Read Online No Return: A Contemporary Phantom Tale by Christine Pope - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Christine Pope
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down to the spade beard and pointed eyebrows. Still, his costume was unimportant, and Erik had to admit he was somewhat amused by the eclectic group that paraded across the temporarily emptied dance floor.
Since the winner was chosen by audience appreciation, it was no surprise that the one chosen was a woman in a very scanty—if gorgeously beaded—devil costume. He shook his head, amused and disgusted at the same time. There were many more costumes in attendance that deserved the prize, but none of them had legs that went on forever and an amazing amount of gravity-defying cleavage—no doubt surgically enhanced.
Still, the costume contest was of very little interest to him, since he had decided not to participate and Christine, as an employee, was of course ineligible. He knew that his costume was correct in every detail, down to the ring on his little finger and the diamond-patterned $200-per-yard fabric that made his dress suit. He certainly had not come here to put himself on display, however, and would not have done so even if he had needed the prize money, which he certainly did not.
Christine arrived with his espresso and dessert just as the dance floor began to fill again. He allowed her to set both before him, but then he leaned forward impulsively and said, “Would you care to dance?”
She took a step backward, obviously shocked. “But—I’m working!”
“And have you taken a break yet this evening?”
From her hesitation, the answer seemed to be “no.” He wasn’t surprised, considering how busy the place was.
“Indulge me,” he said and stood, offering her his hand.
For one long, frightening moment he feared she was going to refuse. Then she laid her hand in his and said, lifting her chin valiantly, “I don’t think I’m breaking any labor laws.”
He smiled at the defiant sparkle in her eyes and the sheer loveliness of her. Hardly daring to believe this was really happening, he led her to the dance floor.
Luckily, the restaurant’s owner (and presumed arbiter of the evening’s playlist) was something of a traditionalist. Instead of some hard-pounding techno or completely undanceable rap, the song playing was Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman’s duet, “Time to Say Goodbye.” Of course, at the moment Erik hoped this was anything but goodbye, but at least the song gave him a chance to really hold her, to sweep her along with the melody.
Being a singer, of course she was attuned to the rhythm of the music, but she also did not seem to fear being held by him, to let him clasp her one hand and cradle her slender waist in the other. God, the sensation of her body against his, the intoxicating scent of roses that came from somewhere in the dark masses of her hair! Her fingers twined with his, and she moved gracefully despite the heavy skirts of her costume, which he could only assume was none too easy to dance in.
He had experienced a few moments like this in his life. The first time he had heard Beethoven’s Ninth . The first time a woman touched him. Of course the first time he saw “Music of the Night” performed on stage. But the difference here was that the embodiment of all those passions, all those dreams, he held now in his arms.
All too soon the song was over, and Christine pulled away almost immediately. Her cheeks were flushed, but she would not meet his eyes.
“I really need to get back to work—”
He had to let her go. As much as he wanted to hold her forever, he did not want to cause trouble or call too much attention to himself. He had probably done too much already.
“Of course. Thank you very much for the dance.”
She shot him a quick, uncertain smile but still would not look him directly in the face. Murmuring something about getting his bill, she disappeared among the crowd.
Was it unreasonable that he could still feel the touch of her hand in his, still smell the scent of her hair? His body ached for her even as he made his way back to his table,
Since the winner was chosen by audience appreciation, it was no surprise that the one chosen was a woman in a very scanty—if gorgeously beaded—devil costume. He shook his head, amused and disgusted at the same time. There were many more costumes in attendance that deserved the prize, but none of them had legs that went on forever and an amazing amount of gravity-defying cleavage—no doubt surgically enhanced.
Still, the costume contest was of very little interest to him, since he had decided not to participate and Christine, as an employee, was of course ineligible. He knew that his costume was correct in every detail, down to the ring on his little finger and the diamond-patterned $200-per-yard fabric that made his dress suit. He certainly had not come here to put himself on display, however, and would not have done so even if he had needed the prize money, which he certainly did not.
Christine arrived with his espresso and dessert just as the dance floor began to fill again. He allowed her to set both before him, but then he leaned forward impulsively and said, “Would you care to dance?”
She took a step backward, obviously shocked. “But—I’m working!”
“And have you taken a break yet this evening?”
From her hesitation, the answer seemed to be “no.” He wasn’t surprised, considering how busy the place was.
“Indulge me,” he said and stood, offering her his hand.
For one long, frightening moment he feared she was going to refuse. Then she laid her hand in his and said, lifting her chin valiantly, “I don’t think I’m breaking any labor laws.”
He smiled at the defiant sparkle in her eyes and the sheer loveliness of her. Hardly daring to believe this was really happening, he led her to the dance floor.
Luckily, the restaurant’s owner (and presumed arbiter of the evening’s playlist) was something of a traditionalist. Instead of some hard-pounding techno or completely undanceable rap, the song playing was Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman’s duet, “Time to Say Goodbye.” Of course, at the moment Erik hoped this was anything but goodbye, but at least the song gave him a chance to really hold her, to sweep her along with the melody.
Being a singer, of course she was attuned to the rhythm of the music, but she also did not seem to fear being held by him, to let him clasp her one hand and cradle her slender waist in the other. God, the sensation of her body against his, the intoxicating scent of roses that came from somewhere in the dark masses of her hair! Her fingers twined with his, and she moved gracefully despite the heavy skirts of her costume, which he could only assume was none too easy to dance in.
He had experienced a few moments like this in his life. The first time he had heard Beethoven’s Ninth . The first time a woman touched him. Of course the first time he saw “Music of the Night” performed on stage. But the difference here was that the embodiment of all those passions, all those dreams, he held now in his arms.
All too soon the song was over, and Christine pulled away almost immediately. Her cheeks were flushed, but she would not meet his eyes.
“I really need to get back to work—”
He had to let her go. As much as he wanted to hold her forever, he did not want to cause trouble or call too much attention to himself. He had probably done too much already.
“Of course. Thank you very much for the dance.”
She shot him a quick, uncertain smile but still would not look him directly in the face. Murmuring something about getting his bill, she disappeared among the crowd.
Was it unreasonable that he could still feel the touch of her hand in his, still smell the scent of her hair? His body ached for her even as he made his way back to his table,
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