Page 56 of Angel's Kiss
9. Captive
Christine could notsay, in all honesty, that she had not slept well. This was because she was not even entirely sure that she had slept. She’d tried, of course, once her confusion and anger had faded. She’d lain in her lovely bed and tried to listen to anything besides her conscience telling her what a foolish slattern she was. After hours of shame and questioning how Erik could kiss herlike thatthen push her away, she’d finally dozed.
But in those half-conscious dreams, she’d found no rest. Instead, she’d been braver than her waking self and strode right back to Erik and demanded his voice and his arms. In her dreams, Christine had torn off the mask and kissed him again, trapping him in his bed so he couldn’t run. And then the dream had changed, and she’d woken hot and gasping, and once again, fiercely unsatisfied.
In the cold watches of the night, she’d given in, touching her wet, aching sex, trying to recall her angel’s songs and the heat of his tongue and the feel of his long fingers inside her and she’d been so close... But she couldn’t come. No matter how she tried. She’d screamed into her pillow in defeat and prayed for dawn.
Now she found herself stumbling to her damn rehearsal, again furious at her teacher for refusing her the mercy of coffee, grateful to him for being gentleman enough to hold her hand on the dark path, and annoyed at how much touching him made her think of the heat of his kiss and the frustration that had followed.
“We’re here.” Christine looked up at Erik. It was hard to tell that one part of the dark passage was glass, with no light coming from her dressing room.
“I wonder if I should have gone out some other way and come in. People may notice if I keep appearing out of nowhere,” Christine muttered. She hated and treasured how small the passage was and how close it made them stand. She has only to breathe too deeply and they’d be chest to chest. Would that make him run away again?
“Surely no one’s paying that much attention,” Erik said lightly.
“So you don’t think I should spend a night at home?” Erik tilted his head. “I mean at Adèle’s.”
“Oh.” He looked so crestfallen, and Christine wanted to kick herselfandthrottle him. “Do you want to?”
“No,” she answered immediately. She didn’t want to spend another night in torment either but she couldn’t tell himthat. “I was just wondering. I don’t want to draw too much suspicion.”
“Perhaps after rehearsal you can leave with Rameau again. Let him take you to supper. Be seen. And after you can return...to me.”
“Doyouwant that?” Christine asked, the pit in her stomach ready to swallow her whole. Behind the mask, Erik’s eyes narrowed.
“I want nothing more,” Erik whispered.
Christine swallowed, ready to protest that he didn’tactlike that was the case, but the reproach faded as he looked, unmistakably, at her mouth. It made her want to scream, the unresolved need in her gut coiling even tighter. She was going to strangle him or combust on the spot if he kept looking at her and didn’t do anything and she was going to die if he did and—
The kiss stopped every thought in Christine’s head. The world whittled down to his lips on hers, banishing everything that wasn’tErik. She flinched as the damn mask dug into the flesh around her lips, but the discomfort was minor compared to the pleasure of his mouth claiming hers. She made a soft sound as he encircled her in his arms, enveloping her in shadow and making Christine feel as if she could dissolve entirely into him, like a counterpoint joining with a melody. All too soon he withdrew, taking the breath from her lungs as he parted his lips from hers. His eyes glowed as he looked down at her, his hand upon her cheek.
“Come back to me,” he whispered, the command in his voice unmistakable.
Christine nodded automatically, her whole body singing with desire. It was a tune he knew, one he could whisper to her right now and she’d spread her legs for him in the cold and the dark. The obscene image overtook her mind as she turned, blushing, and staggered into her dressing room. When had he opened the mirror? Before she could ask, it was closed again, leaving her breathless and alone.
She didn’t want to see her red cheeks and mad eyes, so there was no reason to stay near her mirror. She didn’t even take off her cloak before she set off into the halls. Because she wanted to keep the garment that had belonged to him and held her when he couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. He had run from heragain, and she didn’t know if she was furious or grateful.
She was the first to rehearsal and she kept her eyes on her score as she waited for the other principals to arrive.
“So the new Marguerite becomes the new Gilda at last.” It was Adèle of course. “Are you alright? You look as sour as a wet cat.”
“It’s been a confusing few days,” Christine muttered. “And I’m sorry for not coming the other night and not talking to you enough about—”
“Don’t worry, my dear, I respect a woman who knows what she wants and sticks to it,” Adèle replied, and Christine wanted to burst out laughing. As if she truly knew what she wanted. “Or lets it stick it to her, as it were.”
