Unmasqued

She stepped toward him, the cherry red whip in a generous arch from one hand to the other. "Of course, it was I who started such rumors, even before the Opera House burned last night. I could not suffer such a rival. If anyone should ask about her disappearance, all will say the girl is crazy and that the Opera Ghost spirited her away." With a quick snap of her wrists, she dropped the whip around his shoulders and gave a surprisingly hard yank on it.

Philippe jerked toward her, nearly stumbling in his surprise. A shocked, uncontrolled smile sprang to his face at her boldness, but then he regained control of himself and let his own whip fly. He would not allow a woman to have the upper hand.

His pearl white whip curled around Carlotta's waist, making a band over her brilliant green gown, and there they were, face-to-face, body to body, each lightly captured by the other's whip.

"I will make you scream," he said, bending his face toward her, wanting to bite those full, glistening lips, wanting to squeeze and twist her bountiful breasts, wanting to rip into that red, hot sex that he knew burgeoned beneath her skirts.

"I think that I should prefer to hear your screams, comte." She tightened the whip, managing in one quick motion to pass both ends into one hand, and to reach for his straining erection with the other. Her hand closed over the generous package beneath his trousers, her fingers tightening in a pleasant… painful… way.

His cock shifted under her touch, and Philippe felt his muscles tense all over. "No, I think… not," he managed, keeping his breath steady. No one had dared… ever… but his cock tightened, hardened, so that he imagined it was past purple and near to bursting. Pain laced with pounding lust throbbed there beneath her palm.

"Oh… yes, you would like it, I think," she said, squeezing again, looking at him with a knowing, arrogant smile. "I will make you beg like I did my other men."

He reached toward her, shoving one of his hands down her low bodice, easily finding a thrusting nipple. With a nasty pinch that caused her face to blanch and her eyelids to flutter, he twisted.

She gasped and released his cock, twisting away, freeing the tail of her whip so that it slithered into place alongside of her gown, but he came after her.

He no longer had the whip in his hand; he didn't need it for now. Philippe clamped his fingers over Carlotta's upper arms, feeling the slip of her flesh as he dug in toward bone. His vision was edged with red, his breathing so hard that it gusted noisily between them. "Oh, no, Carlotta. It is you who will scream."

With a great shove, he sent her flying across the room. She stumbled, tripping over one of the stools, but caught herself at the edge of a sofa. She looked up at him, the crafty look gone from her eyes, shock blazoning there instead.

"Of course, if you insist, I shall scream for you." She tipped her head, a glint of suggestion coloring her gaze. "It is-"

But she never finished whatever it was she was about to say, for Philippe grasped the front of her bodice and jerked her toward him so hard the fabric roses on the bodice corsage separated from its short attached jacket. His hand whipped out and cut across her cheek with a satisfying slap.

Carlotta staggered back, then straightened, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth, looking at him with wide eyes. She had dropped the whip in a red snake at her feet. "I didn't mean to offend ye, comte

," she said, her Spanish accent evaporating, and a tremulous smile on her face. She reached up and tugged away the rest of her torn bodice, exposing a low-cut corset fairly bursting with breasts. "I was just pretending. If you've a mind to be the one in command, then I am happy to oblige."

Philippe stepped toward her, his hand snaking out to close over her throat. "Foolish bitch. I am always the one in command. Now take off your clothes."

He bent to pick up the red whip at her feet and, when she didn't immediately respond to his command, flicked his wrist and snapped the leather toward her. As it cut into her arm, she cried out, whirling away toward the door that led to the hallway.

She would have opened it, but Philippe grabbed her before her fingers closed over the knob, his grip slipping a little in the blood from the whip cut. With a curt movement, he propelled her away from the door, shoving her toward a narrow bedlike structure with four tall posts.

Carlotta sprawled backward as he'd intended, her knees buckling beneath twisting, sagging skirts. Philippe moved quickly to stand between her legs, pushing her back down onto the bed with a strong hand over her windpipe. She choked and coughed under the pressure, but he held steady as he captured one of her flailing hands. The little cuffs at each bedpost were specially designed to be fastened quickly and easily with one hand… and Philippe heard the satisfying click of one restraint before Carlotta realized what had happened.