Vistaria Has Fallen

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “Okay,” Calli agreed. “I’m sorry, Minnie. You seem to move through life with so little concern.”

  “I get concerned,” Minnie muttered.

  “About the latest dress length.”

  “That’s something I can fix!”

  “Okay.” Calli held up her hand, motioning for peace and realized the gesture echoed Nicolás Escobedo’s motion. She dropped her hand back to her lap and held it with the other. “God, I need sleep,” she muttered.

  * * * * *

  Something warm and soft supported her back. A hand, warmer still, pressed against the back of her shoulder, holding her. His hot heavy body moved against her. Hot skin touched hot skin, the moisture building between them. Sweat. And a softness of flesh over unyielding bones.

  The pressure of his body against her was good. Welcome. It had been far too long since she last enjoyed the sensation of a man laying over her. It had never been like this. She had never been overwhelmed by a man’s size and weight and feeling smaller, weaker and more feminine.

  He looked into her eyes. His hand was on her waist. It slid along her hip. The muscles there quivered as his thumb stroked across the little dip by her hipbone. Only, his touch did not give her the sharp jolt of pleasure she expected. It was ghostly, distant. She tried to protest only she could not speak, no matter how she struggled to get the words out...

  * * * * *

  Calli wiped the sleep from her eyes and let her hand fall back on the pillow with a sigh. Her body zinged with arousal. She swallowed, wishing she had put a glass of water by the bed.

  Why couldn’t she speak in these dreams? What held her mute? The inability to talk shadowed both nights’ dreams, along with the thundering arousal.

  The arousal was another novelty. She had not experienced a sexy dream since meeting Robert and never one this explicit, this stimulating.

  The hand along the hip... Of all the images and sensations in the dream, this one burned in her mind. The possessive sweep of his hand against her hip had felt real in the dream, more real than the other ghostly, unsatisfying sensations.

  She sighed again and turned over, bringing the sheet up and over her shoulder, burying beneath the cotton. The ache was worse now she knew he wanted her, too.

  Why him? Why, after five years since Robert left did she now yearn for sex? And why with someone so impossibly out of reach?

  Just before she fell asleep the solution occurred to her and astounded her with its simplicity. Sex was the issue. So go get some. Problem solved. Life back on track.

  Chapter Five

  “Everything takes longer here,” Uncle Josh explained, pouring Calli another cup of coffee. “You have to go with the flow.”

  “My credit card company isn’t here. It’s in Montana, and it’s—” she looked at her new watch and added two hours, “—ten in the morning. They’ve had two coffees and a doughnut by now. They can’t plead they’re asleep.”

  Josh smiled. “Is that a comment about my breakfast-making skills?” He picked up the broadsheet newspaper that covered the remains of his plate, piled high with blackened toast crusts. “You could always phone the competition and tell them they can have your business if they will give you a card sooner than your replacement will get here.” He buried himself behind the paper.

  “There’s a thought,” Calli said.

  “You’re late today, Dad,” Minnie said from the door to her room. She belted closed an apricot satin robe, her hair spiky from sleep and her eyes still half shut. She looked as though she had slept soundly.

  “Speak for yourself,” Joshua returned. “I’m meeting people in the city for lunch. Actually, Calli, I meant to mention something and that reminds me. There’s a man on my staff, single, American. From Wisconsin. A lawyer—”

  “Well, no one’s perfect,” Minnie said, pouring herself a coffee.

  Calli smiled. “Are you setting me up on a blind date, Uncle Josh?”

  He lowered his paper, considering it. “I suppose I am,” he admitted. “Although it didn’t play that way when Peter first proposed it.”

  “Peter?” Minnie asked. “You’re talking about Peter Kaestner? He’s a creep.”

  “He’s perfectly normal,” Joshua said. “That he told you to grow up emphasizes he has the necessary maturity for a man who holds the responsibilities he does.” He brought his gaze back to Calli. “There aren’t many Americans in Vistaria. Most of them are with the company. Single American women are unusual. I think he’s lonely.”

