Red Leopard (The Vistaria Affair Series)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  That left one remaining question. Why had he come over to the table tonight?

  If she hurried back to the table, would he still be there? Suddenly afraid, she raced from the room, intending to rush back to the table. He would have sensed her dismissal. He would not need it repeated. He would leave as quickly as politeness would allow. She had to get back.

  Halfway down the stairs, she saw him. He stood next to the green swags, looking out at the view, but she knew instantly he waited for her. Her heart hammering and her body on high alert, she descended the rest of the stairs. All at once she was aware of the dress, her sheer black stockings and she was proud of her appearance. She was glad he had seen her like this.

  She stepped down onto the landing and walked over to stand beside him, as if they shared the view. The skin on her shoulder prickled at the nearness of his arm, even though they did not touch.

  “Why did you come over to our table?” she said.

  “Did you think I could stay away? With you looking like that? I am a man, Calli, not a machine. Your appearance tonight...a man has only to look at you to know he should shower you with every sensual pleasure he can produce, that the rewards for such efforts would be ecstasy beyond his wildest dreams.”

  A shiver wracked her. Peter had not managed anything even remotely poetic, but Nicolás had responded. She remembered Minnie’s advice and realized that Nicolás understood the difference.

  “He’s not worthy, Calli,” he said quietly.

  “He will do.” She would not tell him that she had changed her mind about seducing Peter. There was no point.

  “I’d assumed you had better taste,” he said quietly. “He’s a boy and he cannot dance.”

  “And you can?”

  “Better than he.”

  “But he took me out on the dance floor, while you will not dare. Who is more the man there?”

  He reached out to grip the velvet curtain beside him and crushed it in his fist. “It is not lack of courage that prevents me.”

  “You made it clear last night that my life is none of your business.”

  In the reflection on the window, she saw his head drop, as if he didn’t like the fact any more than she. “So I did,” he agreed, his voice very low.

  “Are you recanting?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper and her heart suddenly hurt as it pounded against her chest.

  His grip on the velvet tightened. “I can’t,” he growled.

  The exquisite tension in her subsided, like air from a tire. “I know,” she agreed. All the pride, the excitement, fled. “I have to get back to Peter. He’ll be wondering—”

  But his arm wrapped around her waist as she turned to go. She inhaled sharply as he pulled her up against him, held there, his arm an iron band around her.

  “Not yet,” he said, his voice strained.

  Heat. Solid, immoveable strength. The hard length of his body registered along hers. His hand cupped her hip.

  Calli closed her eyes against the ferocious rush of undiluted desire. She began to tremble. “Don’t,” she whispered.

  He drew breath. She could hear it and felt his chest expand against her shoulders. But he did not speak.

  She opened her eyes. In the reflection on the window she saw his other hand come up to her bare shoulder, and hover there, as if he fought himself.

  She held her breath, the skin over her shoulder tingling, all nerves stretched to their limits, anticipating his touch. Her thoughts paused, her whole body stilled. Waiting.

  But it was not a caress she received. His whole hand gently curled over her shoulder and she realized that he trembled, too. The hand settled, firm and warm, as if by anchoring it so firmly he could resist moving it further. He let out his breath, stirring the curls by her ear, and grew still. His eyes closed.

  Yes, he battled himself.

  “There is a difference in you tonight,” he said. “More than just the dress.”

  “I haven’t changed.”

  “No, but you have...let go. What has happened, to make that difference?”

  She thought of the stolen moment she had seen between Duardo and Minnie. “I have realized that some men will take what they want. You will not. I must find someone who will.”

  He remained quiet for a long moment. “If it is simply sex that you seek,” he said at last. “Then you will not have far to look. But do you think Peter will appreciate what he has got? Do you think he will be able to satisfy you beyond crude, coarse coupling?”

  He spoke her own fears aloud. She sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “I do know. Why must you do this? You did not, in Montana. I know that as surely as I know my own hand. The woman I see tonight...she does not normally show her face.”

