“But you might have a relapse,” Michael said, placing the cloth back on the table, leaning down closer to Maria. He felt the heat in his loins as his eyes lowered, seeing the heaving of her bosom, so large, tempting his hands to reach upward to touch. But, no. He had to remember. She had just recovered from an illness so close to having become pneumonia, and also, her damn brother who was too close, ready to pounce if Michael made the wrong move. The curtain had been hung for privacy. He would have to tack it to the ceiling once again.
Maria stretched her long, lean legs out in front of her, crossing them. “And how far away are we from America?” she asked softly. “I am so anxious to see this new world. And also my Papa. It's been so long. I only hope he is well.”
“I'd say about another week of travel should get us there,” Michael answered, moving to sit beside Maria, crossing his own legs. He couldn't keep his eyes from venturing along the smoothness of her olive-colored legs, and then on upward. Surely he could hold her again .. . have her all to himself. . . before the ship reached its destination. For once they had reached New York, the confusion of the docks could very well separate them forever.
“Can you tell me about it, Michael?” she asked, eyes wide.
“What do you want to know?”
“What I will first see when the ship draws near to the New World.”
Michael crossed his arms and began speaking softly, intending his words only for Maria's ears. To hell with Alberto and his nonsensical ways. “When the ship moves into the harbor, you shall first see a huge statue.”
“A statue?” Maria exclaimed. “What kind of a statue?”
Michael laughed hoarsely, loving her innocence. “It's called the Statue of Liberty. It stands for ‘Liberty Enlightening the World.’ It was a gift from the French to the American people, commemorating a century of American independence.”
Maria pulled her legs up and hugged them to her. “It sounds fascinating,” she sighed.
“It is the landmark most looked for by immigrants like yourself and your brother,” Michael continued. “It's a symbol of welcome to every shipload of immi-grants entering the harbor. One of the first things to be seen of this New World, as you choose to call it, as the ship moves up the bay.”
“Then what else will I see, Michael?”
“Then you will see the largest suspension bridge on earth. The Brooklyn Bridge. And after that, you will’ get your first look at the lower Manhattan skyline. A sight to behold. But I won't tell you anymore. It will spoil it all for you.”
“Please tell me one more thing, Michael,” she said. “After Alberto and I leave the ship, will we go immediately to the train and start our trip to my Papa's home?”
“Not exactly,” Michael said even more softly.
“Why not?”
“There's a place called Ellis Island. All immigrants have to go there. I guess you could say you have to go through a process of Americanization.”
“Like what? What do you mean?”
Michael laughed. “Honey, you don't have anything to worry about. The ones who do have are convicts, insane persons and persons likely to become public charges. You are none of these things. Right?”
Maria giggled, snuggling down more onto the bed. She pulled the blanket up over her, having felt a sudden chill. Then her stomach played an overture of grumbles, reminding her of her hunger. She glanced upward at Michael, smiling coyly. “I'm very hungry, Michael,” she said.
He jumped from the bed, smiling broadly. “Those words are like music to my ears,” he said. “It's further proof of your regained health. You have to know you haven't had much nourishment these past two days.”
“And have I had-any? If I have been asleep, how could I have eaten?”
“My dear, you were fed by me. Don't you remember?” •
Maria blushed. “You did this for me also?”
“Some of the best clam chowder prepared aboard this ship. Spoonful by spoonful.”
“Oh, Michael,” Maria sighed. “You are so good to me.” Then her gaze moved to Alberto. “And Alberto? He has eaten also?”
Michael's eyes became cold. “He has indeed,” he grumbled. “For a man who was supposedly near to dying.”
Maria was confused by Michael's tone. It was as though he hated Alberto. Even his eyes showed his dislike. “What do you mean, Michael?” she said softly, looking from Michael to Alberto, then back to Michael once again.
“What do I mean?” Michael asked, crossing his arms. “He has managed to put away quite a stomachful of duck and all the trimmings each time I have left food for him.”
“How do you mean . .. left food for him? Didn't he eat while you did?”