  “Or horny,” Minnie added.

  Joshua glared at her.

  “What?” She spread her hands. “Am I wrong?”

  He ignore her. “What about dinner tonight?” he pressed Calli

  “Yes, I’d love to,” Calli said, without considering it. If she allowed herself to think, she would find a reason to say no.

  “Good.” Joshua folded up the newspaper and plopped it onto the middle of the table, then stretched. “I should get going. There’s stuff to do at the Palace. I’ll talk to Peter at lunch and call you with details, okay?”

  “Sure,” Calli said, staring at the front page of the paper, which faced her. The picture was grainy, yet unmistakable. It was a wide shot of the head table at last night’s dinner, with the General in the middle of the frame. Nicolás Escobedo’s features were clear. The headlines screamed in huge type, exclamation marks either side, the first one upside-down.

  Uncle Josh picked up his briefcase, jiggling his pocket for keys.

  “I’ll walk you to the car,” Calli told him, getting to her feet.

  “‘kay,” he said without hesitation.

  When they were outside, he raised his eyebrow. “Something in the paper spook you?” he asked.

  “A little. What did that headline say?”

  “Congratulations to Blanco for his excellent leadership and his birthday.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s El Liberalé, which is a conservative newspaper despite the name. What were you hoping for? Disclosure of a conspiracy?”

  She shook her head. “It was the man two seats to the right of Blanco.”

  “Nicolás Escobedo?” Joshua said sharply. “What of him?”

  “He’s the man who helped me at the jail.”

  Joshua rested his briefcase on the bonnet of the silver Chevy Cavalier and leaned on it, thinking hard. “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  Another thoughtful silence. “Jesus Maria...” Joshua breathed. “He really does have feelers out everywhere.”

  “The army calls him el leopardo rojo.”

  “Yes, I just made the connection.” Joshua frowned. “Although I wouldn’t go around blurting that out to anyone, Calli.” His brow smoothed. “It’s good to know we have friends in high places. It confirms they’re working to support us. With the problems I get handed every day, I sometimes wondered.” He patted her shoulder. “Thanks for telling me.” He got into the car and drove away.

  Calli stood on the narrow, cobbled street, watching the Chevy twist around the hairpin bend twenty yards down the hill and disappear.

  The conversation had cheered Josh. Perversely, Calli felt more uneasy than ever.

  I want to live in your mind, at least. His voice curled through her thoughts.

  Had he really believed she could dismiss him when his face was plastered on the front page of the national newspaper? Yet, gut instinct told her his intention had been to linger in her memories at a far more personal level.

  The image from her dream, her thigh over his hip, his hand on her skin, hot and demanding, slipped into her thoughts. That was what he had meant.

  Why her? Why? When no other man had raised so much as an eyebrow in her direction for five years? More? She was a dusty, ill-used thirty-something woman well on her way to becoming a rusty, disused old spinster set in her ways, entrenched in academia and teaching dry economics until she retired.

  Why me? And why him?

  It was beyond comprehension.
>
  It was all theory, anyway. He had made that clear last night. Nothing would ever come of it. He was as untouchable as she had suspected.

  She went back inside, blinking in the dimness of the apartment after the brilliant sunshine outside and asked Minnie to take her shopping again. She would need something sexy to wear tonight if she wanted get herself laid.

  * * * * *

  “You know, you really are a knockout,” Peter said. “Joshua said you scrubbed up well. I think he was being conservative.”

  Calli smiled mechanically and swallowed another mouthful of the dry, overcooked steak. This was the third time Peter had told her what a knockout she was. It didn’t sound any better with repeating. Although, his need to please her added points in his favor.

  She had surreptitiously checked off other criteria throughout the evening. His breath smelled sweet. He had no discernable body odor. Clean hands, a nice white smile and a small bonus—tight buttocks beneath the dark business suit. He stood half an inch shorter than her, which she could overlook for now. In bed, the height difference would be no difference at all.

