Rapture's Rendezvous (48 page)

“Well? Darling?” Michael persisted, guiding her on inside the elevator as its doors rattled open.

Trying to hide the trembling in her fingers, Maria watched the door as it was shoved shut. Then she barely breathed as the box moved downward in awkward jerks. And when the door opened once again, revealing the hotel lobby to her and all its merry chatter of people coming and going, only then could she force a smile and move on next to Michael out into the busy streets.

“Angelina, you might appear to be tiny-boned,” Alberto said, breathing heavily, feeling an aching in his arms. “But you are quite heavy.”

Angelina giggled as she clung to his neck. They weren't married yet, and this was only a fun way to practice. She began to kick her feet slowly as Alberto stepped on across the threshold that would lead diem
into what would soon be their honeymoon suite at the grand Planter's Hotel. “But, Alberto, I'm heavier on this, the day before our wedding,” she murmured.

“Why is that?” he scowled, kicking the door shut, then heading toward the bedroom.

“Because I'm so fdled with love, darling,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his. “My love for you must weigh hundreds and hundreds of pounds. But you know that.”

Alberto's eyes raked over her, feeling the quivering of his insides, so wanting her, yet afraid. Just looking into her eyes … so dark … so imploring . . . could set his heart to racing and the blood to boiling inside his manhood. But he had failed so often while trying to make love to a woman.

With Angelina, he had up to this point managed to put off the inevitable, telling her that he wouldn't seduce her before the wedding, saying that he had wanted her to remain pure at heart, as most women should, if they weren't wanton whores, giving their bodies to every man who asked. But now he had decided that he had to try this night, so that if he couldn't succeed, he would set her free to let her marry someone more worthy.

“You look so beautiful, Angelina,” he said, placing her tenderly atop the bed. He moved away from her, thrusting his hands deeply inside his front breeches pockets. He went to the window, placing his back to her. “But your dress,” he murmured. “Before . . . uh . . . going any further with our caresses, maybe, you'd best remove it and hang it carefully in the closet. I don't want to .. . uh . .. muss it.”

He turned and fled from the room, his heart pounding
so hard he felt he couldn't breathe. He was afraid she would sense his weakness. Up to this point in their relationship, she had seen only the stronger side of his personality. She had been proud to know that he had led the mob of coal miners who had killed the dreaded man Nathan Hawkins. She had been proud to believe that he had been the one to pull the trigger of the gun that had fired the one fatal bullet that night.. ..

Going to the liquor cabinet, Alberto poured himself five fingers of whiskey and gulped them down, trying to let the whiskey burn the memory of that night from his mind. He lowered his head and stroked his cleanshaven face. He couldn't help but think back once again. . ..

It had been so dark that night. A starless night. The sky had been almost as dark as the insides of a coal mine. But the dark cover of night had made it easier for the coal miners to move unnoticed toward Nathan Hawkins's house. There had been no sounds, except for the anxious breathing of all men who had guns drawn and ready. Then when they had reached Nathan Hawkins's house, the scratching of a match had begun it all. Torches had been passed around and the house had quickly become consumed in flames.

All poised and ready, everyone's eyes were focused, unblinking even, on the front door of the house. When Mama Pearl had rushed, screaming, from the house, she had seen the circle of men and had fled down the road toward Ruby's.

Then when Nathan Hawkins had come gasping from the house, Alberto had tried to pull the trigger, but had frozen to the spot. When the gun was grabbed from his hand and the shot fired, Alberto had been surprised to
find that it was Michael who had once again proven himself to be more of a man than Alberto, causing Alberto's hatred for Michael to begin anew. . ..

“Alberto? Are you all right?” Angelina asked, moving to his side.

Alberto swung around and felt the thumping of his heart go wild when he saw her standing there in a white, lace-trimmed chemise, oh, so seductive as her dark hair lay in deep waves across her shoulders. He reached and lifted one end of her hair, feeling its softness, then kissed her on the curve of the shoulder. “No. There's nothing wrong,” he said, tasting the sweetness of her.

“Then why are you in here, and not in the bedroom?” she asked, touching him gently on the lips. “We've waited so long. I think I shall just burst if I have to wait another minute.”

