The Phantom Diaries (6 page)

Seeing through his ploy, I smiled and reached for his hand. “You’ll do anything to get closer to me,” I teased.

His eyes softened while his fingers played softly against my hand. “So, when will I have a chance to hear you sing?”

While his question was innocent enough, I heard the angst in his tone. He’d grown tired of the time I spent with Eric, though he made every attempt to hide it.

“I could sing for you now, if you want,” I whispered.

His gentle squeeze of my hand was his answer.

We sat back and I leaned into him, bringing my lips to his ear. The most uplifting song of the opera was
Again I’ll Love
and I chose that one to share with him.

“I see why you got the role,” he said when I finished.

His clear blue eyes locked onto mine and I felt too many emotions coursing through me.
 

“I’m glad you came out to celebrate with me.” I tightened my hold of his hand and kissed his cheek.

His eyes scanned my face and lingered on my lips a moment before coming back to hold my gaze. Hunger transformed his face and he was no longer the boyish, fun-loving guy who’d just stepped out for a carriage ride.

My own desire to get closer to him intensified. We’d been playing it so chaste these past weeks. Hand holding and innocent kisses that only hinted at the passion we both held in check.

I leaned in to kiss him, to taste his lips. His hand was quick to dig into my hair and pull me closer. I could hear his breath, difficult and ragged as his mouth devoured mine. For a moment we were suspended in time, in our own little bubble as the world vanished.

The carriage turned abruptly, thrusting us to one side, effectively throwing a bucket of water on our inappropriately heated behavior. Our surroundings returned to the forefront and I patted my hair into place then wiped the remnants of his kiss off my lips.

He smiled, but his eyes retained their intensity.

Moments later, the horse came to a stop and Chace stepped down to help me like a true gentleman. He was a fairy tale come true.

“My building is just over there. You want to come in to warm up before heading home?” he asked.

Was I ready for this?

Though I had a few reservations about going to his home, I nodded.

The moment we entered his apartment and the door closed behind us, I felt the build up of tension between us. It wasn’t the uncomfortable silence as we’d experienced at the start of our relationship, but rather silent anticipation of what was to come.

“You want a soda, something to drink?”

“Water is fine,” I said as I looked around the small and sparsely furnished room. Not too surprisingly, it was neat and tidy. His violin lay on the table beside his bed, the bow neatly tucked in beside it.

“I know it’s small, but it was all I could afford while remaining relatively close to the Met. Besides, I’m hardly ever here so I don’t really need more than the one room.”

With only one chair at the small dining table, he led me to the bed and sat down. The implication was heavy and I was suddenly uncomfortable. I reached for the glass of water he offered.

To my relief, he pulled one leg up under him and took a very relax and laid back pose. With no attempt to get closer to me, my nerves settled down and we talked extensively of the show to come. Now part of the cast, I felt a kinship to him I’d not felt before.

“You know, it’s going to be pretty hard being down there in the pit and concentrating on the music while you’re up there, so close, so beautiful.”

Embarrassed, I looked down at my empty glass.

“So beautiful,” he repeated in a voice that’d suddenly gone down a register. He pushed my hair away from my face and I leaned into his hand, my eyes heavy for wanting more. I heard him shift closer and I swallowed in anticipation.

I should stop this now before it goes any further
. The thought whirled in my head again and again, but my body did nothing to stop what was inevitable. His fingers at my temple continued to brush through my hair and I smelled his sweet breath just before I dared open my eyes to face him.

“Chace,” I murmured. I didn’t know what more to say. Stop. Go. Wait. Hurry. I had an early rehearsal the next morning and had to leave. But the warmth of his fingers and the desire to taste his breath again was right here, right now.

His kiss was soft and tender for only a brief moment before his hands gripped my face and urgently tugged me closer. Lacking the slow build up of our earlier kiss, his tongue quickly reached in to meet with mine and I greedily welcomed him.

We fell back onto the bed and my brain sounded a faint and barely audible alert. But my body thrilled with the new sensation of his body pressed up against mine and I wanted more.

His hand traveled down my throat and between my breasts. A short, sharp breath escaped my lips and my eyes shot open, only to close again when he shifted over to lay me on my back and cover my body with his. Panic and desire alternated with every move he made. He pressed his pelvis to me and his breathing took on a whole new sense of urgency. His lips left mine and kissed their way down my neck to the opening of my shirt. One efficient hand made quick work of the buttons and his mouth greedily tasted the newly exposed skin.

“Chace,” I whispered.
 
I couldn’t do this. I wasn’t ready. Not now.

His grunts and groans intensified as his lips worked over the swell of my breast, heeded only by the flimsy lace of my bra.

“Chace.” I put a firm hand to his shoulder and pushed him away.
 

The eyes that focused on me were barely recognizable. The pretty blond boy I’d met weeks earlier was now a man, complete with a hunger I knew I could not yet fulfill. After a few ragged breaths, his eyes cleared. He sat back and helped me up.

“I can’t believe what you do to me,” he whispered as he turned away and focused on the kitchen counter. “My whole life I’ve prided myself on my unwavering self control. You’re tearing all that down.”

I bit my lip and tried to weigh his words. Was he teasing? Was it a reproach?

“Maybe we’re moving too fast,” I suggested.

He nodded.

Chapter 8

The moment I entered my apartment, I knew he’d been there and immediately I felt the guilt. I could feel his dark essence. Eric was entirely responsible for the way my audition had turned out and I’d not thought a moment of sharing my success with him.

