All Tucked In.... Jule McBride
constructed by Cornelius Sloane, although it made perfect sense. At the turn of the century, when Pittsburgh was so smoky it was described as a two-shirt town, and when Sloane’s mills were pouring tons of steel into the economy, Cornelius Sloane had been greatly responsible for providing the city’s infrastructure.
Bloomfield, the Italian neighborhood where the DiDolches settled, was full of rowhouses and tenements designed to house immigrant workers. Carla’s great-great grandfather, the first DiDolche to come through Ellis Island in New York and land in Pittsburgh, had come expressly to work in Sloane’s mills. Instead, however, he’d opened DiDolche’s.
Even today, the block of connected businesses on Liberty Avenue housed Gato and Gambolini’s wine importing concern on the one end, and DiDolche’s on the other. As she and Tobias could see from the picture, the row of buildings had been constructed at the same time, going up much like one of today’s prefab units. Included were many small businesses needed to service the community. Like Gato and Gambolini’s and DiDolche’s, many of the others remained there today, even though most had changed hands. There was still a jewelry shop, a movie theater, a shoe shop and a hardware store. Each business had, as Carla’s did, an apartment overhead.
For long moments, she and Tobias had stood next to each other in front of the picture, with her feeling dangerously aware of his presence—of the warmth seeping from his body and the heady male scent of his skin. Tension had snapped between them like fire-crackers in July, and she’d considered simply turning to him, to ask if he wanted to revisit old times. She didn’t, of course. Instead, they’d only looked at the photo, letting the hazy yellow tones transport them to another age.
Her mind spiraling deeper down, Carla sucked in a sharp breath as she edged onto her side, barely aware now that she strained the white tabs glued to her scalp, along with the wires running across the floor to Tobias….
There was something disturbing about the photograph, she thought now. But what was it? As she stared into the picture, the streets came alive. Businessmen in old-fashioned suits walked along Liberty Avenue, sidestepping horse-drawn buggies, carrying bags containing their second shirts, ones they’d don when they reached work since the smoke-choked skies would always ruin the first. Her breath quickening, Carla trailed her gaze over the building that was under construction. Unusual scaffolding formed a makeshift staircase that ran the length of the block, from the topmost floor of what would later become DiDolche’s, to the ground floor of Gato and Gambolini’s. Apparently, this allowed construction workers access to all the floors of the connected buildings. The block-long staircase must have been removed when the building was complete….
Suddenly, everything turned dark. Her pulse quickened. Her heart missed a beat, then slammed back into action, beating a fast tattoo against her ribs, making her breath shallow. Where was she? She looked around wildly, but she could see nothing, only impenetrable inky blackness. The air was stuffy. Enclosed. Cramped. Claustrophobia claimed her. She had to get out of here!
But she was trapped. Stairs ran every which way. Some went upward. Some down. Some sideways. But how could steps go sideways? That was impossible. Horizontal steps didn’t exist….
Except in dreams.
She tried not to panic. Surely, she was just asleep. Surely, she’d wake up soon. Yes, that was it. She was sleeping and this was a very bad dream.
Wringing her hands in the darkness, she told herself to think, and yet she couldn’t. If only she could force herself to wake up. Open your eyes! she told herself.
And then the image vanished. It was replaced by the dark room she’d seen so many times before. Or was it really a room, after all? Darkness faded into the corners, seeping against the walls, obscuring them. Hidden in the shadows, she reached out her hand and touched something metal and cold. What was it? Where was she?
And who was the man seated at the desk? Terror gripped her. He was huge and burly. His massive shoulders were hunched, so he could better see whatever was on the desk. An overhead light seemed to move slightly, accentuating the weak, watery beam that shined down on a head covered with what might have been black hair. But it was hard to tell. It was too dark, the illumination too faint to work like a spotlight.
She watched as he slowly lifted something. His beefy fingers, she realized, were hooked around the sides of a metal object. Gold glinted—just a flash of it—then she realized his index fingers were curled around a waistband. To golden underwear?
Nothing made sense. But slowly, gently, he lifted a pair of golden underwear higher into the air, and she could hear his breath catch in the dark with an emotion that felt sinister. She had to do something! Run! Wake up!
But she was rooted to the spot.
And then everything changed again. The man vanished, and now he was nothing more than hot breath against her neck and a raspy voice sounding at her ear saying, “If you marry, you will die.”
Her pulse accelerated, ticking in her throat, making her feel weak from the adrenaline rush. The taste in her mouth was acrid, and sweat beaded on her forehead. She was desperate for this to end! Instead, the dream started over. She knew she’d never escape. She was alone in the dark again, wringing her hands. Stairs went upward. Downward. Sideways. She turned her head—this way, then that—but everywhere she looked, inky blackness stretched to eternity. There was no way out—
She felt a jolt.
What was that? It wasn’t unpleasant…no, not at all. In fact, sweet relief seemed to slide through her body. All at once, the dream was gone. There was no trace of the man or of the darkness that surrounded him.
Light filled her mind. The mustiness she’d previously smelled vaporized. Soft, sweet-smelling summer air infused her instead, tantalizing her nostrils and filling her lungs. An explosion of beautiful pastel colors followed—dreamy blues and lilacs. Translucent pinks and yellows that were the color of a gorgeous day’s first rays of sunshine.
She felt another jolt, pushing pulsing electricity through her body. The pleasure was almost orgasmic. Her nerve endings hummed. Music played from somewhere far off. Close by, water gurgled, and in tandem with the sound she realized she and Tobias were on a bench in the garden of the Sloane mansion.
No…now they were standing. Everything was moving swiftly, the pImages** disjointed, the way they so often were in dreams. One more little jolt of inexplicable pleasure zapped her. It was as if someone was injecting her with a drug designed for love. Slowly, she ran her tongue across her lips.
“Let’s do it right here,” Tobias said.
Eyeing him, she knew she wouldn’t need much coaxing. At some point, he must have reached down, grabbed the hem of her new emerald-green sundress, and lifted it off, over her head. There was nothing beneath. She just so happened to be naked, which was going to work out quite well. Tobias’s dreamy brown eyes closed to half mast, the gaze turning smoky with lust as it swept over her. Hers traveled down his bare chest, settling on his belt, then dipped lower where worn denim curved over an obvious erection, cupping him like a gloved hand. Just looking at him, knowing he was ready to love her, she felt her tummy jump.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she managed to say, her voice catching. They had a past, a history. She’d left him at the altar, after all.
But right now, he didn’t seem to mind in the least. He tried to look innocent. “Do what?” he teased.
“Make love.”
“Why not?”
“Because of what I did to you.”
He merely grinned, his eyes flicking once more down her naked body. “I remember a lot of things you’ve done to me, Carla DiDolche,” he said. “Leaving me at the altar was only one of them.”
“But…”
Just as she started to offer some sort of apology, he silenced her with a deep, wet kiss. His mouth felt so impossibly good that it sent shivers coursing through her, racing through her limbs, settling at the core of her. All her nerve endings seemed to bunch into knots, and