Vistaria Has Fallen

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  She frowned. “Who did you think it might have been?”

  “No one. A passing idea, too ridiculous to consider seriously.”

  Minnie emerged from her bedroom carrying an armful of clothes. She dumped them on the coffee table. “I don’t have much you can wear, Calli. You’ve got six inches on me. All the pants will be high-waters. There’s a skirt and some tee-shirts and something for bed, if you wear anything to bed.” She held up diaphanous pink baby-doll nightdress and winked at Calli, her pixie-like features filled with mischief.

  “Minnie, do you have to talk that way?” Josh asked.

  “Dad, it’s Calli. She knows me.” She dropped the pajamas on the pile and patted the collection. “Tomorrow, I’m taking you shopping. I know exactly where to go.”

  “Of course you do,” Calli said. “You would’ve had it figured out twenty-four hours after landing here.”

  “One hour,” Minnie said. “I met a woman lawyer in the customs and immigration lounge at the airport. I asked her where she got her suit and, voila, insider information on the best shopping spots on la colina.”

  “‘In’, you mean,” Calli suggested.

  “On,” Minnie said firmly. “Colina is ‘hill’. The city is Lozano Colinas, and the locals shorten it to ‘the hill’, coz good ol’ Lozano lost claim to his hill when he kicked the bucket.”

  “It sounds so much prettier in Spanish. You’d better add a Spanish-English dictionary to the shopping list.” Calli hid her sigh. Minnie was vibrating with excitement at the prospect of taking Calli shopping and showing her around. She wouldn’t spoil Minnie’s fun.

  * * * * *

  Calli danced, whirled, dipped. Her silk skirt brushed her legs with cool, light caresses. She was free, her heart light, bursting with elation and tingling with joy. She lifted her hands up to the stars, the music encouraging her to swing and turn.

  Hands settled on her hips and a warm weight pressed up behind her. The weight was blood warm. Hot. She laughed, the contact fizzing through her blood. She let him feel the sway of her hips. He pressed himself against her and a silvery thrill ran through her. He wanted her.

  They swayed together, their feet moving in gentle spirals as they turned. His hand rested low on her abdomen. His fingers spread out and pushed against her, turning her to face him. She looked upon a broad chest covered in a white shirt. It was a common business shirt, not the full white cotton shirt she had expected.

  When she tried to see his face her view was blocked by the brim of a black hat, bent low. She ducked her head to glance beneath the brim. He lifted his head and their gazes met.

  It was him. His dark red hair, thick and shining in the evening glow. He studied her with the same speculative, heated gaze she remembered. She willed him to kiss her, her hand moving in restless little strokes against his hard chest and shoulder, the silk warm under her fingers. Her need for his mouth to touch hers built like a scream inside her.

  He shook his head, a tiny movement from side to side. It was the same little movement as the first time he had refused her.

  Her disappointment was so acute it stabbed at her chest like a knife. She gave a cry—her throat hurt with the strength of it, yet no sound emerged. He let her fall back again. She held out her hands, unwilling to lose contact with the heat and hardness of him. She was falling too hard and too fast...

  * * * * *

  Calli awoke with a whole-body jerk and a soundless cry that strained her throat. She realized she had been dreaming and fell back on her pillow with a shuddering sob of relief.

  It had been so intense!

  She rolled over on her side, hugging her still-throbbing body, trying to claw back fragments of the dream.

  He sat in Josh’s leather office chair, one hand on his knee, the other elbow propped against the arm of the chair, his long forefinger resting against his temple.

  Calli drew in a sharp, startled breath, her already taxed heart leaping. Fright tore through her. Ice in her veins. At the same time, her aroused, prepared body moved to high alert.

  He watched her, the same measuring stare from her dream.

  Calli sat up, bringing the damp sheet with her. “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

  “You are a restless sleeper, Miss Munro,” he said, just as quietly.

  “Are you crazy? You must leave. Right now.”

  “I’m not crazy.” He got to his feet. “If I were, I would not have understood what you did not say to me in the holding cell, this evening.” He walked toward the bed.