Tatters of pink silk lined the path to the foot of my bed where remnants of an elegant gown lay puddled on the floor like a discarded rag. Sheets of paper had been torn to tiny bits, barely allowing me to make out that they’d once been sheets of music.

How angry he must have been. How hurt.

One page however remained intact and was set on my kitchen counter.

My Lovely Annette,

What greatest of gifts it was to hear of your successful audition. I’d mistakenly hoped to participate in your celebration, but you’ve apparently chosen to share your joy with someone else, somewhere else.

Eric

My heart sank. Greatest of gifts. In the blur of my audition and subsequent triumph, I’d completely forgotten Eric’s birthday. With the shreds of silk still in my hand, I sat on my bed and berated myself for my selfish actions and complete lack of gratitude for everything Eric had done for me.

Perhaps he’d come back. Perhaps after a few moments to cool his anger he’d return. But twenty minutes later, I realized he would not come back.

I pulled my leather jacket back on and headed beneath the Opera House to find the maze of tunnels he’d guided me through. My desire to find him and apologize drove me into the darkened corridors that normally would have left me shivering in fear. Moisture clung to the walls and trickled from the ceiling. Puddles of murky water accumulated here and there, at times almost completely blocking the path.

But my fearlessness was not as fruitful as I’d hoped. Without Eric’s guidance I was soon lost and disoriented. Darkness intensified and I relied on my hands to grope my way through the tunnels. I wanted to call out and cry his name, to beg his forgiveness and ask him once again to guide me to the light and his intimate piano room.

A dim glimmer of hope illuminated the far end of the tunnel and I rushed toward the light, oblivious of the puddles I stepped through. The light intensified, flickering and jumping across the walls. I turned the corner to see the shadow of a man hunched near the source of a flame coming for a trash can.

“Eric?” Even as his name echoed in the air, I knew it was not him. The figure was bent and small, dirty and weak.

He turned to me, an old man in rags who stared blindly my way. “Who’s there?” he called.

Three other figures emerged from the shadows. The withering flames threw harsh flashes of light on their gaunt faces. “Who are you talking to?” one asked.

“Who the hell is there?” the old man repeated.

I silently backed away and turned down another corridor, trying to recall the path Eric had taken. Right, then left and left again. Or should it have been right? In the distance, steps echoed. Holding my breath, I stopped to listen. They got louder and closer, but it was impossible to know if they were Eric’s or that of another lost stranger.

A huge silhouette emerged and stood stock still in the faint glow of an orange light. I knew in an instant it wasn’t Eric and turned to run, but my progress was painfully halted and for a moment I thought I’d run into a wall.

The wall turned out to be the thick and hard chest of a man who seemed none too pleased to have me run into him.

“Well, hello little lady,” he snickered as he clasped a vice like fist around my forearm. “Hey, Brad, lookit what I found.”

Fighting to break free, I felt the pain in my arm explode as he tightened his hold. His partner was soon at my back, breathing his putrid breath down my neck. Their hands were soon all over me and panic choked my screams. They groped and squeezed and pressed their faces into my neck and breasts.

My slaps were useless as my arms just flailed uselessly over their bulk. My hand finally made solid contact with the flesh of the man in front of me and I was surprised when he completely released me and fell back. Adrenaline was pumping through me like never before, but I was nonetheless surprised by the power my fear held. I elbowed the guy behind me, and while he let out a small grunt, his hold of me remained.

Seconds later, without warning, he released me and fell to the floor with a nauseating thud. A third man had arrived and I could hear a struggle and make out the faint movements of bodies moving, fighting then running.

“You shouldn’t be down here alone.”

“Eric?” Wearing a black leather jacket, black pants and biker boots, the only recognizable item that told me it was him was the mask he still wore.

“You could have been killed.”

“Eric, they were going to…” I was suddenly weak and overcome with what could have happened. Their foul odor remained in my nostrils and I struggled to remain upright as I shuddered in disgust.

Eric’s arms were around me in an instant, swooping under me to pull me into his arms. He threw his leg over the nearby motorcycle and settled me in the secure embrace of his arms before bringing the bike to a roaring start. With reckless speed he turned down one tunnel, sped down the length to the next intersection and made a sharp turn to the left. A quick right brought us to a wash of bright light before re-entering another darkened tunnel.

The wheels screeched across the damp pavement as we reached a dead end and he brought the bike to a stop. The tunnels ended here. There was no opening and no way out. I glanced back at him, fearing he’d lost his way. Sheer determination clouded his eyes as he reached out to push aside a stone in the wall.

Two large slabs of stone parted to reveal an old and far from sturdy looking elevator. Eric motored in. I hid my apprehension as the doors closed and the old metal box shook to life. The walls creaked and the floor rumbled as though straining beneath our weight. We came to a bumpy and unsure stop and the doors opened once again.

Expecting more dingy and dank corridors, I gasped when the sliding doors revealed the magnificent foyer of what appeared to be an elegant home. Filled with rich woods, fine antiques and an aristocratic flair for fine art, the home was in sharp contrast to the man Eric now appeared to be.

“This doesn’t really look like the home of a biker.” I smiled as I slid off the motorcycle seat and stepped across the marble floor. “It’s beautiful, Eric. Is this where you live?”

“It’s my home, yes.”

His shoulders were stiff and his stride strong as he headed down a long and well lit hallway. He turned into another small, but warm rehearsal room. A baby grand took up the larger portion of the room, but a cello, violin and French horn also awaited a musician’s touch.