  “I, too, am not a machine. You cannot stir these feelings in me, stoke them and then expect me to remain untouched. I dream of you, Nick. Everywhere here I see sensuality and lust and know I will never have those moments with you that I dreamed of. I will take what I can, then.”

  “Not with him, Calli.” His voice held a note of pleading.

  “You will not. He will.”

  She could feel him shake his head, even as his reflection made the same movement in the glass. “I could fill your mind to the point where you cannot think of another man. The idea of taking another would be as remote and alien to you as the surface of Mars.”

  “Arrogance,” she breathed.

  “Knowledge,” he corrected. “I can feel you trembling against me and I know how you have drugged my own mind these last two days, to the point where I cannot sleep. All I must do is stamp myself upon you a little more and I know you will not be able to think of another, for you are not like that.”

  “Nick....” She spoke his name half in warning, half in pleading. They walked upon treacherous ground now.

  His hand on her shoulder slid, with a whisper of a caress, down to cup her breast. She gasped raggedly. The material of the dress was so fine and light it felt as if he held her naked breast. His hand was hot. Large against her flesh and delicious. She could feel the details on his fingers, the swell of flesh, the joints, the tips, searing her skin. His thumb rubbed against the nipple, little short strokes that tugged at the lace and bumped over the tight nub of sensitive flesh. The chafing touch electrified her and sent a hard spike of pure pleasure straight to her clitoris. Her body clenched and tightened.

  “God, Nick, please....” she moaned, her head falling back against his shoulder. Her shoulders pulled back involuntarily, thrusting her breast into his hand.

  “You plead for me to stop...or for more?” he asked, his voice hoarse with pent-up emotion.

  She clenched her jaw, determined not to speak aloud the rabid need she had for him. She cared not at all about their public place, that Peter might come looking for her at any moment, that anyone looking in the window would see them and would see his hand at her breast. She wanted more, much more. She felt a ravening need to coax him by words and movements to take her right now.

  He kissed her neck, right by the corner of her jaw. His lips were hot. “I see your jaw ripple. Ah, you are strong, Calli, I knew that. Do you know how much your strength is a goad, driving me to try to breach that strength, to have you whimper in my arms?” His voice by her ear sent another shiver through her. His heady, spicy and very masculine scent enveloped her.

  His hand moved across to the other breast, but this time he slid it under the fabric. Calli sucked in a sharp breath as she realized what he would do. In her dreams she had ached to feel his hand on her bare breast and had almost wept when the dream touch had not lived up to its promise. Now it would really happen and it wasn’t just her breath she held—her pulse seemed to pause and her mind to lock. Her awareness opened up, every nerve receptive to the tiniest stimulus.

  The long fingers coaxed the lace aside and slipped over the curve of her breast, grazing the puckered nipple. Then finally, finally his hand settled around the globe of flesh and caressed the nipple directly.
Heat, strength, control, sensuality...it all slammed into her mind at once.

  She gave a little cry—it jerked out of her and she tried to swallow it back and choke it to silence. But she could not prevent her head from rolling against his throat—the skin by her temple registered the heat of his flesh and the frantic beat of his pulse. But then his hand moved against her breast again, snagging the nipple. She gave a gasping groan.

  “Tell me what is in your mind to make you utter that sound,” he whispered.

  “Your hand...I dreamed of your hand on my breast.” Her voice was throaty, distorted by raw animal wanting. “But I couldn’t feel it in the dream and now you touch me just as you did in the dream, but it feels...so good.”

  She heard him swallow, the little ragged sound of his breath. “...God help me, Calli, but you are driving me out of my mind. The look on your face, your voice...do you know how easy it would be for me to tear this dress from you and lower you to the floor and take you right now? Here?”

  “I would not stop you,” she whispered.