  Calli shrank back against the headboard, pulling the sheet with her.

  He did not touch the mattress. Instead, he lowered himself until he could meet her gaze. The blue of his eyes seemed to glow in the light coming from the wide windows. Full moon, she remembered. Fiesta de la Luna.

  “I know you.” His low voice rumbled in her mind, her heart.

  Yes, yes, you do. You see my soul. You see I want you. My heart locks when you’re near. I can think of nothing but how much I want you to touch me.

  “You have to go,” she said aloud.

  “Do you want me to go?”

  She couldn’t lie when the truth pushed at her insistently. She said nothing. Instead she scrambled from the bed and headed for the door, intending to shepherd him from the apartment. She was three steps from the bed when she heard a noise behind her and whirled.

  He straightened up, staring at her. “My God, look at you,” he breathed. “You are...magnificent.”

  She glanced at herself, at the fragile chiffon of the baby-doll pajamas and the tiny matching panties with their satin bows. Her cheeks grew warm in reaction.

  “Your legs. Such endless legs.” He moved toward her. “Athlete’s muscles. Callida, you are more beautiful than I suspected. Your hair is glowing in the moonlight.” He halted just in front of her, so close his body heat fanned her skin. He brushed a thick lock of her hair back over her shoulder. His hand whispered across her skin, a fleeting touch that sent a shudder through her.

  She couldn’t move. She could not resist the primal urges strumming through her and send him away—not when she wanted him to wreak havoc upon her, to turn her inside-out with delight. Take me. Now! she wanted to beg, only she didn’t speak the words for he controlled the moment.

  Her body throbbed, heavy with expectation. She wanted him to drag her to the floor, to take her with rough, frantic movements, his body a heavy weight on top of her. She wanted to be held and stroked.

  “What do you want?” he whispered, his lips against her.

  She opened her mouth. Nothing emerged. She could say nothing, nor make a sound. The words were ready to tumble out. She fought to speak them and failed.

  His hands dropped from her. He stepped around her and walked away. She lifted her hand toward him, pleading, yet the words still would not emerge, not until he left. Then the cry of frustration and despair tore through her throat.

  * * * * *

  Calli sat up in her borrowed bed. Her heart and head pounded with the pressure of dream-induced horror and a sexual excitement more intense than any she had ever experienced. She pulsed with coursing arousal. Her chest heaved beneath the pink chiffon.

  She took deep, measured breaths, bringing her pulse down, working for calm. It took long minutes, for her mind was a jumble of dream images, still fresh, still able to arouse. Chief amongst them, the feel of him holding her. Soft, warm silk beneath her fingers. Underneath the silk, the hard wall of chest muscles. His mouth mere inches from hers. His knowing gaze. The waves of need pouring from him, washing over her. The pressure of his hips against hers. The powerful, arousing pressure.

  “Ah, shit,” Calli murmured to the dark. Playing back the dream memories wasn’t helping steady her pulse. She reached for the glass of water on the desk next to the bed.

  The desk would be removed tomorrow, along with the leather chair in front of it. Her uncle had intended to use the bedroom as his study, only the demands of the mining site kept him
away from the apartment for long hours. He spent all his time there. It was another reason he had begged Calli to come to Vistaria to help Minnie and her mother.

  Calli groped for her watch until she remembered it had been taken from her. It was still dark, though—reason enough to lie down and try to find sleep.

  Add a watch to the list, Calli, she reminded herself.

  His eyes, his body against her, followed her down into an uneasy sleep. They were accompanied with writhing shame. She may have resisted his dream image. She had not resisted the lure of him in person. She had almost begged to know him better. That was something she would never tell another living soul. Not even Minnie, who might understand.

  Thank God she would never see him again.

  Chapter Three

  “You’re not paying attention, are you?” Minnie said, looking over the top of the shimmering dress she held for Calli’s inspection.

  Calli blinked away the sense memory of last night’s persistent dream images one more time and forced herself back to reality. She looked at the bright patterns, the predominance of red in the abstract swirls of the dress. “Not my color at all.”

  “Not you. Me.” Minnie held it against herself.

