Read Rapture's Rendezvous Online
Authors: Cassie Edwards
Rapture's Rendezvous
Ah, my love,
my only love,
consume me,
fill me
with rapture,
enough to last
until the
moments
of our
next rendezvous.
Books by Cassie Edwards
Her Forbidden Pirate
Beloved Embrace
Desire's Blossom
Elusive Ecstasy
Enchanted Enemy
Eugenia's Embrace
Forbidden Embrace
Passion's Fire
Portrait of Desire
Rapture's Rendezvous
Savage Heart
Savage.Innocence
Savage Paradise
Savage Obsession
Savage Torment
Silken Rapture
Published by Zebra Books
Rapture's Rendezvous
CASSIE EDWARDS
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
To my son Brian,
who understands what I am all about
Oh! She has passions which outstrip the wind, And tear her virtue up, as tempests root the sea.
âWilliam Congreve
Rapture's
Rendezvous
Chapter one
The first sign of dawn was making its presence known as pale orange streaks began to dance along the horizon, casting shadowed images on two lonely figures walking at the edge of the country road leading to Pordenone. They were dressed in dark, tattered trousers and matching black waist-length coats, and their wide-billed hats were pulled down low to hide their hair.
They both stood tall and walked in the same brisk manner as any other sixteen-year-old boys might do . . . except that one . .. was . . . a . .. girl.
Maria Lazzaro squinted her eyes, watching the September morning sunrise as it was filtering through the foggy haze that hung low over the ground. She knew that once the fog began to slowly lift, it would be like smoke from a fire, revealing tall houses in the distance.
She turned her gaze toward her twin brother Alberto, who had been unusually quiet since having left their Gran-mama's house. Maria knew that Alberto was also growing weary of their daily chores, but just hadn't spoken his mind about it, obviously not wanting to worry Maria.
Maria suddenly broke the silence. “How long has
Papa been gone now, Alberto?” she asked, wiping a black smudge from the tip of her nose. Oh, how she hated the endless duty of cleaning chimneys each day. The soot had seemed to change her olive coloring to a dull, ashen gray. And the filth beneath her fingernails. It took away from the dignity of having been born a female.
Alberto rested a long-handled brush against his shoulder ⦠the brush itself even more black than the clothes that hung loosely from him and his sister. He shut his eyes and began moving his lips, a mere whisper of numbers barely audible to Maria.
Maria prodded impatiently. “Well, Alberto?” she asked, blinking her long lashes nervously. She was glad that she and Alberto had been given special schooling by her Papa before his departure to America. Numbers had been Alberto's favorite study, while mastering the English language had been her own. She had decided that being able to speak fluently after they arrived in America themselves was of much more importance than being able to add numbers in the head. “Well?” she further demanded, thinking him to be so slow.
“I'm counting. I'm counting,” Alberto finally answered. “Let's see. I marked it on Gran-mama's wall. Yes. Now I remember. Papa left on the fifth of September and it is now the twenty-eighth of September. One year and twenty-three days. That's how long.”
“It seems an eternity, doesn't it, Alberto?”
“Papa said that it would take a while,” Alberto answered, eyeing Maria sympathetically. “The boat trip to America probably took weeks. Maybe months. Who knows? And then Papa had to find work.”
“What if Papa forgets all about us, Alberto?” Maria
asked, watching her brother, seeing once again how handsome he was. His dark brown eyes were large like her own, and his skin, when it was clean, was smooth and olive in color, and his determination showed by the solid set line of the jaw. His lips were thick, and his nose had the “Italian curve” in it, and he looked much older than his years as he held his wide shoulders back, proud to display his six-foot height.
Slinging an arm around Maria's waist, Alberto hugged her to him. “You've got to learn to be more patient about things in life, Maria,” he said thickly. “Papa said he'd send for us. So rest assured that he will. Papa has never lied to us.”
“But I so hate to clean chimneys.”
“You should be proud to be able to say that you're earning money,” Alberto argued, dropping his arm away from her, to thrust his free hand deeply inside his trousers pocket.
“I'd much rather be making money while playing my violin,” Maria pouted, kicking at a stone in the road.
“You know how Mama felt about you playing your violin on the street corners of Pordenone,” Alberto grumbled. “She said you were no better than a beggar.”
“Mama is no longer with us, to even worry about it,” Maria said stubbornly.
“Maria!” Alberto stormed. “Shame be upon you. You make it sound as though you're glad that Mama is dead and buried.”
Maria hung her head sadly. “I didn't mean it that way,” she murmured. “I only meant to say that I am free to do as I please now that Papa is in America . . . and poor Mamaâ¦.”
“You are
not
free to do as you please,” Alberto interrupted.
“I am the one who has been left in Italy to see after you, and I won't have my sister standing on a street corner like a waif. Even if it
is
while playing the violin. We have respectable jobs while being chimney sweeps. You should be proud.”
“Well, I hope Papa Finds us a nice place to live in America where there are no chimneys,” Maria said, pouting more openly.
Alberto laughed heartily. “Maria,
all
houses have chimneys. Even in America.”
“Well, maybe Papa won't make
us
clean them,” Maria said, placing a hand before her eyes. “I've not seen clean fingers on my hands since we've become chimney sweeps.”