  His left hand, on her hip, moved restlessly, down to stroke her thigh beneath the dress, the little finger slipping between her legs. But it did not go higher. It fluttered against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, stroking with delicate caresses. When his fingers discovered the lacy tops of her stockings, he made a noise that sounded half groan, half murmured growl.

  “Tell me you can still think of taking another man to bed,” he rasped in her ear.

  The truth spilled from her. “Not in a million years.”

  His hands grew still. He withdrew his hand from her dress and both arms came around her waist. “Then we are even.”

  She took a deep breath so that she could speak properly again. “So I am doomed to be tortured by what I cannot have and you will go slake your need with whomever you please. You are being very unfair, Nick.”

  His lips came down upon the nape of her neck. “You misinterpret me. I have simply brought you to the point where I have been for two long nights.”

  She grew very still. “You mean...?”

  “Yes, Calli. I have not been able to touch another woman since I met you.” His tone became dry. “Although I have tried.”

  She closed her eyes. “Why me?” she asked. “Why, of all the women you have met? I know what I am. I’m a discarded economics tutor. I even have two cats at home.”

  His voice came right by her ear again and she could feel it against her shoulders, too. “There was a moment, in the holding cell, when I first stepped inside. You had not seen me, but I saw you. You looked out the window, with your hands on the bars. I had just spent an hour sorting out the true story from the men in the hospital and the arresting officers and the liaison your uncle had called. So when I saw you I already knew that you had rushed out to Vistaria when your uncle phoned asking for your help for the summer, with little warning or preparation. Because he asked, you had come. Within an hour of landing in a country where you didn’t speak the language, you had been put in a situation that would tax the nerves of most men, but I did not see a petrified, cowed woman standing at that window. When you turned to face me, you did not plead or beg or whine. I saw your spirit and knew it could not be crushed. That strength...is so very rare.”

  She absorbed his words with difficulty. “Oh, Nick, you’re so wrong. I have been crushed. Ask Minnie. She will tell you I haven’t yet dragged myself back to anything like normal.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “You simply guard yourself now, that is all. The woman last night that looked me in the eye and planted that last barb, just to even the score...she was not crushed.”

  “Must I now guard myself against you?”

  “I would never hurt you.” Total conviction rang in his voice.

  “Just standing here places me, both of us, in danger.”

  Again, she felt him draw a large breath. Bracing himself. Suddenly, as abruptly as she had been drawn to him, she was freed. She shivered as cool air touched the skin at her back and turned to face him.

  He stared out the window again. “You should go,” he said, without looking at her.

  “Calli?” Peter’s voice.

  She turned to see him emerging from the dining room. “Sorry, I got caught up,” she said to him.

  “Have you seen the view from here?” Nicolás added.

  Peter climbed up to the landing and looked out. He gave a low whistle. “No, I’ve never been up here before,” he confessed. “Quite a view, huh?”

  “Yes, it is,” Nicolás agreed. He pushed his sleeve back and looked at his watch, the gold band glittering in the light from the chandelier overhead. “You must excuse me, both of you.”

  “Of course,” Peter agreed magnanimously. “It was good of you to stop and say hello.”

  “My pleasure,” Nicolás murmured. He turned to Calli and gave a little nod. “Miss Munro.”

  “Goodbye,” she said politely.

  They watched him move to the front door, say something to the waitress that made her giggle with her tray covering her mouth and shut the heavy door behind him. He didn’t look back.

  Exactly as it should be, Calli told herself firmly.

  But she could still feel the imprint of his hand on her breast, the feel of his heart beating against her back and knew her sleep would be as broken tonight as it had been for the last two nights.

  “Could you please take me home, Peter?” she asked, abruptly.

  * * * * *

  Peter dropped her off outside the apartment, and she did not invite him in. Her silence on the way home clearly conveyed her mood, for he did not attempt to so much as kiss her. He simply braked and put the car in neutral, the engine running, his hand on the gear stick.