“Never. He would always wait until I would leave the cabin, then he would eat it all. Every bite of it. Damn strange behavior if you ask me.”
Coldness seeped through Maria's veins. Had the blow to Alberto's head caused him to lose his senses? Or maybe the heat of the sun had done its damage to his brain before she had asked assistance of Michael. She began to chew her lower lip, watching Alberto, crying inside for him … her brother … her other self. “I'm sure he is all right,” she mumbled. “If he's eaten, then he's all right. No matter how he has chosen to eat. .. or act.. . .”
“Yeah. I'm sure of it,” Michael said, buttoning his shirt. He went to his chair and lifted his black waistcoat from it and slipped it on. It fit him so perfectly, Maria saw how much it emphasized the broadness of his shoulders. Then her gaze lowered, seeing the tightness of his matching breeches and how they exposed to the eye the gift of his manhood that bulged out in front beneath the layer of cloth. Her face flushed red, realizing just how breathless he could make her by the removal of those breeches.
“As you might notice, it's quite late,” Michael said, motioning toward the ceiling, at the darkness beyond from the skylight. Whale oil lamps flickered in soft goldens on each wall, making the room almost one of intimacy. “I might have a bit of trouble securing much food,” he quickly added. “But I'm sure we can come up with something.” He combed his fingers through his hair, then headed toward the door. He turned and took one last look at Maria as he opened the door. “I won't be long. You will be all right, won't you?”
Maria smiled warmly. “Yes. I'll be all right,” she said. “And you be careful,” she said further, shadows crossing her face. “I remember the darkness of that passageway. I don't want anything to happen to you like it did with Alberto.”
Michael reached down and patted the inside of his lower leg. “I don't believe anybody would take that chance,” he boasted. “Not with the knife I can so rapidly wield.”
Maria's fingers went to her throat. “You wear such a weapon?”
“Beneath my breeches leg. I have worn it since having found your brother in such a condition,” he said flatly. “Just let some son-of-a-bitch come after me. There won't be an inch of his body left untouched.”
Maria smiled weakly as he moved on from the cabin, shutting the door after him. Then her gaze moved to Alberto. Quickly, she brushed the blanket aside and moved across the floor, stopping to stoop next to her brother. “Alberto,” she whispered. “Alberto. It's me. Please say something.” She shook him gently, then gasped when his eyes flew widely open.
“Maria,” he said thickly, eyeing her with dark, brooding eyes. “I'm so thankful that you are all right. I would have wanted to die myself if you hadn't pulled through that terrible illness. Each cough from inside you was the same as myself experiencing it.” He reached his hands upward and touched the softness of her cheeks. Damn. They were much too flushed .. . and … he knew . .. not from fever. There was more to her and Michael Hopper's relationship than there could be had they just become acquainted. If he ever caught Michael placing his hands where he shouldn't, it would be Michael who would feel the touch of his own knife on his flesh.
Maria reached up and took his hand, leaning her face into it. “That is because we are twins, Alberto,” she said. Then she dropped h
is hand, setting her jaw firmly. “And you? What kind of games are you playing, Alberto?” she spat. “Why are you acting so crazily? You know as well as I that you are capable of getting up from that bunk and acting civilized. You know that you are no longer ill. Why, look at you. You've even gained a few pounds, it seems.”
Alberto laughed, pushing himself up on an elbow. His hand reached upward and caressed his beard. “Oh, you must mean my beard,” he said. “That's reason enough for my face to look fuller.”
Maria doubled up a fist and pounded it on his arm. “Oh, Alberto,” she cried. “You know what I mean. Why are you doing this thing to Michael? He's been so nice. You and I both would have probably died if we had stayed out in the weather. You know that, don't you?”
“I do appreciate his generosity,” he grumbled, lowering his eyes. “But people are only generous if they expect something in return.” His eyes shot upward. They had become as two dark coals. “And you do know what kind of reward he will expect from you now that you are well, don't you?”
