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I nodded.

"Of course. Let's try it again. We'll do it the way a European teacher of mine taught me."

He took me by total surprise when

he stepped up behind me and encircled me with his arms. He held my elbows in his hands and drew me back against him.

"Relax," he whispered in my ear. I felt his breath on my neck, his chest pressed to my shoulders. The sweet aroma of his after shave lotion floated around my face and filled my nostrils. Then he pressed the palm of his right hand just under my breasts to my diaphragm.

"Now take a deep breath," he said, "and push my palm away by breathing out."

I felt his right forefinger graze the underside of my left breast, and for a moment I could do nothing. He had taken my breath away, not prepared me to do breathing exercises. Surely, I thought, he felt my body trembling and he felt the drumming of my heart. His breathing quickened, too.

"Go on," he coaxed. "Take a deep breath."

I did it and when my shoulders lifted, his hand slid closer to my bosom so that he was practically supporting it with the surface of his thumb and wrist.

"Good. Breathe out, press my hand away. Think about it as you do it. Concentrate, concentrate," he said and I did so. He made me repeat it. I did it nearly a dozen more times and suddenly, I grew dizzy, so dizzy my legs felt wobbly. I moaned and lost my balance, falling against him even more. He tightened his grip on me and held me fast.

"Are you all right?" he asked quickly. I tried to speak, but I could only nod. Then I heard him laugh. "You hyperventilated. It's nothing. You over-oxygenated your blood. Just sit down for a moment," he said, guiding me back to the wooden folding chair. Then he squatted beside me and took my hands into his. "Okay?" He squeezed my hands gently and rested his forearms on my knees.

I nodded, trying to find a voice that didn't quiver, but my face felt so flushed and my heart was still pounding that I was afraid to utter a sound, positive my voice would crack. When I looked at him so close to me, I saw a depth in his dark eyes that made me spin in a different way. It made me feel light, airy, eager to fall into his arms and have him hold me. My body began to grow warm in the most intimate places. I had to turn away because I was sure he could see these things happening in me and I was blushing just as much from embarrassment as I was from the heat that fanned out from my heart and rushed through my breasts.

"Just rest a moment," he said, "and we'll go back to the scales."

He patted my knee and stood up. He went to the piano and looked at some papers for a few moments. "Okay," I finally said.

I know I didn't sing as well as I could when we went through the scales afterward. He made me do it repeatedly until he said I had combined the proper breathing with the notes.

"Fine. That's good," he declared, taking my shoulders in his hands and holding me out before him as he drank me in with that titillating fixed look of his. "You are already wonderful with your natural talent," he continued, "but when you do it correctly, you will reach the full height of your potential and you will become a true diva. They will flock to you and thrill just to be in your shadow.

"Do .you know what happens to me when I'm with someone like you?" he continued, making me tremble more with each and every wonderful word. "I feel younger, stronger, able to go on and do even greater things. It makes me want to stretch out my own talents, extend myself further than I had ever dreamed."

He laughed and released me. Then he went to the piano and tapped on a key to give himself a note. As soon as he had, he vocalized the scales, holding his arms out toward me as if he were singing the most romantic love song. Then he did begin to sing a love song, a song he had made famous. He beckoned me to join in and indicated I should use the sheet music on the piano, but I shook my head. I knew the music well.

When I started to sing along with him, his eyes widened with pleasure and surprise. He stepped closer to me to take my hands into his and we sang to each other just the way we would sing were we on the stage in front of an audience. My voice intertwined with his, he taking me up higher and higher. His fingers tightened on mine and he drew his face closer to my face as the song came to an end.

On the stage it ended with the man and woman kissing. And so did it end this way now, even though I never thought he would actually do it. First, I felt his hot breath on my face, and then as he continued to draw me closer to him and himself closer to me, I knew it was going to happen. I closed my eyes and his lips touched mine, softly at first, almost as if we were both made of air, and then, he pressed his mouth firmly onto mine. The contact sent an electrifying flash of heat through me. I felt myself go limp. He held onto me and then slowly lifted his lips from mine. My eyes fluttered open and I gazed up into his, which seemed to call to me with such passion and desire, I could only stare and wait to see what he would do next, for I recalled what he had told me in the cafe: "Passion makes us desperate."

I was both frightened and thrilled by my thumping heart. I was afraid I would fall into a faint again.

"I had to do that," he said softly. "You sang so well. For a moment I thought I was really on the stage and when I'm on the stage, I do what is called for, what must be done to make the music real to the audience. That's the mark of a professional. I'm sure you understand?'

I didn't, but I nodded.

He smiled at me, gazing at me intently again with those dark piercing eyes.

"We've had a very productive lesson," he said. "How do you feel?"

I was feeling so many different things at the moment, I didn't know how to respond. I was still overwhelmed by his kiss and still trembling from his touch and intense gaze.

"Fine," I finally said. He laughed and kissed my forehead.

"You're a very beautiful young woman, do you know that?" he asked. "It's rare to find someone with such a beautiful voice who also has such a beautiful face. I'm not embarrassing you, am I?"

I shook my head slowly, my eyes still locked in his stare.

"I wouldn't talk like this with any of my other students, but I sense that you are special. Your talent makes you different, makes it possible for you to be older faster because you are more perceptive, more sensitive. Like me, you grow with every passing moment and with every experience.