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

dancehall floor out of the States—conservatively-dressed, overweight, polite, proper Americans.
    Peter led her out 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 bare skin would give him a shock. He concentrated very hard on the dance, not speaking at all.
    Well, it had been a long time since she’d danced too. So Calli tried to relax and enjoy the moment.
    Halfway around the floor, she ended up facing the other way and saw the rest 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 their heads and they laughed loudly over a joke, settling back in their chairs.
    One of them was Nicolás Escobedo.
    Calli tripped a little 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 all right?”
    “Yes,” she said a little shakily. Her heart hammered and she began to tremble.
    “Do you want to sit down?”
    “Yes...no, it’s okay. I’m enjoying this,” she said.
    “You’re sure?”
    “Yes.” She smiled at him.
    He shrugged a little. “Okay, then.”
    They began dancing again. When Peter turned her next, she glanced back at the table of businessmen.
    Nicolás Escobedo sat back in his chair, one arm draped over the arm. He watched her, while his three companions continued to talk. Calli covertly studied him before Peter swung her around again. A dark suit, but not quite black. Perhaps charcoal gray, or a gray green. The shirt was dark, too, and the tie matched it. He wouldn’t look out of place on Wall Street.
    With the next turn she looked again. He watched still and one long finger rested against his lips. He’d narrowed his eyes, as though her presence here disturbed him.
    She felt a resurgence of the same anger that had gripped her last night when Nicolás had 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 play 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 and they sat down. Their meals had been cleared, but as Calli no longer dithered about how the evening would finish, the acceleration of the end of the meal held little consequence. She would, somehow, let Peter know that if he pressed his luck, he’d find a willing mate, and 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 and the slate would then be clean.
    After that, she would stay in bed with Peter and thank him the only appropriate way possible.
    So all that remained now was to get to the end of the evening as quickly as possible.
    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,” she said quickly.
    “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 turn to look to know Nicolás stood behind her. 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 hint, 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