Vistaria Has Fallen (The Vistaria Affair/Vistaria Has Fallen #1)(28)

Calli slipped out of her sandals and put them on. They fit, which surprised her, for her feet were in proportion with her height and Vistarian women seemed to be generally petite. She stood up and gave an experimental stamp and immediately sensed the improvement. Her blood beating a tattoo in time with the guitars and the clapping, she moved to stand between Elvira and Minnie and picked up the pattern they followed. Excitement flooded her as the flow of the dance became clear. She relaxed her concentration, letting her instinct guide her instead. The pattern came easily, naturally. Did she have a latent talent for this? Or had she simply been immersed in this culture for long enough to absorb the attitude, the...sexiness?

Wholesome, exhilarating energy flared as she turned and tapped in time to the music. Her hands came up into the air of their own accord, weaving patterns that felt natural, inevitable. The clapping and shouting of the onlookers encouraged her to continue, to fling her head back and fall into the spell of seduction woven by the music and movement. Her hair tickled the back of her hips where the skin showed between her jeans and tee-shirt and she laughed aloud for sheer joy once again. Calli hadn’t been this alive in years—with one recent exception.

She looked over and saw Duardo move behind Minnie and shadow her movements. It completed the pattern in her mind. Such a seductive dance must have an audience, an intended target. It would be natural for the target to respond as Duardo responded, to be beckoned. He reached out to rest his hands on Minnie’s hips, then they moved in unison.

A hand came down on her own hip and Calli looked behind her. Pietro winked at her. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “Just friends.”

She understood and fell back into the beat. Pietro followed her, his hands on her hips, lifting as he turned her, leading as they moved around the floor. Pietro was a good dancer and Calli learned more as she followed his lead.

The music seemed to grow more frantic, the beat faster. She whirled, caught up in the rhythm. Abruptly it peaked and with a final staccato beat of heels, they came to a halt, the music at an end.

For a tiny second silence held, while Calli drew an unsteady breath, her blood pounding in her ears. Then everyone clapped and laughed, applauding themselves. The dancers broke up, cups were refilled.

Acute disappointment circled through her. She didn’t want the dancing to end.

“Later, okay?” Pietro said, plucking at his AC/DC tee-shirt. “Time for rest.”

“Sure,” she said, forcing a smile.

Duardo, his hand still resting on Minnie’s hip, passed them and said in a low voice intended only for Pietro, “Rojo.” He nodded toward the house.

Calli’s chest locked with a sudden, overwhelming mix of dread, hope and the return of the seductive excitement of the dancing, only this time more primordial, more basic. It was pure wanting, bereft of any flirtation.

She turned toward the house, holding her breath. Was he...?

Nicolás Escobedo sat on one of the straight-backed chairs, a boot resting on the seat of another, his chair pushed back and balanced. Black jeans, a dark olive green shirt with the soft glow that spoke of silk. Silk, her mind whispered.

Two men approached him. Nick spoke a few words. An exchange of greetings. Acknowledgments. They made no fuss over him, no fanfare. She understood that Nick was not here as an Escobedo. Duardo had named him correctly. He was here as the quiet man who moved amongst them, directing, managing, putting things to right.

A few words for each of them and they moved on, leaving him to his privacy. Alone, he settled back in his chair and turned back to look at her, his gaze direct, uncompromising. Had he watched her dance?

Her heart gave a little thrill of a beat at the idea. The she remembered the lily.

She walked over to stand in front of him and pushed her thumbs into her pockets, her hands curling into fists. “You were invited to this party too?” she asked.

“I’m invited everywhere.”

“You don’t go everywhere, though.”

“I go where I’m needed.”

“I don’t think you’re needed here.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

Calli’s spine, her whole body, rippled. That response and the aching, throbbing need pouring through her also tripped off her anger. She didn’t like how her body longed for his touch when her mind had decided differently.

“Nick, stop playing with me. I don’t need this.”

He glanced around, a casual look. Calli knew he checked for eavesdroppers. Witnesses. Everyone appeared busy doing something else—talking and drinking. Eating. A little pocket of space separated Calli and Nick from them.

“Sit down,” he told her.

“No.”

“Sit down,” he repeated. “This is one of the few places where you and I can talk in comparative security and by God, we will talk.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “We must talk.” His tone was insistent.

She sank onto the chair next to the one his boot pushed against, facing him. As she sat, Minnie came over and handed her a glass of punch and moved away again. She seemed to be part of the unspoken conspiracy to give them with total privacy right in the middle of a rowdy party.

“We already talked, I thought,” Calli said, with a sigh. “You said nothing could ever come of this. I believed you.”

He straightened up his chair, lifting his foot away from the other and leaned toward her. “I meant what I said.”