Rapture's Rendezvous

by Cassie Edwards

  “I must first get my violin,” she said, searching around her once again.

  “Hurry up then. We must find a place to rest when we get topside. It's already dark, you know.”

  Michael ran his fingers through his hair, frowning. “If you insist on moving topside, let's go about it in a civilized manner,” he said thickly. “Let me get assis-tance to help get your belongings moved. You will need your bunk and all the heavy blankets you can get. I'll see to it that you have the best.”

  “We don't need any more of your help,” Alberto stormed. “You already tried to take payment by touching my sister and kissing her.”

  “I don't need payment for anything,” Michael said flatly. He moved toward the door, ignoring Alberto's further accusations. “I'll go topside and make all the arrangements. We have to do what's best for Maria, Alberto. Whether or not you believe I'm doing it for her.”

  When Michael disappeared out into the passageway, Maria went to Alberto and glared upward into his face. “Oh, Alberto,” she cried. “How could you? Michael didn't mean us any harm.”

  “I watched as he started to kiss you,” he said, glowering.

  “It is I who made the first advance,” she said, tilting her chin up into the air, then walked on out into the passageway in her soiled chimney sweep costume, carrying her violin case with her.

  Alberto's face drained of color. “Surely I heard wrong,” he murmured to himself. “Maria wouldn't say such a thing. My Maria? My sweet, innocent Maria… ?”

  He moved on out into the passageway himself, tensing when he passed the spot where he had been left to die. He hurried along, still wondering about his sister. . . .

  Chapter Five

  Two more days at sea and America's shores would be reached. Maria lay crouched beneath a heavy layer of blankets watching Alberto. He appeared to be asleep, but she didn't want to take a chance that he might see her sneak to Michael's cabin. She would have to wait a bit longer. But she did have to see Michael this night. If not, she might never be able to feel his arms around her again. America was a vast land. She had no idea where this Saint Louis was, where Michael had said he was going. She tensed, seeing a movement on Alberto's bunk. Though it was dark, she just knew that she had seen him reach down and pull a boot on! Where did he think he was going? He had stayed close to her since having left Michael's cabin. But he had been acting strangely, all the while keeping his face hidden from the card players as he continued to watch them. Surely he wouldn't. . . .

  Alberto looked slowly around him, making sure no one was witnessing his preparations for his departure from his bunk. So far, no one had paid any attention to him. And now that his beard was fully grown, he was ready to make his move. Just thinking about holding the cards in his hands again made his heart pound. And then what he had planned to do later made his blood surge wildly with delight. He would show them. Sam and Grace would wish they had never even met him.

  Eyeing Maria closely, Alberto smiled to himself. She was most assuredly asleep. She would never miss him. He pulled the last of their money from his breeches pocket and stacked it neatly in the palm of his right hand. He would make this back double, he mused to himself. Maria would never know. . . .

  Tears burned at the corners of Maria's eyes, watching Alberto move from the bunk and head toward the dim lighting of a whale oil lamp, beneath which huddled the usual group of men playing poker. Through her mist of tears, she watched as Alberto settled onto the deck, now one of the men who played the devil's game. Cigar smoke circled upward and all eyes turned to Alberto, silently studying him for a second, then fell back to playing, mouthing crude obscenities as each card turned up in each of their hands.

  Maria had wanted to reach out and stop Alberto, remembering what had happened to him before, but her inner tormented feelings of need for Michael had urged her to remain silent, pretending to be asleep. She knew that if Alberto was busy playing cards, he wouldn't see her leave for Michael's cabin. Yes, it was a perfect cover. And, for some unknown reason, Maria felt that Alberto just had to know what he was doing. For it was he who had taken the beating, and he would surely have devised a way to keep this from happening again.

  She sighed to herself. She hated to admit it, but she even felt relieved to be away from Alberto's side for a while. Since his personality change, he had been most unpleasant to have as a companion. She had to hope that once they reached their Papa's home, Alberto would return to his old self and be just as lovable as before.

  Pushing her blanket aside, Maria crept from the bunk, still attired in her hated chimney sweep costume and drab, dark shoes, and began to walk cautiously across the deck flooring. She barely breathed as she moved toward the door that led below deck, all the while watching Alberto. But he was already absorbed in the card game. He wouldn't see, or miss her, for hours.

  Fear made shivers ride her spine as Maria moved down the steps, seeing the semidarkness of the long passageway that led to Michael's cabin. She knew that she was foolish, not having warned Michael of her plans to be with him. He could have met her. Protected her. But she hadn't known the true time that she could have left the bunk. She would just have to keep quiet so no one in any of the other cabins would hear her approach.

  Noises from all sides of her made her cringe. They were as before. Gigglings from loose women who were paid to share their bodies with any man who asked, and the drunken, rowdy laughter from sailors who had finished with their duties for the night.

