Red Leopard (The Vistaria Affair Series) Read online

  Calli frowned and shook her head a little.

  “I have thrown you in the deep end, haven’t I?” Uncle Josh said. “The Escobedo family has been virtually the royal family here since forever, seems like. José Escobedo y Castaños is the current president and supreme commander of the Vistarian Army.”

  “The military junta,” Calli murmured.

  “A damned benign one, let me tell you. It’s thanks to Escobedo’s moderate policies that we’re here at all.”

  “Is that who you called to get me out of jail? Someone high up in the government?”

  “Nothing so impressive, I’m afraid,” Josh confessed. “I phoned the government liaison that has been assigned to work with us opening up the silver mine and asked him who I should call. He never got back to me. But I must have sounded a bit upset, because he obviously did something. I’m sorry we didn’t get there to pick you up in time, Calli. We were on our way, but I hadn’t planned on traffic grinding to a halt because of the fiesta. By the time we got there, you had disappeared. People remembered seeing you, though Customs wouldn’t tell me a damned thing. That’s when I phoned the government guy. What happened, anyway?”

  “I hung around for a while, waiting. I even tried phoning here. When I got no answer I figured something had happened to you. So I thought I’d find a cab, point to your address on the email you sent me and get him to take me there. The information desk told me there were no taxis at the airport because of fiesta, but if I walked up the street I could hail one. So I walked up the street, dragging my case and watching out for a cab when five men came around.”

  She explained what had happened, the jostling and the grope that had caused her to react. “The man at the jail told me I’d broken at least one nose and handed out a few bruises. If they’d been feeling less generous I think they might have charged me for assault or something, but the man—he knew why I had reacted that way. He understood.”

  “What man?”

  “I have no idea who he is, but he carries a lot of weight. I’ve never seen men scramble to attention as fast as these guys did when he walked into the room. We talked a bit, then he said I’d be released shortly and that you’d be waiting for me.”

  “They phoned me and said to come and get you.”

  “Who did?”

  “The police station.” He frowned. “So you explained to this man what had happened to you?”

  “I didn’t get a chance to explain too much. He seemed to know all about it. All about me.”

  “A general?”

  “He wasn’t wearing a uniform. He had red hair and they called him Roger.”

  “Red hair?” Josh paused from rubbing his eyes again, startled. “Roger?” He thought about it. “For a minute I thought...but no, if they called him Roger....” He shrugged. “I have no idea who it is.”

  She frowned. “Who did you think it might have been?”

  Joshua shook his head. “No one. A passing idea, but far too ridiculous to consider.”

  Minnie emerged from her bedroom carrying an armful of clothes, which she dumped on the coffee table. “I don’t have all that much you could wear, Calli. You’ve got at least six inches on me, so all the pants will be high-waters. But there’s a skirt and some tee-shirts and something for bed, if you really wear anything to bed.” She held up a diaphanous pink pair of baby-doll pajamas and winked at Calli, her pixie-like features filled with mischief.

  “Minnie, do you have to talk like that?” Josh asked.

  “Dad, it’s Calli. She knows me.” She dropped the pajamas on the pile and patted the collection. “Tomorrow I’m taking you shopping. I know exactly where to go.”

  “Of course you do,” Calli said. “You would’ve had it figured out twenty-four hours after landing here.”

  “No, in one hour. I met a woman lawyer in the customs and immigration lounge at the airport and asked her where she got her suit and, voila, insider information on the best shopping spots on la colina.”

  “‘In’, you mean,” Calli suggested.

  “On,” Minnie said firmly. “Colina is ‘hill’. The city is Lozano Colinas, and the locals shorten it down to ‘the hill’, coz good ol’ Lozano lost claim to his hill when he kicked the bucket.”

  “It sounds so much prettier in Spanish. You’d better add a Spanish-English dictionary to the shopping list,” Calli added with a sigh.