Whirling around, Alberto poured himself another drink. He was thinking about Maria. Could Angelina erase all the boyhood thoughts of Maria from his mind? Oh, how he had hungered for her, and how dirty it had always made him feel afterwards.

He put the glass to his lips and emptied it, gasping as the whiskey burned another path down his throat.

“Soon, Angelina,” he said thickly. “Soon.” He slammed the glass down onto the cabinet's surface and framed his head with his hands, groaning. It was back. The dull pounding in his head. Only recently it had begun again, similar to the pounding in his head after Sam had dealt him that blow.

“What is it, Alberto?” Angelina asked, clutching at his arm.

“My head. It throbs so,” he groaned.

Angelina urged him to a chair. “Darling, just sit here
and relax,” she said. “Maybe there's been too much excitement for you, with our wedding day so close.”

“Yes, maybe so,” he said, loosening the top button of his shirt. He stretched his legs out before him, resting his head against the back of the tall wing chair. He closed his eyes, sighing deeply. “I want so much for us, Angelina,” he said quietly. “So very, very much.”

Angelina settled on the floor at his feet and rested her chin on his right knee. She looked upward at him adoringly, her brown eyes wide. “We already have much,” she said softly. “We have each other.”

Alberto's eyes opened as he reached to smooth a forefinger down the slight tilt of her nose. “Yes, we have each other,” he said. “But I'm going to see to it that we have much more.”

“Like what, Alberto?”

The pounding in his head had lessened, letting him breathe easier. “My dreams have changed,” he said. “I wanted to own a place of business in Creal Springs. A small place to just call my own. But now? I plan for something bigger and better.”

Angelina frowned. “Alberto, I wish you wouldn't talk in circles.”

“I plan to own Hawkinsville,” he quickly blurted. His dark eyes gleamed at the thought.

Angelina pushed herself up from the floor, paling. “You what?” she gasped.

“Though I let Michael pay for your wedding gown and this hotel suite, it wasn't because I couldn't do so myself.”

“Then … why … ?”

“I didn't want Michael to be aware of the wealth I've accumulated gambling. I want to spring it all on
him at once.”

“Alberto, you're not being yourself. . . .”

Alberto rose from the chair, glowering. He began to pace the floor in wide, even strides. “Yes, I shall rebuild the house where Hawkins lived, I shall take over the vineyard, and you will be mistress to the finest mansion in all of southern Illinois.”

“You truly can … do this . . . ?” Angelina asked, going to Alberto, clutching on to his arm. “We can truly live in such a way?”

“We will. You'll see,” he said, grabbing her by the
shoulders, squeezing. “No more coal mining for me.
We will reign over Hawkinsville. You … and … 1 “

Angelina began to laugh, throwing her head back. Then she grew serious. “You really can do it, Alberto? Truly?”

“Yes. I can. I shall.”

Angelina moved away from Alberto, twirling in slow circles, giggling. “I will never have to make another paper flower again,” she shouted. “I will have my own gardens filled with real flowers.”

Alberto grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. “You are my flower,” he said with a sudden yearning for her. He could feel the desire for her mounting, sending waves of sensual longings splashing through him. “You are my rose. My sweet, sweet rose. Come to the bedroom and let me caress your velvet petals.”

“Oh, Alberto,” Angelina sighed, all trembles.

Alberto moved into the room next to her and lifted her chemise over her head. With trembling fingers, he reached for her breasts, almost melting on the spot when he felt the softness of her skin.

“Kiss them,” Angelina begged, leaning toward him
with eyes closed. “Let me feel your lips… your tongue … on my breasts,” she purred.

“Angelina, my Angelina,” Alberto sighed, and buried his nose between her breasts, then moved his lips to suck on a nipple, until it was hard and erect. His heart was beating with a rapid pounding as his hands began to trace her body, then his lips searched out her lips and bore down upon them in a demanding, fiery kiss.

When he felt her fingers working on his clothes, trying to remove them, Alberto tensed. What… if… ?

“Please, Alberto,” she begged. “Let's go to bed. Please undress. I want you. Now.”