Maria pushed herself up and crossed her arms, glaring downward at Alberto. “Alberto, that is quite enough of your filthy mouth,” she said coldly. “Where has your trust gone? Is it because of what happened to you? Michael is not like the ones who did that horrible thing to you. Michael is good. He would never do anything to hurt either one of us. Please quit acting as though your brain has shriveled up to a nothingness.”
“If he ever does touch you….” Alberto hissed, moving from the bunk. “This is why I lay so quietly. To listen. I'm sure in time he will approach you. And the best way to watch out for you is to not get too close to this man myself.”
Maria grew quiet, remembering so vividly when Michael had touched her. Her blood surged in a wild thrill even now when she thought about it. Then she paled when she saw the look in Alberto's eyes. She knew that he meant business. She knew that he would indeed possibly harm Michael if Michael would even so much as try to kiss her. “But, Michael won't,” she murmured. “Please don't fret so.”
Alberto moved around the cabin in bare feet, stretching. “I have to admit, it does feel damn good being off that bunk for a while,” he said.
“Then you will stay up? Join Michael and me when he returns with some food?”
“No. I will not,” Alberto said flatly.
Maria moaned softly. “Then you will continue to play your games? You will lie back down and close your eyes like some ninny?”
“I don't wish to mingle, Maria,” he said solemnly. “Not at least until we get to Papa's home. Then I can talk with people of our own kind.” He turned and went to Michael's desk and began to flip the pages of Michael's journal. “Michael is not of our own kind. I do not wish to have anything to do with him.”
“So. You will take his cabin, and eat the food he gives you, but still refuse to act civilized around him? Is that what you're saying?” Maria stormed, stomping a foot in rage.
Alberto moved on around the cabin, touching the softness of the bed, and the fineness of the paneling that covered the walls. “Exactly,” he said. “Exactly.”
“You are a brother I do not understand anymore, Alberto,” Maria said, going to the bed, sinking down onto it, sulking. She pulled the blanket up around her, feeling a chill once again.
“Maybe I have changed,” he said, going to his bunk, stretching out on it.
“One unfortunate incident in your life changes you so much, Alberto?”
Alberto glowered, remembering. “It was more than that, Maria,” he murmured. “It was much more than that.” His fingers reached up and touched his fresh growth of beard once again, feeling its stubbiness. One day soon, it would be fully grown. Then he wouldn't be recognized. Then he would get his revenge. He would play that same card game and take all of Sam's winnings, then when Sam and Grace tried to lure him into Grace's cabin, Alberto would be the one who would win also at that game. He laughed to himself. Suddenly his life had become one big game. He liked that. Yes. He liked that. And no one could ever say he looked like a woman again. Not with a full face of whiskers. Damn that Sam. Damn him all to hell.
The door opening made Alberto turn with a start. Putting his back to Maria, he listened as Michael made his way into the room once again. The aromas of stewed chicken and scalloped potatoes filtered across the room and upward into his nose, making him hungry all over again, even though he had had a complete feast of the same only about an hour earlier. He licked his lips and lay even more quietly, at least glad that Maria was to be the recipient of these tasty morsels. She needed to gain her strength if they were to move from this man's private room. Alberto had had enough of this pretense. He was ready to return topside and set his plans in motion. Plans that would cause him much pleasure. He hadn't yet had the opportunity to experience the fulfillments of a woman. And this he would do before arriving on America's shores.
Michael kicked the door shut with the toe of his boot then hurried toward Maria. “We were in luck,” he said, smiling broadly. ‘The captain was having himself a late supper and had plenty enough to share with you.” He sat the tray of food on the bed next to Maria, lifting the lids, revealing steaming, hot food, so tempting Maria lunged for a fork and began to eat in near desperation.
Michael poured two glasses of port, handing one to Maria. “God. I've never seen anyone so hungry,” he said, sitting down beside her, sipping on the wine, amusement lighting his eyes as he continued to watch her.
Maria wiped her mouth with the back of a hand, blushing. “I didn't mean to eat so greedily,” she mumbled, swallowing hard.
