He fed early the next night, his eyes closing in something akin to ecstasy as he emptied a bag of whole blood into a glass and slowly drained the contents, enjoying the taste of it on his tongue.

Only yesterday, he had contemplated putting an end to his life. It would be so easy to terminate his existence, so easy to stand out on the terrace and watch the sun come up one last time.

So easy, but oh, so painful.

Now, as he dressed, he wondered, as he often had in the past, if he possessed the courage he would need to face such an agonizing death.

But it was a moot point. He no longer wished for death. Life was new again, exciting, and all because of Leanne. During the long hours of the day, as he slept the sleep of the undead in the basement of his house, her image had drifted across his mind. That, in itself, was strange, he thought. Never before had his rest been disturbed by images of anyone, living or dead. But even during the heat of the day, when he usually slept the deepest, he had seen her face, heard the sound of her voice, yearned for the touch of her hand.

Restless, he wandered through his house, trying to see it through her eyes. She would no doubt find it strange that there was no food in the house, that there were no mirrors to be found, not even in the bathrooms. He could easily explain the security bars on the doors and windows. After all, crime was everywhere. The old paintings, the ancient books and scrolls, would not be so easy to explain, not on a cop's salary.

He had collected quite a few masterpieces in the last three hundred years. Paintings thought lost in the wars that had ravaged France and Spain resided in the bedroom; sculptures believed to have been destroyed graced his library. He had one of Shakespeare's original plays, signed by the Bard himself. His basement was crowded with ancient scrolls, with furniture and clothing from ages past.

Perhaps he should have told her he was an antiques dealer. But it was easier to say he was a cop, that he worked the graveyard shift and slept days, that he worked weekends and holidays, and was therefore unable to attend the picnics and parties to which he was occasionally invited.

He paced the floor for an hour and then, unable to wait a moment longer to see her, he drove to the Ahmanson Theater and bought a ticket.

The play mesmerized him, as always. He'd lost count of how many times he'd seen it, had long ago stopped wondering why he found the production so fascinating.

Lost in the dark, he became one with the Opera Ghost, lusting after the fair Christine, knowing in the depths of his aching heart that she would never be his.

He heard the anguish in the Phantom's voice as the Phantom watched Christine find comfort in the arms of the handsome Vicomte de Chagny, felt the deformed man's pain as he cursed her.

But he had eyes only for Leanne. Her presence called to him until he was blind to everyone else on stage, until his pulse beat in time to hers. He felt her excitement as she sang her lines, felt her triumph as the crowd applauded.

As soon as the final curtain came down, he left the theater, eager to see her again, to discover if she was truly as beautiful as he remembered. Surely her eyes could not be so green as those he'd seen in his dreams, her skin could not be so pale and unblemished. No lips could be so pink and well-shaped; her hair could not be so long, so thick, as he recalled.

And then she was there, walking toward him, smiling as if they had known each other for years instead of a few hours.

She was breathtaking in a pair of slinky black pants and an opaque blouse of some material that clung to her, outlining every delectable curve.

He felt his mouth water just looking at her.

"Let's go," she said, tucking her arm through his.

"My car's in the lot," he said, and for the first time since the dark curse had been bequeathed to him, he felt young and alive.

"Is this yours?" Leanne asked. She hadn't noticed what he was driving last night.

Jason nodded. "Like it?"

Her gaze swept over the sleek curves of the black Porsche. "What's not to like?" She slid into the seat when he opened the car door, her hand stroking the soft leather. "You're not a cop on the take, are you?"

Jason shrugged as he slid behind the wheel and turned the key in the ignition. "No. My grandfather left me quite well off."

"Then why do you work?"

"A man has to do something with his time."

They made small talk on the way to Hollywood. She told him about some of the funny things that had happened on stage, like the time the Phantom's boat went the wrong way, and he told her about the case he was supposedly working on.

After parking the car, they walked hand in hand toward the movie theater.

Inside, they sat in the last row. Of its own volition, his hand took hers. The touch of her fingers entwining with his sent a shock of feeling surging through him, a jolt of such force that it almost took his breath away.

In the darkness his gaze sought hers. She had felt it, too; he could see it in the slightly surprised expression in her eyes, hear it in the sudden intake of her breath, feel it hum between them, alive, palpable.

Time and place were momentarily forgotten as he placed his hand at the back of her head and drew her toward him. Her eyelids fluttered down as his mouth closed over hers.

It was a kiss unlike any he had ever known?sweetly potent, volatile, explosive. His body's reaction to her nearness to the scent of her perfume and the taste of her lips, was instant.

With the rise of his desire came another hunger, one that was more painful than unfulfilled passion, more deadly for the woman in his arms. Unable to help himself, he pressed a kiss to her throat, let his tongue caress the pulse beating there. Tempting, so tempting?

With a low groan he drew away.

"Jason, what's wrong?" Her voice was husky, drugged with desire.

"Nothing." He raked a hand through his hair. "This isn't the time, or the place."

He could see her smiling at him through the darkness, her green eyes smoky with passion.

"Any time," she murmured. "Any place."

"Leanne?"

"I'm shameless, I know, but I can't help myself. I feel as though I've known you all my life. Waited for you all my life."

For a moment he closed his eyes. And then he smiled at her through the darkness.

"We have time, Leanne," he whispered hoarsely. "All the time in the world."