Rapture's Rendezvous (11 page)

Letting her fingers move slowly from her breasts, down across the flatness of her stomach, she unbuttoned her breeches and stepped out of them, and then her shoes, and then, like a snake, slithered down onto the bed beside him. “Love me, Michael,” she whispered, reaching up to touch his lips. “I am yours. Tonight, I am yours.”

Michael laughed hoarsely, reaching for her. “And you thought I was too drunk, huh, Maria?” he said. “Darling, I was drinking because I didn't have you. My thoughts have been in tortured torment ever since our first time together. Now? Yes, I shall make love to you. Over and over again. Until you are completely satiated.”

His mouth covered hers, setting her afire inside, feeling the familiar warmth sweeping through her that only he alone had ever aroused in her. His lips were hard, demanding, and when his tongue made entrance between her lips, searching, probing, she wrapped her tongue around his, further enjoying the reckless pas
sion being awakened inside her. She ached for his lips to search out every inch of her body. She arched her body upward, inviting this from him. And when his hands began to fondle and caress, she moaned with pleasure, hating it when his lips left hers, but glad when they began to wet the nipple of a breast, making it stiffen, turn to a peak of raw passion. He sucked and chewed, letting his fingers travel downward until they had found the secret place between her legs. Without any abandonment, she spread her legs apart, shutting her eyes, feeling her heart beating with a rapid pounding as his fingers searched up inside her, then withdrew and began to caress her love mound with slow, but sure strokes.

She trembled as she became further alive beneath his caresses. The feelings inside her were building to such an intensity, she gasped when his mouth traveled further down and sought out the soft spot between her legs, replacing his fingers with his tongue.

“Oh, Michael,” she whispered, writhing, running her fingers through his hair. It was as though she was soaring, mindless even, as he continued the assault with his tongue and lips. Panting wildly, she cried, “Now, Michael. Please take me now.” She reached down and urged him upward.

He lunged inside her, stiffening his body and gritting his teeth when he felt the warm wetness of her vaginal walls close around his manhood. He moved his body slowly in and out, relishing the pleasure he was taking from his' Maria, now knowing that no other woman could ever compare. He could feel the heat building … climbing… and began to thrust harder … reaching up to entwine his fingers into her hair. Then his mouth
crushed against hers in a hungry devouring kiss of passion.

Maria lifted her legs around his body and locked her ankles together, moving her hips, letting the waves of pleasure splash through her, feeling them grow higher and higher, as though she might drown in this ocean of ecstasy.

With a fierceness, he gripped her more tightly in his embrace and together their bodies exploded in earth-shattering spasms, making them both cry out in unison, until they lay clinging, trembling, and slippery from nervous perspiration - glistening along their bodies.

“Ah. Now I am truly drunk,” Michael sighed, kissing Maria softly on the temple.

Maria giggled a bit. “And I am also,” she purred, still feeling a throbbing between her thighs … a throbbing that told her she was ready for more of the same.

Michael's left hand drifted lazily over her body, touching each crevice knowingly. “Maria, I don't think I can say goodbye,” he said.

Maria's heartbeat raced. “I feel the same,” she murmured.

Moving from atop her, Michael reached for his cigar, relighting it. He sat with his back braced against the outside wall, furrowing a brow. “Then why do we even have to, Maria?”

“What are you saying . .. Michael?”

“We could wed. Make this a proper union.”

Maria bolted upright, eyes wide. She knelt on the bed at Michael's feet, looking up into the blueness of his eyes. “You mean .. . you … are . .. asking my hand in . . . marriage?”

“And why not?”

Excitement sent small electrical impulses through her. Then she remembered Alberto and how he felt about Michael. .. and then remembered also her father who was waiting for her in America. Loyalty to family had always made the bond strong in the Lazzaro family, as it did in all Italian families. It was in their blood. An alliance that no outsider could understand . ..
nor
interfere with.

No. Her family had to come first. Her face became all shadows as she cast her eyes downward. “It's impossible to do so,” she murmured.

Michael flinched as though he had been hit. “Why not, Maria?” he said, tilting her chin up with a forefinger, so their gazes could meet. “You do profess to love me, do you not?”

