Rapture's Rendezvous

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.

“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.”