Vistaria Has Fallen (The Vistaria Affair/Vistaria Has Fallen #1)(19)

“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.

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.