Erik dared not speak the entire way back to the inn. His feelings threatened to crush him from inside. He mustn't think of Christine the way he was thinking of her. It was treacherous. He was already walking a fine line bringing her out here. Then he remembered why he had brought her out to the coast. He wanted to get her mind off the Vicomte and all the other distractions of the Opera. He wanted to be the center of her attention for at least a week or possibly even more. He wanted to see just how far he could push their relationship's tenuous threads before they would either break or pull tighter.

But not like this. Not in the way the tension was straining him now. He could never lose control. He loved her with every breath he took and that was his reason for being with her so far from all they both knew. His intentions were not to lure her away so he could take advantage of her, if such a thing were even possible. But it was getting increasingly difficult to tread that line. If he ever crossed it, God help them both, he would not be able to ever turn back, nor forgive himself. He would have all of her or he would die trying, but only if she wished it.

The past few days had already given him more tidbits of hope than he ever dreamed would be thrown his way. He was now truly wondering what was going through Christine's head. Was she completely naïve and did not know what she did to him, or was she a vixen in disguise of an innocent girl, sent to torment and tease him until he finally snapped? No, she was too young to conceivably do something like that, and to what end? She had Raoul pandering after her like a lovesick dog. He was young and rich and had the lifestyle most girls dreamed of marrying into. What did he have to offer her? Money he had in plenty, there was no question of wealth even if it was not reflected socially. He was nearly twice her senior though and as ugly as sin. Of course there was his music. He was not cruel enough to accuse her of using him to gain fame. That was something he had sort of pushed her into. He didn't understand it. He was always so sure that he would never stand a chance, but her attitude toward him the last few days gave him the courage to push their relationship even farther. How far could he let things go before he either destroyed what he had built between them and would she ever allow him to claim her?

These questions and more swirled around Erik's head until they reached the inn. Christine brushed past him in her damp clothes. She paused at the top of the stairs to turn and ask Erik if he would send Marie or one of the other maids up to help her change. He paused to reflect that she did so with the air of feigned dignity. He waited in the main room downstairs until he saw Marie pass by and directed her up to Christine's room. The lecher in himself wanted to go up and eavesdrop through the thin walls. Erik was many things but he was not a fool and he suspected that Christine and the old woman talked when he was not around, perhaps even about him. Curiosity got the better of him this time. He waited long enough downstairs but was increasingly aware of his own need to change his clothing. With a quiet step he crept past the door to her room and entered his own, shutting the door without a sound.

Upon entering her room upstairs, Christine sank into a chair in her damp and soiled clothing and hid her face in her hands. 'Why am I acting like this?' she wondered to herself. She supposed it was because she got caught up in the moment in a place of some familiarity to her childhood but getting soaked to the skin as a child in a playtime frock was one thing. Getting drenched in ladies underclothes in front of the man who was her teacher and…

And what, she wondered? He was certainly her friend, but lately she felt that the line between friendship and suitor had been crossed marginally more than once. Her confusion was genuine now. Did she love him? She knew she had loved the fantasy of the Angel of Music all that time he taught her. She had grown to love him as a friend in a harsh and cruel world of the spotlight at the Opera. But more recently she felt something changing. A mingling of the two loves; only this time it was no fantasy she was dealing with, but a man of flesh and blood.

He already admitted that he loved her. There was certainly no hiding that fact. But what that love meant to him she did not know or understand. Did he love her for her voice and what she added to his masterpieces? Did he love her the way Raoul professed to love her, innocent and sweet with kisses for the back of her hand? No, she thought, he was far too passionate for that. He was, dangerous; but not in a way that she feared for her safety, but in a way that threatened to consume them both in his passion. The look in his eyes when he saw her bosom peeping out through the wet cloth of her chemise frightened her. He looked downright hungry. Starving would be a better word, she thought. He had been unable to take his eyes off her, even after she covered herself with the blanket and the fire in that gaze ignited something deep inside her, making her all too aware of just how little she was wearing and how it clung to her dancer's body. It smoldered there still, a flame lit deep down inside her and she knew it was not her embarrassment of the situation that made her follow him back in silence, but the sensation he awoke in her slumbering virginal body.

She heard a knock and Marie called out that she was coming in. The woman tsked at Christine's sodden mess of an outfit and with her hands on her hips asked, "Now what's the explanation behind this? Monsieur Durand is downstairs and dripping on the rug from the waist down, and here you are looking as ragged as a half drowned kitten."

"I decided to go for a walk in the surf and fell in," Christine said as Marie helped her out of the dress. "Erik went in after me, though it was hardly needed."

Marie took another look at her disheveled appearance and the damp chemise that still revealed her upturned breasts through it. "Now I think I understand why the poor man looks crazed. Did you stop to think what you are doing to him?"

Christine, already ashamed, dipped her head lower and said, "You think I did this on purpose don't you?"

