and she stood gaping at him again as he removed the shirt he'd obviously replaced. His back was to her, and she examined its network of scars. They were white now, fading into flesh. She wondered what it would take for them to fade from his memory.

She cleared her throat, and he spun around to face her.

"What are you doing here?" he growled.

"I thought you'd be happy to see me," she said. She saw desire flare in his eyes as he took in her flimsy wrap and nightdress.

"You shouldn't be here," he told her.

She raised her hands and untied the gauzy wrap, letting it fall to the floor. "Are you happy to see me yet?"

He grunted and walked toward her, putting his hands on her hips and searching her face. "I'm always happy to see you," he responded. "There's never a moment I don't want you with me."

"How about now?" she asked. "Do you want me with you now?"

"More than anything," he said, staring down at her. "But why do you want to be here?"

She shook her head. "Does there have to be a 'why'? Can't you just accept that I want to be here? That I want you?" She shrugged. "Maybe I'm just being a selfish little girl and taking what I want. You tried to send me away, but I want to be here – with you."

"Selfish?" He shook his head. "No. You're giving me more than you could ever know."

He stepped away from her and reached for something on his dressing table. An envelope. Turning, he handed it to her.

"What's this?" she asked.

"It's for you. Your fiancé had left it with Madame Giry assuming she'd be able to get in touch with me.

She turned the unsealed message over in her hands. "You read it?"

"Of course I read it," he replied. "You should read it, too. It seems that you and the boy have stumbled onto the same plan to win your freedom."

"What do you mean?"

"Read it yourself. He advises you to do just what you are doing now – feigning affection for me, trying to win my trust."

Christine sighed and tossed the envelope back on the table. "As if you have any trust to win, Erik."

She shook her head and closed the distance between them. "I know you can't trust me, but are you still happy to see me?"

Erik closed his eyes and tilted his head back. "More than you can know." It was almost a groan, an admission pulled unwillingly from somewhere deep inside.

He put his arms around her, looked into her eyes and pulled her to him. "Don't leave me, Christine."

Something stopped her from making a promise. "Kiss me, Erik. Please, just kiss me."

He did as she commanded, and she shuddered in his arms. She felt him smile briefly against her lips, and then he was devouring her once more. For a moment, his ferocity frightened her, but she reminded herself that she wanted this, wanted him – all the fierceness that was Erik.

"I want to see you," he said, raising his lips from hers.

She looked at him in confusion.

"All of you," he explained.

"Oh." She felt a blush stain her cheeks, but she found the courage to reach down and pull her nightdress over her head, leaving her standing naked before his blazing eyes.

They searched her up and down. "You are perfect, Christine. You have no idea how I burn for you."

She stepped closer. "Will you show me?"

"Come here."

She was in his embrace again before she could think, and this time his hands roved over her with free reign, heating the skin of her back, claiming her with their roughness.

More tenderly, he brought a hand around and put his palm against her breast, rubbing her gently.

She gasped for air and arched into his touch. His hand slid into the space between her breasts and down her stomach. It crossed her hip and stroked the top of her thigh.

Breathing heavily, he moved away from her and grabbed her hand to lead her to the bed. She obediently positioned herself on the heavy coverlet.

Once again, he let his eyes rove over her. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and began to caress her thighs – first the outside, then ever so slowly up the inside.

She sat up on her elbows to watch him and breathlessly opened her legs to give him access. He looked at her, and then touched her gently where she had never been touched before. She felt her eyes widen.

"Is this okay?" he asked.

She nodded vigorously.

He smiled and touched her more boldly. When his finger slid inside her, she threw her head back and groaned his name.

"You're ready for me," he said with a modicum of awe.

She looked back up at him, wondering how she could have ever thought him anything but beautiful when unadulterated love shone from his every pore. "I want you, Erik," she said. "All of you. Please."

He stood, hesitated a moment, then removed his trousers. White scars wrapped from the back of his legs to end on the front – clearly the tail end of whip lashes. She hardly saw them. She looked back up into his face and licked her dry lips.

He was on top of her in an instant, giving her a punishing kiss. She met his every motion, the possessiveness of it enflaming her even more. "Erik…" she breathed.

He positioned himself between her legs and rubbed the tip of his shaft along her wet folds.

"Erik!"

"Oh, Christine," he said, sliding the tip inside her.

Her eyes widened. "Oh my."

"Are you okay?"

Again, all she could do was nod. He'd stolen coherent words from her consciousness.

"I think this may be painful for you," he said. "I wish I could change that."

"Just make me yours, Erik. That's all I want."

He groaned and slid his mouth back into its place against hers; then he slid fully into her.

Pain seared into her mind, causing her to cry out.

"Christine?" Erik ran a hand down the side of her face. "Darling, I'm so sorry."

She shook her head, even as the sweetness of being joined to him overcame every other sensation. "There's no pain, Erik. Please, make love to me."

He bent his head to rest his forehead against hers and began to slowly move his hips. She cried out at the wonder of the second stroke and sucked in her breath against the fiery onslaught of the third.

After a moment, he changed his motion, and Christine let out a moan.

"Better?" he asked.

"Perfect."

He smiled at her and slightly increased his pace. She arched into him and began to meet his thrusts. Her hands took on a life of their own, caressing his back and shoulders, pulling him ever closer to her overheated body. She knew she was moaning his name, but it barely registered alongside the passion she was sure would consume her. When she was sure she could take no more, she begged him for she knew not what.

"Oh, Christine…"

He pushed harder into her. Harder and faster and the delicious friction sent her flying in what felt like a thousand directions. Her mind was a clean slate of pleasure, and she wrapped her legs tighter around him, not wanting it to end.

To her relief, his strokes continued to increase their pace. She moaned a breathless 'yes' against his neck and began to kiss him there and down along his shoulder. His pace got quickly more furious, and then he was shuddering in her arms and sighing out her name.

After a few deep breaths, he looked down and met her gaze. She wasn't sure what he saw there, but it seemed to please him because he smiled a genuinely happy smile.

Then he kissed her forehead. "Your viscount is right, Christine. You could ask me anything in this moment, and I would grant it."

She silently cursed him for forcing her to think. But then a plan occurred to her, one that she knew she had to try, even though it would hurt him. She was going to have to break his heart a little more before she could make it whole.

"If you mean that," she whispered, "then give me my freedom."

He dropped his head to the pillow beside her. Quiet reigned between them for long, tense moments. "If that is what you wish, Christine, then that is what you shall have."

He slid slowly out of her, causing her to whimper. Then his mouth was on hers in the gentlest of kisses. She slid her hands into his hair, but he quickly broke the contact.

"You can leave first thing in the morning," he said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. Then he stood and offered her his hand. "You should go back to your room."

She nodded silently, knowing he wouldn't understand if she asked to stay in the same breath as she'd asked to be allowed to leave. She collected her clothes and slipped through the gauzy curtain of his room.