  “You, certainly,” Calli agreed.

  “For tonight, do you think?”

  “Tonight? What’s tonight?”

  Minnie rolled her eyes. “I told you. Twenty minutes ago. You agreed, don’t you remember?”

  “I did? To what?”

  “Tonight. The party. Duardo and his friends.”

  “Duardo?” Calli’s scattered thoughts congealed into a cold whole. “You mean the soldier Duardo? From last night?” Horror filled her. “Minnie, did you give him your phone number or...or...?”

  “God, relax Calli. Sometimes you treat me like I’m still eighteen and giggling about dates. He invited me last night—actually, me and a friend, because I said I wouldn’t meet him somewhere alone.”

  “That sounds saner. Only, I keep hearing how little Vistarians like Americans. Do you know how close Vistaria is to outright revolution? What if this Duardo is part of some rebel faction?”

  Minnie gave a low peel of laughter, shoved the dress back on the rack and flipped through more hangers. “Not Duardo,” she said with complete certainty. Her voice held the same firm confidence as it had when she had explained the local use of el colinas.

  “Yes, you understand how things work, here. Only, what makes you certain he’s not into something dire and nasty? You have no idea who he is.”

  “I know he’s an admirer of the Red Leopard, so of course he’s not a rebel.”

  Calli shoved the dress she had been inspecting back onto the rack. “Who the hell is the Red Leopard?”

  “Why are you getting angry?”

  Calli cast about for a reasonable answer to Minnie’s reasonable question. She had to dig hard. “I don’t like not knowing what’s going on,” she muttered.

  Minnie smiled. “You’ve been buried too long on your campus. You’re out of your comfort zone. It’ll do you good.”

  “I like my comfort zone.”

  “Dull, boring. Deadly.”

  “Shut up.” Calli’s demand was a token one. She couldn’t think of a better answer.

  Minnie laughed again. She moved around the dress rack and tucked her hand under Calli’s elbow. “You need a long, cool margarita under a shady patio with a view of the ocean.”

  “I need sleep,” Calli countered.

  “Siesta. I can arrange that, too. First, the drink.” Minnie tugged on her arm. “Come on.”

  * * * * *

  The patio was shady and faced the deep, blue Pacific Ocean. A cool breeze, ladened with salt, flapped the spice-colored tablecloth. Calli turned her face into it, enjoying the moist wind. They had climbed a dozen stairs to reach the patio. The patio was higher than the buildings across the road. The ocean was visible over the top of their roofs. The ground sloped toward the sea.

  “The ocean looks wonderful,” Calli confessed. “I wish we were going down there afterwards. It feels as though we’ve done nothing but climb, today.”

  “The city is right next to mountains. What else did you expect?”

  “To go down at least fifty percent of the time.”

  Minnie grinned. “They say here that if you get tired climbing the hills, you can always lean against them.”

  Two huge margaritas arrived, along with a platter of rolled tortillas surrounded by tomato slices, sour cream and green salsa.

  “We didn’t order this,” Calli said.

  “What’s this?” Minnie asked the waiter. She pointed at the tortillas. “Qué?”

  “Sí.” The waiter pointed to a table at the far end of the patio where three men sat with a bottle of tequila between them. A woman was with them, wearing a modern business skirt and silky blouse. One man—young, with bright, happy eyes—lifted his shot glass toward them.

  Minnie smiled and shook her head, a hand over her heart. “Please take them back,” she told the waiter. “We just want to have a quiet drink.”

  The waiter looked at the man at the other table, shrugged and picked up the platter.

  The man called out something. He motioned that the waiter should put the platter down, then got to his feet and bowed from the waist. With deliberate, exaggerated motions, he turned his chair to face the table of men, his back to them. He would leave them alone, despite his gift.

  “Oh, the darling,” Minnie breathed.

  “How do you do that?” Calli asked, rubbing her temple. She took a sip of the margarita. Delicious and with just the right degree of kick—featherweight—for this heat.

  “Do what?”

  “Get them to leave you alone after you’ve hooked them and drawn them in?”

  “No idea,” Minnie admitted. “They just seem to understand.”