Tears burned at the corner of her eyes. She fluttered her lashes nervously, then said, “I'll never love anyone else.”

Michael rose from the bed, pacing the floor. “You say you love me but you won't marry me,” he blurted, kneading a brow, with the cigar hanging limply from the corner of his mouth. He came to an abrupt halt and glared toward Maria. “Tell me the reason why you refuse, Maria,” he demanded hotly.

Maria pulled the night robe Michael had shed from his body around herself, suddenly conscious of her nudity. She hugged herself, feeling a slow trembling rising inside. “You wouldn't understand,” she finally answered.

“Try me,” he said flatly.

“It's because of my family,” she uttered, flipping her hair to hang in a long, thick mass down her back.

“Damn it, Maria. Why would your family object? I'm respectable enough. Or is it because I am an American? Do Italians have to marry Italians, or what?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“Then damn it. Why?”

Her eyes flew upward and she set her jaw firmly. “I cannot desert Alberto and my Papa,” she said. “My Papa is all alone in America. He's waiting for me and Alberto. And also, Alberto. He's not behaving rationally. I must stay with him until he's acting normally once again.”

Michael hit his forehead with the palm of his hand, groaning. “Alberto, Alberto,” he shouted. “Always Alberto.” He went to Maria and pulled her up from the bed, clutching onto her shoulders. “Can Alberto do this?” he said thickly, then kissed her fully on the lips as his hand worked at disrobing her again until their bodies fused and began moving together, creating the wondrous desirous feelings inside Maria once again.

“Oh, Michael,” Maria gasped as she felt the hardness of his manhood probing between her legs.

“Can he, Maria?” Michael murmured, showering her breasts with kisses, then lower.

“No. He cannot,” she sobbed. “But it makes no difference, Michael. My mind cannot be changed.”

Michael lifted her to the bed and stretched out beside her. “Then, my darling, we must not waste any of our moments we have left together. We must make love. Over and over again this night. We must, for I feel I can never get enough of you.”

“Yes, my love,” she whispered, feeling passion weaving its way through her heart. “Oh, yes, yes.. ..”

* * *

Alberto pulled his hat lower fn an attempt to hide his eyes, knowing that his eyes could be the reason that he could be recognized. And even though his clothes were the same as he had worn before, he knew they were like those of most other men aboard this ship, filthy and tattered, so he didn't believe that Sam would remember him from just that one confrontation with him.

Letting his eyes wander about, Alberto's hate grew within him as he found Grace leaning over Sam, teasing him with her fingers. They were a pair, they were. Sam with his beady, dark eyes, and thick, scraggly whiskers that had threads of chewing tobacco stuck throughout, and Grace with her low-cut gowns, revealing a tempting pair of breasts for all men to drool over, but looking so wicked with a constant glint in her cat-green eyes. Her copper hair fell around her face, framing it, looking as though she had already wrestled many men this night.

“And how about you, stranger?” a voice spoke from beside Alberto, making him jolt to attention.

“Huh . .. ?” he said, straightening the cards in his hand.

Then Sam grumbled. “Place your bet, damn it,” he said. “We ain't got all night, ya know, lf'n ya plays cards with us, ya stays alert. Now bet or move on with ya.”

Pinpricks of hate raced along Alberto's nerves, eyeing Sam darkly. “You're going to get yours, you damn bastard,” he thought to himself. “But now I'll play along with you.” He gazed down at his cards, smiling amusedly. Damn. He was lucky. Another winning hand for sure. “My bet?” he drawled, trying to disguise his voice. “One American dollar. That's what
my bet is.”

He checked his cards once again to be sure. Yes. There was a ten, Jack, Queen, King, and Ace. All of different suits, but that didn't matter. What he had was called a Royal Flush. He did remember that name, for sure. It was the best he could get. He furrowed his brow, kneading it with his free hand. Should he have bet more? It could even speed up the game a bit. But, no. He would have a next time.

The men on all sides of Alberto placed their own bets, then the time came to reveal the hands. Straightening his shoulders back proudly, Alberto placed his cards on the deck, slowly, one at a time, feeling his heart pounding, knowing that all eyes had seen that he had indeed won with the best cards among them all.