  * * * * *

  She danced, whirled, dipped—her silk skirt brushed her legs with cool light caresses. She was as free as a bird, her heart light, bursting with elation and tingling with joy. She lifted her hands up to the stars above, the music encouraging her to swing and turn. Hands settled on her hips and a warm weight pressed up behind her. The weight was blood warm. Hot. She laughed out loud, the contact fizzing through her blood. She let him feel the sway of her hips. He pressed himself against her and a silvery thrill ran through her as she felt the thick hardness of his cock against her ass. He wanted her. He wants me. A thrill ran through her at the thought.

  They swayed together, their feet moving in gentle spirals as they turned. His hand rested low on her abdomen. His fingers spread out and pushed against her, driving her hips back into him. The hand slid a little lower, the fingers sliding over her mound. She could feel her nakedness beneath the silk for the heat of his hand seemed to brand her. Her clit, her whole cleft, throbbed in reaction. Lower. She wanted his hand lower, deeper.

  His other hand had lifted to her shoulder and gave a tug on the blouse. With the misty insubstantial magic of dreams, the blouse slipped down her arms, lower, lower, until it rested against her tight hard nipples.

  He tugged again.

  With a silent flutter, the shirt dropped to her waist, baring her aching breasts. She couldn’t stop her shoulders from pulling back, lifting the breasts up, offering them. She wanted them caressed. Touched.

  The hot hand cupped her breast, while the other pushed between her legs. And she realized then that not only her blouse had fluttered away, but her silky skirt had melted away to nothing. She was naked, quivering with a hot need that had not been met for far too long. But the hand between her legs did not caress her clit or slide into her pussy as she longed for.

  Instead, the hands smoothed their way back up to her hips and turned her around to face him. She looked upon a broad chest covered in a white shirt. It was a common business shirt, not the full white cotton shirt she had expected.

  When she tried to look up at his face she found her view blocked by the brim of a black hat, bent low. Determined, she twisted and ducked her head to look under the brim. He dropped his head lower, matching her movements and she had to move her head backwards to avoid a collision. His motion forced her into a curve backwards over his arm.

  She caught her breath, as she leaned back. Her whole body leapt to the alert. Every part of her was exposed, open. Her bare breasts pushed up into the air and her pelvis thrust forward, her mound, her clit, forced against his hip with a hard, luscious pressure. She knew what came next and ached for his touch, for the hand to rest on her waist and swoop up to her breast.

  The expected hand settled on her waist and she drew in a sharp breath as it slid along her torso, but the specific touch, the cupping of her aching breast, did not happen. She lifted herself up with a small, frustrated sigh and he helped her, bringing her to her feet with a power and speed that made her dizzy. He brought her to an abrupt standstill, her hips against his, her breasts pushed against his chest. He was hot against her and she could feel his heart beating under her hand. He looked at her now.

  It was him. His dark red hair, thick and shining in the evening glow. He studied her with the same speculative gaze as before, but she could feel his arousal against her stomach, hot and hard.

  She stared at him, willing him to kiss her, her hand moving in restless little strokes against his hard chest and shoulder, the silk warm under her fingers. She could feel the desire for his mouth to touch hers building like a scream inside her.

 
But he shook his head, a tiny movement from side to side.

  Her disappointment was so acute it stabbed at her chest like a knife. She gave a cry—her throat hurt with the strength of it, but no sound emerged. He let her fall back again and she held out her hands, unwilling to lose contact with the heat and hardness of him. But she fell too hard and too fast....

  * * * * *

  Calli awoke with a whole-body jerk and a soundless cry that strained her throat. Within a second she realized she had been dreaming and fell back on her pillow with a shuddering sob of relief.

  It had been so intense!

  She rolled over on her side, hugging her still throbbing body, trying to claw back any fragments of the intensely erotic visions and feelings of the dream. That was when she saw him. She drew in a sharp, startled breath, her already taxed heart leaping in her chest. Fright tore through her like cold water through her veins, but at the same time her aroused, prepared body went to high alert.