A deep laugh rumbled from deep within Michael as he stretched a leg out beside Maria. “Eat on,” he said. “I'm enjoying watching. I don't like women who pick at their food. It's not healthy.”
Maria cleaned the plate of food then leaned back against the bed, sipping on wine, feeling deliciously content. “I do feel much better now,” she said. She glanced toward Alberto, tensing inside, knowing that he was listening, waiting for a wrong move to be made by Michael. She hated this. For she wanted Michael to complete this contentment bursting from inside her by kissing . . . caressing her … to send her mind into another world. But not as long as Alberto was near. She would have to devise a way to be away from Alberto before the ship reached America. She had to be with Michael intimately once again. At least one more time before saying their final farewells.
“And now that you have filled your stomach with nourishment, I think it's time to get you down for the night,” he said, removing the tray from the bed. “Rest will make you even stronger at this stage of your recovery.”
Maria scooted down onto the bed, watching Michael as he moved around the cabin, turning the wicks of the whale oil lamps down, turning the room into a cave of dancing shadows. When he moved toward the bed, she tensed, looking quickly toward Alberto. Was Michael actually going to climb in bed with her? Surely . . . not. . . .
She watched even further as he removed his waistcoat, and then his shirt, revealing the tightness of his shoulder and chest muscles. “Michael, are you . .. ?” she said, watching him pulling his boots off.
“I need my rest also, Maria,” he said, moving toward the bed.
“But, Michael,” she murmured, glancing toward Alberto once again.
“Never fear,” he said, climbing onto the bed, with his breeches still on. “Rest is all I am after.”
Maria tensed as he stretched out next to her. How could she be so close and not touch him? It was too much of a temptation for her. Inching her fingers across the sheet, she felt a passionate thrill shoot through her when she touched the hairy back of his hand. Then she gasped lightly when his fingers moved around and captured hers in his. When his body turned and his gaze met hers, she moved her body toward him as though he was a magnet, pulling her.
All thoughts of Alberto were forgotten as Michael moved closer to her and embraced her. His fingers went to her hair and smoothed it back from her face, then his lips sought hers and kissed her ev
er so gently as his hands moved on downward, capturing a breast.
A loud cry of outrage filled the room as Alberto lunged onto the bed. He pulled Michael from Maria and threw him from the bed, all the while cursing vile profanities at him.
Maria jumped from the bed, crying, clutching at Michael's night robe that she still wore. “Alberto, please stop. Please,” she sobbed. “You're acting like a madman.”
“Go and Find your clothes and put them on, Maria,” he shouted, standing with doubled fists at his side, daring Michael to take another step closer.
Michael pushed himself up from the floor, then stood in a daze, watching.
“But, Alberto,” Maria whined.
“Did you hear me?” Alberto shouted, taking a step closer to Michael. “If you don't, I'm going to lay into this lover of yours.”
“But where shall we go?” Maria asked, searching around her, finding her clothes lying in a neat pile next to the stove. She began to put them on hurriedly.
“Where do you think?” Alberto growled. “Where we were supposed to be in the first place.”
“It's too soon for Maria to be exposed to the sea air,” Michael said in a tone of voice that was a bit too mono-tonal. But he was waiting. He would defend Maria against her own brother if the need arose.
“I shall be the one to determine that,” Alberto said, turning his head, seeing if Maria was indeed dressing.
Michael took a step toward Alberto, but Maria rushed to Michael's side and took him by the arm. “Please, Michael,” she said. “Please don't get into a fight with my brother. I am well enough to return topside. I feel very strong now. It's best that Alberto and I return to be with the rest of the immigrants.”
Michael framed Maria's face with his hands and leaned down into it. “Are you sure, darling?” he asked quietly, studying her facial features, as though it would be the last time he would be near her.
“Yes. I'm sure,” she said, reaching up to touch his hand, then flinched when Alberto came and jerked her away from Michael.
“Come on, Maria,” Alberto shouted.
Rapture's Rendezvous Page 7