Red Leopard (The Vistaria Affair Series) by Tracy Cooper-Posey

It had no lining—her skin showed clearly through the mesh of the lace, except for a virtually invisible flesh-colored panel of elastic that covered her breasts and supported them. The skirt hugged her hips—the elastic fabric gave her flexibility, but the dress clung to her. The hem stopped several inches short of her knees.
    Minnie had insisted she wear the tallest shoes they could find, a black pair with ankle straps. All her hair had been piled on top of her head and held down with dozens of hair clips. Wisps fell around her face. Minnie also directed the application of her makeup. Red lips, red toenails, and gold hoop earrings. But Minnie could do nothing about Calli’s work-worn fingernails other than file them neatly and paint them.
    Calli had looked in the mirror and frowned. “Don’t you think it’s a bit subtle?” she asked Minnie. “I should be wearing 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’?” Minnie asked.
    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 be fucked, and 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. But only then.”
    Calli studied her. “You have been taking notice, haven’t you?”
    “Told you I had,” Minnie returned. The phone rang and 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 had been curious to try some of the local dishes, but in order to keep Peter happy, had ordered the beef. It had been a mistake.
    She put her knife and fork down and sat back, looking around. The cavernous restaurant had a high ceiling and dark wood paneling on the walls. It felt very Victorian, with large potted palms and ferns in collections throughout the room, which managed to provide 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 small 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, starting to feel a little desperate. Her dilemma grew stronger with each passing minute—she had finished her meal and he had nearly emptied his plate. What then? Coffee and dessert—well, not for her. But how did she work this now? 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 even 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 bit longer, anyway.
    A pocket-sized dance floor occupied the middle of the room and a three man band on the bandstand, playing western lounge music. One other couple moved about the floor, a middle-aged pair that looked like they had been plucked off a