  The absolute lack of any appeal he had for her was a drawback. He had light brown hair, brown eyes, nicely tanned skin to go with the white smile and he clearly worked to maintain his body. There was nothing wrong with him, yet nothing sparked her interest.

  He had picked her up at the apartment right on time. She walked out the door knowing she looked as beddable as it was possible for her to get. Minnie had worked all afternoon to ensure Peter got the right impression.

  Minnie had somehow intuited Calli’s intentions, for she discarded various options, settling on an appearance she pronounced with her arms crossed as, “totally fuckable, honey.”

  Calli’s dress was stretch lace. The halter top had a vee-neck that ended low between her breasts. There was no back to it. The dress dipped to where the indentation of Calli’s spine flattened over the back of her hips. It had no lining. Her skin showed through the lace, except for a nearly invisible flesh-colored panel of elastic that covered her breasts and supported them. The skirt hugged her hips. The elastic fabric gave her flexibility, while the dress clung to her. The hem stopped several inches short of her knees.

  Minnie insisted she wear the tallest shoes they could find, a black pair with ankle straps. Her hair was piled on top of her head and held with dozens of pins. Wisps fell around her face. Minnie also directed the application of her makeup. Red lips, red toenails, and gold hoop earrings. Minnie could do nothing about Calli’s work-worn fingernails other than file them and paint them.

  Calli looked in the mirror and frowned. “Don’t you think it’s a bit subtle?” she asked Minnie. “I should wear a mini skirt and thigh high leather boots or something. This looks...”

  “Sensual,” Minnie declared.

  “I want to say ‘sex’ not ‘sensual’.”

  “Do you want good sex or ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’?”

  Calli pursed her lips. Minnie did know more about this than her, after all. Yet Calli didn’t want to play a slow game of subtle seduction. She wanted to have sex, then she could move on with her life.

  “Believe me, sensual will get you good sex,” Minnie added. “If a man understands the difference between the two, then he knows how to please a woman in bed. If Peter doesn’t understand it, he doesn’t deserve you. Besides, if you did walk into Ashcroft’s wearing a mini skirt and leather boots you’d be arrested for prostitution. They’re very conservative here.”

  “Not from what I saw the first night of La Fiesta.”

  “That’s the festival for you. People let off steam during the fiesta. It’s condoned. That’s the only time, though.”

  Calli studied her. “You have been taking notice, haven’t you?”

  “Told you I had,” Minnie returned. The phone rang. She almost jumped across the room to pick it up. “Duardo!” she said happily, turning away, leaving Calli to wait for Peter to arrive.

  Ashcroft’s, one of the best restaurants in the city, served what they optimistically titled “international cuisine.” Peter had been proud to show her the menu that featured Texas beef and insisted she indulge herself. Calli wanted to try a local dish. Instead, to keep Peter happy, she ordered the steak. It had been a mistake.

  She put down her knife and fork and sat back, looking around. The cavernous restaurant had a high ceiling and dark wood paneling on the walls. It was very Victorian, with large potted palms and ferns in collections throughout the room, which provided each table a small measure of privacy.

  “It feels like one of those men’s clubs they used to have in London,” Calli said.

  “Very observant,” Peter said with a grin. “It used to be exactly that, way back when. The British had a colonial trade outpost here just before the first world war. Where there’s a group of Englishmen, there’s always a club.”

  “I see.” She cast about for something else to say, her desperation building. Her dilemma grew stronger with each passing minute. She had finished her meal. Peter had nearly emptied his plate. What then? Coffee and dessert. Then how did she work it? It had been too many years since she’d dated and now she had no idea what to do. Besides, she was no longer certain she wanted to take Peter to bed. Had she ever wanted to?

  “Shall we dance?” Peter asked after a moment.

  “Yes,” she said thankfully. That would delay the moment of decision.

  A pocket-sized dance floor occupied the center of the room, with a three man band on the bandstand, playing western lounge music. A single middle-aged couple moved about the floor. They looked as though they had been plucked off a dance hall floor in the States. Conservative clothing, overweight, polite, proper Americans.