"Of course not! I know you better than that. But my dear," she continued as she unlaced the corset for her, "No matter what your relationship may be to him, he is only a man and you have to be careful." She released her from the hated heavy thing and lay it across the back of her chair to dry. "Men have only so much restraint for such temptation before they take what they need or they go mad."

"Take what they need?" Christine asked, "Surely you don't suggest he would lose control and take advantage of me?"

Marie wrung the water from the chemise and tossed Christine a towel to dry off her naked body. "I don't know your friend at all so I can't say what he would or would not do, but I've seen my fair share of what madness can drive a man to."

"He would never hurt me. He's admitted to me that he loves me," Christine said, defending Erik to her old friend.

In the next room, Erik had entered the room. He pressed the side of his head as hard as he could to the thin wallpaper, straining to hear the conversation clearly.

"He has?" Marie exclaimed. "You never told me that! You wicked girl, how dare you keep such a juicy tidbit from me!" Obviously the more scandalous the gossip the better for the old innkeeper.

"Yes," she nodded her head.

"And what do you feel for him? Are you in love with him too?" Marie gave her a querying smile.

Erik's breath caught in his throat. His heart was beating too loudly and he was sure they could hear it through the wall. 'Please say yes,' he prayed.

Christine wrapped a robe around herself, tying the belt into a knot at her waist. "I don't know."

Erik's heart fluttered. Damn, he thought.

Then he heard Christine add, "Yet."

He held his breath again.

Christine asked Marie, "Is it a sin to, imagine certain things?"

"Imagine things?" Marie was perplexed.

"Er, you might say, fantasize."

Erik's heart skipped a beat and he thought he would die when he heard his beloved innocent Christine say that word out loud. But then, was she talking about Raoul? He had entered the conversation too late to know. Oh why had he stayed downstairs for so long? He cursed himself again and again as he listened in disbelief at what his ears were capturing.

Marie laughed out loud, "My dear, when you're as old as I am, you come to realize that many things you think are a horrid sin when you are young turn out to be one of the best and most worthwhile pastimes. If I was going before St. Peter and the worst thing on my record was my secret admiration a man's physique, you might say they would be praising Hallelujah for my lack of detrimental marks."

Christine gave out a little laugh. "I suppose it isn't the worst thing in the world."

Marie shook her head as she gathered up the bundle of wet clothing to launder, "No, not the worst thing, but you had better make up your mind on the matter of how you feel sooner rather than later. Your teacher may be a gentleman but you've got him wound so tight it's no wonder why he drank himself into oblivion last night."

Erik's head reeled and he felt the room spin around him. So she had been talking about him! Oh dear sweet Jesus she said she had fantasized about him! To what degree? He fell to the bed panting. He felt he couldn't catch his breath and then realized he was breathing far too hard and he was sweating. Oh what did this mean now? What did it change? Was he better off not hearing their conversation because now a few crucial threads holding back his self control had just snapped? If he thought she desired him too, there would be no restraint left to prevent him from taking her into his arms to be carried away to his bed.

No! He must not ruin everything he had worked so hard to set in place. He dared not ruin the trust she had in him. If he lost control, what would she think of him? A horrible man whose self proclaimed 'love' began and ended in his trousers?

He tore the clothing from his body, struggling to get the seawater soaked pants down his legs. He had to get free! He had to get release! His body felt it was on fire and his ears burned in the heat of it. He desperately wanted to do the fastest and most assured act to feel that release but he knew it would not be enough and with Christine so close in the room next to his he would not risk her accidentally witnessing that. He was nearly desperate enough to go back into town and find the first prostitute that would grant him entrance to her bedchamber, but his long standing oath to himself never to sully his own pride by doing so prevented him; and if Christine were to find out there was no forgiving him for that. He threw on a fresh pair of pants and a shirt and grabbed the only thing in the room he knew would take away his torment.

The front door slammed shut behind him as he tore across the pasture towards the cliffs as nightfall crept over the horizon. The violin in his hands was warm and familiar, curved like the body of the woman he dared not caress with such abandon. He opened the case as he ran, letting it fall to the long dry grass at his feet and began furiously stroking the bow across the taunt strings swiftly. He played his Don Juan to the rising moon, his fingers dancing of the strings and the bow sawing faster and faster. He played the notes of passion and seduction, of love and carnal lust, of secrecy and forbidden desires. All the emotions he was feeling came spilling out like a festering sore that burned his soul. He clenched his eyes shut and played faster and harder, willing the music to drive him to exhaustion. The strings on his bow began to fray and break under the pressure and speed he forced them with, releasing the tension in them. The pulse increased into one long aching wail that his own voice cried out to match in the glowing moonlight then he let his arms fall to his sides and he sank to his knees on the rocky ground. His breath came in gasping sobs and he cradled his precious instrument to his chest and lay there for a very long time. His mind was incredibly tired now. He realized he must have played for quite some time since it was fully dark outside and the chill was starting to ache his bones. He gathered up his bow and violin and tread back to find the case where he dropped it. Wearily, he made his way back to the inn, not even looking to see if Christine was still awake, he dropped into bed and promptly fell asleep.