  Hugging her arms tightly around her, Maria hurried to Michael's door and tapped lightly. In only a matter of moments, she would be with him. He would again teach her the mysteries of life and in the most sensuous of ways.

  She tensed when he did not answer. A terrible thought seized her. What if Michael had paid for the services of one of these . . . wenches . . . ? She tapped more noisily, looking around her, trembling. If he didn't open the door soon, someone else on either side of her might, and then what?

  The door jerked open quickly, revealing a half-drunken Michael to Maria. “Michael?” she whispered, seeing his hair all tousled in layers of gold. And even though there was only a dim lighting, she could see swollen mounds beneath his eyes and the red streaks that surrounded the blue of his eyes.

  “Maria?” he said in a thick speech, almost teetering.

  She eyed him once again. He wore the night robe that was so familiar to her and it gaped open in front, revealing that he wore nothing beneath it. Her face reddened when she caught sight of his manhood. It wasn't in a state of arousal and even looked funny as it hung so loosely from his light-colored patch of pubic hair. She would always be amazed at how something so tiny could grow to such proportions to give her such pleasure. Tremors of passionate lust raced through her, making her move on inside the cabin.

  When she heard the cabin door shut and the bolt lock slide in position, she turned and waited to see what Michael would do next. She had never been around an intoxicated man before. And she hated seeing Michael in this state. Especially when she had expected so much more from him this night. She tensed when she saw him reach for the wine bottle and pour himself another drink.

  Taking a large swallow, Michael began'to walk around Maria, eyeing her questioningly. “And how did you manage to get away from that damn brother of yours?” he asked darkly.

  “I did manage. That's ail that's important,” she said softly. “You are glad to see me, aren't you?” she quickly added, wanting to reach up and touch him, even cling to him.

  “But what if he realizes you are gone?” Michael continued, taking another large swallow, burping noisily as he placed the empty glass down on a table.

  “He won't,” she said flatly.

  “And how can you be so sure?”

  “He's playing that card game again,” she answered, lowering her eyes.

  A raucous laugh filled the dark corners of the cabin as Michael moved toward the bed, falling down onto it. “He is a damn idiot, that one. I also love the lure of the cards, but
not among the scum that travels these ships,” he said, still laughing. He stretched out on the bed, watching Maria once again. “And why did you come?” he said further, in a quiet drawl.

  Maria stood still, even though her heart was pounding wildly inside her, seeing him on the bed, so tempting. She felt full of the devil this night, so very, very wicked. But she knew that only Michael could cause her to act in such a way. Only Michael. “Don't you know, Michael?” she asked, casting her eyesdownward.

  “I'm not sure,” he said, a smile lifting his lips playfully. “Come. Show me.”

  “But aren't you too . . . uh . . . drunk . .. ?”

  Another laugh from Michael jolted Maria's nerves. “Too drunk to do what, honey?” he added, reaching over on a night stand to pick up a half-smoked cigar. He placed it between his lips and lit it, suddenly enjoying this little game with Maria. The heat in his loins urged him to hurry on along with it, but he would let her make the first move. It would be more exciting that way.

  He puffed eagerly on the cigar, watching her move toward him. Damn. Even in that ugly garb, she was the most beautiful woman alive. He loved the color of her skin … the dark olive tone that he remembered being so soft to the touch. And didn't she appear to be a tigress now, as she moved her stately tall body toward him? Her dark, wavy hair hung to her waist, and her eyes were hidden beneath thick, heavy lashes, which were now fluttering like butterfly wings as she bent down over him.

  “Michael, you know what I mean,” she said, lowering her full, sensuous lips to cover his.

  “God,” Michael groaned, reaching for the ashtray, dropping the cigar into it. He then pulled Maria atop him and kissed her hard and long, letting his fingers begin to unbutton the shirt that hid her large, full breasts from his hungry mouth and eyes.

  Maria pulled away from him, devouring him with her eyes. “Michael, please make love to me,” she murmured, touching his face, tracing it with a fingertip. “Just like you did before. Please?”

  Her skin quivered when he touched her ever so gently beneath her shirt, still searching out her breast. When he made contact, she moaned with ecstasy. She squirmed, making her breast more accessible. And when his fingers circled the breast and squeezed a nipple to tautness, she felt her head begin to reel.

  “Undress, Maria,” Michael said thickly. “Stand beside the bed and do it in front of me. Slowly. I want to watch.”

  As though hypnotized, Maria pushed herself off the bed, then stood with a straight back, watching him as his eyes caressed her. Swaying gently, she first removed her jacket, then, teasingly, finished unbuttoning her shirt, slipping her arms from each sleeve, smiling wickedly as her breasts came into full view.

  Feeling indeed wanton, she reached up and began caressing her breasts, seeing the desire for her increase in Michael's eyes as they widened and became as two coals, burning with passion. She looked further down and saw that he was ready for her as he lay with his night robe spread apart, revealing his most intimate part of himself to her in its full glory.

  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.. ..”