  Peter led her onto the floor and took her in his arms for a slow two step. His hand on her back was sweaty. He seemed to be aware of it, for he barely touched her, as if contact with her skin would shock him. He concentrated on the dance and didn’t speak.

  It had been a long time since she’d danced, so Calli relaxed and tried to enjoy it.

  Halfway about the floor, Peter turned her to face the other way. For the first time she saw the part of the room that had been hidden by a giant palm next to their table. A group of businessmen had their heads together, over by the massive fireplace. Cigar smoke hung thick around them as they laughed loudly over a joke, settling back in their chairs.

  One of them was Nicolás Escobedo.

  Calli tripped and clutched at Peter’s shoulder to save herself. His hand clamped against her back, drawing her against him to hold her up.

  “Whoa!” he said. “You alright?”

  “Yes,” she said, shaking. Her heart hammered.

  “Do you want to sit down?”

  “Yes...no, it’s okay. I’m enjoying this.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.” She smiled at him.

  He shrugged. “Okay, then.”

  They danced again. When Peter turned her next, she glanced back at the table of businessmen.

  Nicolás Escobedo lounged in his chair, one arm draped over the padded arm. He watched her while his three companions talked. Calli covertly studied him before Peter swung her around again. A dark suit, not black. Perhaps charcoal gray, or a gray-green. The shirt was dark. The tie matched it. He wouldn’t look out of place on Wall Street.

  With the next turn she looked again. He watched, still. One long finger rested against his lips. He’d narrowed his eyes.

  She felt a resurgence of the same anger that had gripped her last night when Nicolás revealed his attraction to her and instantly pulled it out of her reach just because he wanted to. There had been no consideration for her in his decision, just some perverse desire to play with her, like dangling yarn in front of a kitten.

  Why was he here? To toy with her again?

  Then her view vanished, for Peter had turned her again. The music stopped, and the musicians stood and nodded to them.

  Break time.

&nb
sp; Peter led her back to the table. Their meals had been cleared. As Calli no longer dithered about how the evening would finish, the acceleration of the end of the meal was of no consequence. She would let Peter know that if he pressed his luck, he’d find a willing mate. She would cooperate with full enthusiasm. If she let herself sink into the experience, she could wipe out any lingering needs Nicolás Escobedo had stirred in her. Then the slate would be clean.

  After that, she would stay in bed with Peter and thank him the only appropriate way possible. All that remained now was to get to the end of the evening.

  Peter looked around for a waiter. “Would you like another drink?” he asked. “They have excellent tea here.”

  Tea. Calli shook her head. “I’d prefer coffee if I must, but—”

  “Coffee. No problem.” He waved his hand.

  “No, really, I could live without it.”

  “It’s no problem,” he assured her.

  She sighed and sat back.

  “It’s Kaestner, isn’t it?” said a new voice from behind her.

  Calli didn’t have to look to know Nicolás stood there. The voice could belong to no one else. The American accent with the deliberate pronunciation, as if he concentrated on every word, which he might well be. Even without the accent, no man she knew had that gravelly, low timbre that caressed her spine and made her gut turn with a slow roll that left every nerve in her body awake and tingling.

  Peter stood up again, grasping the napkin in his lap and trying to shake hands at the same time. He did it awkwardly, caught by surprise. “Yes, Peter Kaestner, Señor Escobedo. I didn’t realize you dined here—I wouldn’t have ignored you.”

  “No, it’s all right,” Nicolás said, waving him down. “I am here on private family business—Ashcroft’s is good for not being noticed, I’ve found. You too, I see.”

  “Yeah, you can really get away from people here,” Peter agreed. “Please...sit down.”

  Nicolás sat in the chair to Calli’s left and looked at her. “Miss Munro, yes? You were at the General’s birthday party last night.”

  “That’s right.” Calli’s voice emerged husky.

  Peter looked shocked. “You got an invite to that?”