“Damn it. A Royal Flush,” one muttered. “Ain't seen one of them in a long time. Damn lucky.”

Sam glared at Alberto in silence as Alberto scraped in his winnings. He took another mouthful of chewing tobacco, licking his fingers before dealing another hand of cards. Then he began dealing, occasionally glancing Alberto's way.

Alberto cringed, seeing that maybe he was getting too much attention too soon. He knew that Sam could possibly remember that one other time, and how lucky Alberto had been at playing this game. Could Sam see him and his true features through his thick crop of whiskers? But, surely not. It was dark, even foggy, with shreds of wet mist hanging in the air.

As the new hand of cards fell on the deck before him, Alberto scraped them in one at a time and positioned them in his hand, not believing how his luck continued to be with him. Even so, should he bluff and pretend he
had nothing this time? He didn't want to work too fast. He had to be cautious, or he would fail once again at having a woman's flesh against his own. So he frowned and drawled a slow, “Damnation. Ain't got nothin' this time.” He smiled to himself when muffled chuckles rose from the throats around him. When he discarded, he threw away three Aces and drew another Ace and two Kings, making him frown, knowing that even now. he had a full house, after having kept an Ace and a King in his hand before having discarded. His face flushed crimson, looking around him, knowing what to expect when he placed these cards on the ship's deck before him, letting all see what was probably once again a winning hand.

“Got ya all beat this time,” Sam laughed. “What's yore bet this time, stranger?” he added, looking Alberto's way.

Alberto couldn't resist the temptation of getting the better of his enemy. “Five big ones,” he drawled, counting the money out, slapping it onto the ship's deck.

“Damn it you say,” Sam growled, spitting a wad of chewing tobacco into the wind behind him. “Well.ah'll raise ya five,” he quickly added, laughing throatily.

“I'll call you,” Alberto said, throwing out five more dollars, feeling guilty and reckless now, remembering how Maria had worked so hard beside him when cleaning chimneys, taking so long to even earn one Italian lira. But he would win it back. Double. Plus in doing so, he would be able to touch the secret parts of that wench Grace. His eyes moved to her, just as she began to creep around to snuggle down behind him. He swallowed hard, remembering so vividly how it had happened before. She was making her first move. Well,
he would play along. She would soon find out how her plans would be changed this night. How he would be the one in authority.

“Okay, stranger,” Sam grumbled. “Show us yore cards.”

Alberto smiled amusedly as he placed his three Kings and two Aces on the ship's deck for all to see. His gaze traveled across to Sam and he could see the hatred forming in his beady eyes. “And yours? What are you showin' this hand, stranger?” Alberto asked, placing a distinct emphasis on that word “stranger.”

“Yore whippin' my ass tonight,” Sam growled, slapping his three Queens of Spades and four and five of Hearts on the ship's deck.

“So I am,” Alberto said, smiling widely. He looked at all other cards in front of the other men and saw that he had indeed beat them all. As he scraped his winnings in, he glanced quickly toward Sam and knew that the time was drawing near. He knew that if he waited too long, Sam would probably understand just what was happening.

“And where've ya been on this here trip before tah-night, stranger?” Sam suddenly blurted, counting out more money to place on the ship's deck before him.

The color drained from Alberto's face. “Uh . .. I . . . well. . . you see, I've been ailin',” he quickly said. “Yeah. Had that damn dysentery. Guess it's been the drinkm' water on this death trap.called a ship. Didn't think anyone would like gettin' round me.” He felt beads of perspiration on his brow, seeing Sam studying him even more closely.

“Tha' right?” Sam growled.

“Yeah,” Alberto said, then he felt the softness of a
hand reach around and cover his own.

“And you're feelin' better now?” Grace purred, blinking her green eyes at him as she leaned her face down into his.

Alberto's color returned to his face. “Yeah. Much. Sure am,” he mumbled, feeling that same damn stirring in his loins that he remembered from before as her fingers worked a button loose on his shirt and inched her way beneath it, curling in the thickness of his chest hair.

“I'm glad,” Grace said further, pulling her hand away, settling down next to him. “You see, I'd like to get to know you better.”