  He sat in Uncle Josh’s leather office chair that was to be removed tomorrow, one hand on his bent knee, the other elbow propped against the arm of the chair, his long forefinger resting against his temple.

  He watched her, the same measuring stare as before.

  Calli sat up, bringing the damp sheet with her. “What are you doing here?” she whispered furiously.

  “You are a restless sleeper, Miss Munro,” he said, just as quietly.

  “Are you crazy? You have to leave. Right now.”

  “I’m not crazy,” he said, getting to his feet. “If I were, I would not have understood what you were telling me in the holding cell this evening.” He walked over to the bed and Calli shrank back against the headboard, pulling the sheet with her. But he did not touch the mattress. Instead, he lowered himself so he could look her in the eye. The blue of his eyes seemed to glow in the light coming from the wide windows. Full moon, she remembered...Fiesta de la Luna.

  “I know you,” he said, very quietly, the low voice rumbling in her mind, her heart.

  Yes, yes, you do. You see my soul. You see I want you. My heart locks when you’re near. I can think of nothing but how much I want you to touch me.

  “You have to go,” she said aloud.

  “Do you want me to go?”

  She couldn’t bring herself to lie when the truth pushed at her conscious mind so insistently. She said nothing. Instead she scrambled from the bed and headed towards the door, intending to shepherd him from the apartment. She was three steps from the bed when she heard a little noise behind her and whirled.

  He straightened up, staring at her. “My god, look at you,” he breathed. “You are...magnificent.”

  She couldn’t help but look down at herself, at the fragile chiffon of the baby doll pajamas and the tiny matching panties with their satin bows. Her cheeks grew warm in reaction.

  “Your legs. Such endless legs.” He moved towards her. “Athlete’s muscles. Callida, you are more beautiful than I suspected. Your hair is glowing in the moonlight.” He halted just in front of her, so close she could feel his body heat. He brushed a thick lock of her hair back over her shoulder. His hand whispered across her skin, a fleeting touch that sent a shudder through her.

  She couldn’t move. She could not resist the primal urges strumming through her and instead send him away—not when she wanted him to wreak havoc upon her, to turn her inside-out with delight. Her cleft throbbed, slick with her juices.

  He reached for the satin bow between her breasts, the only thing holding the triangular pieces of lace together. She felt the little tug and the chiffon and lace fell away, revealing her breasts. In the silvery moonlight they were pale, luminescent globes and the nipples and areolas dark points of focus. Her nipples crinkled hard at the touch of air.

  He drew a slow, deep breath. Let it out. Moving slowly, his hands reached for the satin bows over each of her hips. He watched her...waiting for her to protest. But she could not find her voice. She did not want to speak, for she knew that a protest might emerge. So she remained a silent witness to her own seduction, letting it happen.

  Two more small tugs and the panties fluttered to the floor between her feet. He stepped closer and his hand, hot and large, slid between her thighs, up into the moist folds of flesh, pressing against her clitoris and making her groan. His fingers dipped into the entrance of her pussy, just as his mouth touched hers. The kiss was fleeting, not nearly satisfying enough, nor the gentle pressure of his hand.

  His touch had opened a floodgate.

  Take me. Now! she wanted to beg, but she didn’t speak the words for he controlled the moment.

  Her body throbbed, heavy with expectation. She wanted him to drag her to the floor, to push inside her with rough, frantic movements, his body a heavy weight on top of her. She anticipated and longed for the sweet-sour mini-satisfaction of penetration. She wanted to feel him thrusting in her—hard and demanding. She wanted to be held and stroked.

  “What do you want?” he whispered against her lips.

  She opened her mouth, but nothing emerged. She could say no words nor any sound, although the words were there, ready to tumble out. She fought to speak them and failed.

  His hands dropped away from her. He stepped around her and began to walk away and she lifted her hand toward him, pleading, but still the words would not emerge until he had left, and then the cry of frustration and despair came back to her throat.

