Rapture's Rendezvous

“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.