Alberto took her hand in his and clutched tightly onto it. Her fingers were slender and lean, like a true violinist's for sure, and he did understand her love for the instrument. But he would
not
let her play for money to be tossed at her feet. He just wouldn't. She was destined for better .. . greater things ⦠a future of wealth in America . . . the land where only the rich live. . . .
He gazed at her beauty. Beneath her billed hat lay a mass of dark, wavy hair that hung to her waist when set free. And the gentle curve to her jaw, accentuated by the full sensuousness of her lips took one's attention from the one flaw of her classic Italian features ⦠a birthmark of a strawberry color, the size of a small mole, on the slight dimple of her right cheek. When she laughed, it would be as though erased, as it would tighten and blend in with her dark olive skin tones.
Alberto laughed to himself. His own matching birth
mark was well hidden . . . but in a more embarrassing place. .. .
His gaze lowered, feeling a racing of the pulsebeat in the hollow of his throat. Maria was not yet aware of how her curves could affect a man . .. even a brother. Evenings, while sauntering around the house after bathing, and in more skimpy attire, Maria hadn't yet learned to be modest of herself. Her large, ripe breasts seemed always to be loosely bouncing when she walked, and when she stretched out on the makeshift bed of leaves that they shared, she didn't know to not cuddle up so close to Alberto .. . having done so since childhood.
Suddenly seeing that Maria was studying him, Alberto felt a blush rising upward from his neck and turned his head quickly away.
“What were you thinking, Alberto?” she asked, leaning in front of him, to look up into his face. She loved his tallness .. . even though she could almost boast of being the same. A slight bit of stretching was all that was required to be standing nose to nose with him.
She and Alberto had never ceased to surprise the Lazzaro familyâfirst to be born only seconds apart, and then to grow to such a height. All their other blood relations were short and squatty, and none too pleasant to look at.
Maria smiled smugly to herself. She had liked being different, but was glad that her brother was the same. And their love for one another kept them even more apart from the rest of the family. No harm would come to either of them ⦠ever ⦠as long as they had one
another. She just knew it.
Alberto cleared his throat nervously. “Nothing much,” he stammered.
“Want to know what I'm thinking, Alberto?”
“Sure. What?”
“I'm hungry. I'm. starved,” she answered quickly. “My stomach is growling and my lips are parched. It's always such a long walk from Gran-mama's house.”
Peering into the distance, Alberto was glad to finally be able to see that the houses were growing more visible. Some people of the village paid by milk and hot bread. Sometimes that was even more welcome than money. But Maria was hungry now and Alberto usually tried to please her whenever she showed signs of needing something. He was dedicated t.o her. Fully.
His gaze traveled to the large fields of grapevines that now stretched out on both sides of them. The grapes that had been ignored by the pickers were so ripe, most had burst open, with their juices dripping down their thin, browned stems. And the air! It was filled with the sweet aroma.
“I'm hungry, Alberto,” Maria whined further, hardly able to contain herself any longer.
Alberto looked around, then from side to side. “No one will miss a few of those grapes, Maria,” he said. “It seems those that have been left will even soon be gone because it's almost time for the grower to prune the vines for the winter. Come on. Let's have our fill before heading on into the village. It's going to be a long day for us.”
Following her brother's movements, Maria thrust first one grape then another into her mouth, savoring the sweetness as it seeped between her teeth and swirled
around her tongue. And after she stuffed her pockets full with more of the delicacies, she fell into step beside Alberto, hurrying on toward Pordenone.
“You know, Alberto, the one thing Til miss most about this old country will be the grapes,” Maria said, licking her lips of the still clinging sweet juices.
“I'm sure there are grapes in America,” Alberto said, laughing.
Maria's eyes widened. “Really? Do you think so?”
Alberto stood more erect, suddenly feeling more knowledgeable than his sister. “Sure,” he said. “America has everything. Just wait. You'll see.”
As they finally entered the village, their pace became slower as their gazes traveled from house to house. Only the rich people lived in such big stone houses. The houses all appeared to have been built alike with their red-tiled roofs and fancy balconies leading from the upper-story rooms. And the yards. It almost took Maria's breath away, seeing the freshly trimmed green grass and the many varieties of flowers in the yards, as well as in window boxes . .. nothing like her Gran-mama's house, which was surrounded by dried, cracked earth, with cows, goats and sheep running free. â¢
Maria's eyes shifted upward, the chimneys reaching into the sky drawing her full attention. “Which house do we go to first, Alberto?” she asked, stopping.
“Does it really matter?” Alberto mumbled, walking on ahead of her toward a house, eyeing the chimney with distaste. Maybe today the tickets for passage will arrive from America, he thought sadly to himself. Yes. Maybe today.
It had grown dusk, but the fireplace was burning
brightly, lighting the room around Maria, keeping her awake. The bed of leaves she was lying on felt good to her. But she rubbed her elbows gently. They throbbed from her having used them to climb up the steep insides of the many chimneys that she and Alberto had cleaned this long, hard day. She looked toward Alberto, eyeing his elbows. But even though his elbows looked raw and red, there was a lazy smile on his face.