  “Thank you for dinner,” Calli said listlessly, feeling the enormous weariness wrap about her once more.

  “No problem. Thanks for your company,” he said. “Calli, did Escobedo say something to you? Something that upset you?”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “You’ve been silent ever since then. Something must have happened.”

  “He was very polite,” she said.

  “Yes, he invariably is polite,” he agreed. “But that doesn’t mean what he’s saying doesn’t mean anything.”

  “He didn’t say anything of significance. The view, the fiesta, Vistaria’s wonderful future with the discovery of silver.”

  “All very politically correct.” It sounded almost like Peter sneered but it was too dark to check.

  One of the black taxis common around Vistaria pulled up in front of them, then, and the back door opened. Minnie almost fell out of the back seat, laughing. With her hand on the door she righted herself and stood up, pushing her clingy jersey dress down from around her hips to hang properly. It didn’t seem to bother her that she stood perfectly spot-lit by Peter’s headlights. A long trouser-encased leg pushed out of the taxi beside her, then Duardo uncurled himself from the back seat. He kept his head bent down, talking to the driver volubly, waving his hand for emphasis.

  “That’s Minnie, isn’t it?” Peter said quietly.

  “Yes.”

  Minnie turned to face Duardo, both of them standing in the angle between the open door and the side of the taxi. Duardo caught her face in his hands and kissed her hard and passionately as her arms curled around his neck. He grasped her thigh, drawing her leg up against his hip. The dress rode up her leg, revealing most of her thigh and the start of her bare buttock. At the same time his lips moved down her throat to the top of her breasts, revealed by the scoop neck of the dress. The hand on her leg slid around the curve of thigh to cup her buttock, his sunburned, olive fingers a sharp contrast to her pale white flesh.

  Peter made a hissing sound between his teeth. “Jesus, Minnie,” he murmured. “Who is that guy, anyway?” he demanded.

  “He’s okay,” Calli said quickly. “He’s a nice guy.”

  “I bet.”

  The pair kissed again, lingering, and Calli did
n’t want to climb from the car and alert them to witnesses. She cleared her throat, unsure what to do except wait out their passionate goodbye.

  The taxi driver was not so patient. He tooted his horn and Minnie pulled her mouth from Duardo’s and appeared to chuckle. Duardo spoke, gave her another quick kiss, and let her go. She stepped back and let him get back into the taxi and waved as it pulled away.

  Calli got out of the car thankfully and shut the door. Minnie turned to smile at her as Peter pulled away. Calli didn’t wave.

  “You look like you’ve been eating lemons,” Minnie said.

  “I’m very tired,” Calli confessed.

  “You’re also damned early and you don’t look like you have had a good time.”

  “I didn’t,” she confessed. “It was wretched.”

  “Ah. Then Peter’s the jerk I always thought he would be.” Minnie shrugged and turned towards the apartment.

  “You had a good time, though, I can tell.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Where did you go?”

  Minnie laughed a little. “We planned to go to a night club with the others, but we never got there. We found a little bistro and then afterwards, well....” She gave a gusty sigh and ran her hand through her hair.

  “I assume the goodbye kiss we just watched was a mild rendition of the rest of the evening, then,” Calli said.

  “Fuckin’ A,” Minnie said and laughed as she unlocked the front door and pushed it aside. “I gotta get some sleep. I’m exhausted.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Calli murmured.

  * * * * *

  Calli’s prediction about her own sleep proved correct. It was restless, shot through with dreams either erotic or downright disturbing—charged with a sense of impending doom. In the lucid moments of wakefulness between bouts of nightmares, she told herself that obviously even her subconscious understood the danger of entertaining even in her imagination any sort of relationship with Nicolás Escobedo.

  Towards morning, exhausted, she dropped into a dreamless, heavy sleep. When she woke feeling only slightly refreshed, her exhaustion cemented her intention to avoid any more contact with him.