“Yes, yes,” he said. He watched her stretch across the bed, so seductively, and he couldn't undress fast enough. The pounding in his head had ceased, but the pounding in his manhood was fast taking over. He
had
to succeed this time. He
had to.
If not, he knew that he never would. .. .

Fully unclothed, he crept to the bed, and almost shyly even, moved to her side.

“Are you still feeling pain, Alberto?” she asked, touching his brow.

“Yes, darling,” he said. “But of a much sweeter kind.”

He moved atop her and opened her legs with a quick movement of his knee. Still trembling, he sought her soft spot out with his manhood, and once found, quickly moved inside her. If he worked quickly, surely he would succeed. He loved her. He
had
to be able to make love to her.

“Oh, Alberto,” Angelina sighed, now moving her hips with his. “Why did we wait? My love, why did
we wait?”

He crushed her to him, over and over again, his heartbeat consuming him, feeling the pressures inside himself building. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, feeling something he had never experienced before … it was a warmth . . . rising . .. rising . . . making his mind leave him . . . becoming multicolors crashing . .. crashing … then his body seemed to explode in the most marvelous of sensations.

He groaned as his body spasmed, over and over again, realizing that he had done it. He had become a man! Then his breathing ceased momentarily as he experienced Angelina's quiverings.

“Darling?” he whispered, kissing her softly on the cheek.

She clung to him, breathless. “It was so good,” she finally whispered.

Alberto beamed. “Yes. It was. Wasn't it?” He pulled from her and scooted to lie on his back, his head resting in his raised arms. “Damned good,” he shouted.

Angelina began to trace his body with a forefinger, then began giggling.

“What's so damn funny?” Alberto said, tensing. Had he done something wrong? Had he been . . . too . . . clumsy ..'. ?

“You have a birthmark in the strangest “place,” Angelina said, giggling again.

Alberto's face reddened. “Yes, I know,” he said. “Maria . . .” he began, then stopped, knowing his hangups for his sister had finally been put behind him. He laughed merrily. “Yes, Maria also has such a birth-mark.”

“She docs?” Angelina gasped. “In the same place? I've seen the one on her face. She doesn't have two, does she?”

Alberto roared with laughter, suddenly feeling so lighthcarted. “No, my love. Only I have one in such a private spot. Now, wouldn't Maria look funny with one in the
exact
spot as mine?”

Angelina giggled as she placed her fingers around his manhood, then traced the birthmark. “It looks like a strawberry. It's shaped like one, and it's as red,” she murmured. She eyed Alberto wickedly. “And does it even taste as sweet?”

Alberto's heart thumped wildly. He eyed her ques-tioningly. “There's one way to find out, Angelina,” he said thickly.

“I know,” she whispered …

Maria clung to Michael's arm with one hand and her hat with the other, moving with him toward a stately black carriage. The city of Saint Louis buzzed with excitement. The Saint Louis World's Fair had brought dignitaries from all over the world. They had all come to celebrate the Centennial of the Louisiana Purchase, an event in American history having an importance second only to the Declaration of Independence.

Michael had explained to Maria that the territory acquired from France by the purchase embraced all the land lying between the Mississippi River and the crest of the Rocky Mountains and that its ownership by the United States made possible the extension of the nation's boundaries to the Pacific Ocean.

“I'm so anxious to see the array of flags your
company made, Michael,” Maria said as he aided her inside the carriage. “There must be so many if every state and territory of the United States plus scores of foreign countries are represented!”

Michael moved in next to Maria as the coachman closed the door behind them. He reached inside his pocket for a fresh cigar, then lit it, settling back against the plump cushions of gold velvet. He crossed his legs and arms in unison, puffing leisurely on the cigar. “Yep. There will be many flags to see today,” he boasted. “And in all different colors and designs. I'm quite proud of what my company has produced. It has been nice to move into another area besides making shoes.”

“And now that the flags are completed, what will your sewing machines be used for?”

“High fashion, darling,” Michael said, flicking an ash from the cigar out the carriage window. “You think you've seen beautiful dresses on the Saint Louis women? Just you wait until I'm finished with the ones I will have designed. Models from all over the country will flock to Saint Louis just to have the opportunity of wearing Michael Hopper's fashions. Yep, that's what is in my future.”