  “Even here?”

  Minnie waved toward the table where they talked with their heads together, not taking the slightest notice of Calli and her. “Apparently.”

  “I wish I’d had you with me last night,” Calli muttered.

  “It didn’t occur to you that the men just wanted fun?”

  “Groping is fun?”

  “Groping is a compliment. The men here, they see, they like, they do something about it. It’s refreshing. You know where you stand.”

  The images from her dream zinged back into Calli’s mind. They were faded now and losing their edge, yet still had the power to catch her breath and make her pause. She remembered to breathe again and picked up one of the tortilla wraps. “I bet you do,” she told Minnie and took a bite.

  Minnie tilted her head. “When are you going to forgive the race of men for what that bastard did to you? They’re not all tarred with the same brush.”

  Calli choked on the mouthful of tortilla as the spice hit the back of her mouth, her tongue and her lips. Afraid to take a breath lest her mouth burst into flames, she sat with the morsel on her tongue, not sure if she could swallow it. What would it do to her stomach? Tears blurred her vision.

  “Swallow, then suck on the tomato,” Minnie advised, pushing a napkin into her hand.

  Calli swallowed, then reached for the margarita.

  “No, the tomato. Trust me.” Minnie took the glass from her. “That will make it worse.”

  Calli grabbed a slice of the tomato and stuffed it into her mouth. She was astonished by the instant relief. “Oh my god!” she said, when at last she could draw breath. “Do Vistarians have cast iron stomachs? Metal linings in their mouths? I think my lips have gone numb.” She prodded them experimentally.

  Minnie smiled and took the rest of the tortilla from Calli. “Excuse fingers,” she said as she unrolled it. Along the row of spicy meat and vegetables inside she dabbed big dollops of sour cream and a line of the green salsa. Then she rolled up the tortilla and handed it back. “Try that.”

  “Is it safe?”

  Minnie merely sipped her drink with a smile.

&nb
sp; Calli took a bite. The cream and salsa, which had a fruity flavor, dulled the fire of the meat and vegetables. She could enjoy the flavor and chew before swallowing. She still reached for the tomato, though.

  “Why are you doing this, Calli?” Minnie asked, as she unrolled a tortilla of her own and added the fillings. “Robert wasted the first half of your life. Why let him destroy the rest of it by holding a grudge that stops you from enjoying yourself?”

  Calli avoided answering. She took another bite of her tortilla. This time, she enjoyed the sharp flavor of the spices. She’d had Mexican food before. These spices were different. Fresh or green, or something. After mulling over the differences, she took another sip of her drink, then said to Minnie, “Tell me about the Red Leopard.”

  Minnie pursed her lips, then sighed. “Okay. Serves me right.” She ran her hands through her short hair, ruffling it and patting it into order again. “I don’t know who he is.”

  “You said—” Calli began.

  “I said,” Minnie overrode her, “that I don’t know who he is. I don’t. I do know all about him, though.”

  “Give. Why does Duardo admire him? Why does that mean Duardo can’t be a rebel?” She shook her head. “The Red Leopard,” she quoted. “Isn’t it a bit ridiculous? The name? Who outside the movies goes around with a name like that?”

  “He doesn’t call himself that. The soldiers that like him do because that’s what he is. A leopard.”

  “He’s in the army?”

  “Don’t think so. I think that’s part of why they like him. He’s no man’s servant and master of none. He has no official position yet he has influence. Power. He gets things done. He is everywhere at once. Watching them, keeping them on their toes. He’s sharp, doesn’t miss anything.”

  “It still sounds like a fairytale.”

  “Yeah, it does a bit, only Duardo didn’t say he was a myth. He’s seen him a few times and wanted to see him again. That’s why he hurried to the police station. By the time he got there, el leopardo had gone—poof! He’d prowled in and slinked out.”

  Calli almost knocked her drink over as Minnie spoke. She gripped Minnie’s arm. “He was there last night?” She rubbed her temple, trying to recall the muttered Spanish she’d heard just before she’d whirled to confront the man with the red hair. “What did you call him?”