Unmasqued: An Erotic Novel of The Phantom of The Opera Read Online Free PDF Page A

category as those pudgy, false-fatherly gentlemen who scanned the dancers and singers and actresses as if they were clusters of horseflesh…but neither did she dismiss him. Not at all. For he had been handsome and charming, and quite obviously pleased to see her.
    Now, Christine should have been hurrying along the passageway toward the back door that led into the side alley, where Raoul would be waiting for her…but instead, she found herself moving back toward the stage. The place of her triumph.
    She had rarely had occasion to be on the stage when the room, with its vast rows of seats and high, domed ceiling, was empty of everything but…echoes. Echoes of performances past, echoes of smoke from the doused lights, echoes of perfume and applause.
    She wasn’t sure what drew her, but she heeded the innate call and walked out onto the stark wooden-planked stage. Her footsteps, nearly silent in slippers, took her to the monstrous stage’s center, and Christine stood, facing the invisible audience.
    A whisper of air stirred, raising the hair all along her arms and at the base of her neck. She resisted the urge to look behind her; instead, she smoothed one hand up along her arm, then down, over her long glove, and then back up again. Waiting.
    A sudden beam of limelight shot down from above, circling her in its white glow, cutting her off from the darkness around her. The sphere was compact, just large enough that she might walk two small steps before moving out of it and back into the empty black if she chose. It was warm; even though it had not pounded on her for long, the heat from the light above played across her bare shoulders and bosom, and over the upper parts of her arms that were not covered by her gloves.
    The light dulled her eyesight as it did when she performed. She could not see the shadowy seats in the theater, nor could she see the red velvet curtains swagged at the edge of the proscenium. All she could see was the white beam of light; all she could feel was its increasing warmth.
    “Christine…”
    The sound of her name, faint, hollow, erotic, came from behind. Or perhaps above. She wasn’t sure.
    “Ange?”
she managed to ask. Her heart was suddenly thumping madly.
    Before she could turn to look, she felt him behind her again, just as he had been in her dressing room. He had spoken to her, taught her, sung with her…but he had never appeared to her before. And now twice in one day.
    His hands closed over her shoulders, the supple, tacky leatherof his gloves grabbing at her delicate skin as he moved his palms down over her arms, pulling at the low, sweeping neckline of her gown. The fabric tightened over her breasts, uncovering her suddenly hard, sharp nipples, baring her skin to the heat of the light above.
    “You pleased me greatly tonight,” he murmured in that low, melodious voice. It burned in her ear and sent waves of sharp prickles along her neck, down her arms, over her breasts and nipples, to her belly, and lower.
    Christine dared to look down, and she saw black, gloved hands dark on her white shoulders and the deep, dark vee between her breasts lifted and pushed together by her corset, and the hint of pink from her areolas above the dark crimson gown. “Thank you,” she breathed, reaching up to cover one of his hands with hers. She felt the faintest tremor in his fingers, beneath her own, and wondered suddenly…was it from anger?
    Or was it the same sudden trembling she felt over her body?
    Now her white-gloved fingers splayed over his wide black ones, and she could feel the heat from him burn into her skin beneath. His free hand moved, threading fingers up into the back of her coiled hair, combing gently through it and then grasping to pull her head back. The beam of light struck her gaze and blinded her; she closed her eyes as sudden tears stung them.
    From behind, his face moved against her; she felt warm flesh brush against her right jawline and then hot, soft lips press against her