  * * * * *

  Calli sat bolt upright in her borrowed bed, her heart and head pounding with the pressure of dream induced horror and a sexual excitement more intense than anything she had ever experienced in her life. Not just her genitals throbbed. Her whole body pulsated with the coursing arousal. Her chest heaved beneath the pink chiffon and her nipples could feel every little rub of the fabric. They were tight, taut and almost painfully sensitive.

  She opened her mouth and took deep measured breaths, bringing her pulse down, working for calm. It took several minutes, for her mind was a jumble of dream images, still fresh, still able to arouse.

  Chief amongst them, the feel of him holding her up against him. Soft, warm silk beneath her fingers. Underneath the silk, the hard wall of chest muscles. His mouth mere inches from hers. His knowing gaze. The waves of sexual tension pouring from him, washing over her. The pressure of his hips against hers. The powerful, arousing pressure.

  “Ah, shit,” Calli murmured to herself in the dark. Playing back the dream memories wasn’t doing a thing to help steady her pulse. She reached over for the glass of water on the edge of the desk beside the bed. The desk would be removed from the bedroom tomorrow, along with the empty leather chair beside it. Her uncle had intended to use the third bedroom as his study, but the demands of the job on-site were enough that he had barely used the room. He spent all his time at the mine, instead. So the room would revert back to its designed use as a bedroom.

  She groped for her watch until she remembered it was one of the items that had been stripped from her and not returned. It was still dark outside the window, though—excuse enough for her to lie down again and try to find sleep.

  Add a watch to the list, Calli, she reminded herself.

  The throbbing arousal was slowly subsiding, but still strong enough for her to slide her fingers between her thighs in a restless unconscious movement intended to address the ache. Then she stopped, realizing what she was doing. She moved her hands and slid them under the pillow, away from temptation.

  She would not be dictated to by a figment of her imagination. She was Callida Munro, soon-to-be professor of economics, a thirty-something single-by-choice woman with a career, a house, a life, thank you very much.

  But his eyes, the feel of his body against her, followed her down into an uneasy sleep, along with writhing shame, for even if she had resisted his dream image, she had not resisted the lure of him in person. She had virtually begged him for a boon. That was something she would never tell another living soul. Not even Minnie, who might understand.

 
; Thank god she would never see him again and have to look him in the face.

  Chapter Three

  “Calli, you’re not really paying attention, are you?” Minnie said, looking over the top of the shimmering dress she held up for Calli’s inspection.

  Calli blinked away the sense memory of last night’s persistent dream images for the tenth time that morning and struggled to stay in the moment. She looked at the bright patterns, the predominance of red in the abstract swirls of the dress. “Not my color at all,” she said.

  “Not you. Me.” Minnie held it against herself.

  “You, certainly,” Calli agreed.

  “For tonight, do you think?”

  “Tonight? What’s on tonight?”

  Minnie rolled her eyes. “Great, Calli. I only told you about twenty minutes ago. You agreed, don’t you remember?”

  “I did? To what?”

  “Tonight. The party. Duardo and his friends.”

  “Duardo?” Suddenly Calli’s scattered thoughts congealed into a cold whole. “You mean the soldier Duardo? From last night?” Horror filled her. “Minnie, did you give him your phone number or...or...?”

  “God, relax Calli. Sometimes you treat me like I’m still eighteen and wet behind the ears. He invited me last night—actually, me and a friend because I said I wouldn’t meet him somewhere alone.”

  “Well, that sounds a little more sane. But Minnie, I’ve only been here twelve hours and I’ve already heard how little Americans are liked here. Do you know how close Vistaria is to outright revolution? What if this Duardo is part of some rebel faction?”

  Minnie gave a low peel of laughter, shoved the dress back on the rack and flipped through more hangers. “Not Duardo,” she said with complete certainty. Her voice held the same firmness as when she had explained the local use of el colinas.