Like No One Else. Maureen Smith
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“Nice.”
“Thanks,” Paulo murmured. “Every now and then I try to look civilized.”
Tommie smiled softly.
As they gazed at each other, she was acutely aware of the heat from his body, the teasing scent of his aftershave, the melting intensity of his dark eyes. Light caught in his black hair, which hung over the collar of his turtleneck. Tommie had an overwhelming urge to run her fingers through the soft, thick strands. In her mind’s eye she saw herself gently pulling his head toward hers, bringing their hungry mouths together. She saw him touching her, his lips and hands caressing her body.
Paulo’s gaze darkened, as if he’d intercepted her thoughts. He shifted closer on the seat, making her breath catch in the back of her throat. Her pulse drummed.
She wanted him. God, she wanted him. If he’d taken her hand at that very moment and led her out of the restaurant, she wouldn’t have resisted, as long as their next destination had a bed.
“If you keep looking at me like that, querida,” Paulo murmured huskily, “we’re both gonna be in a world of trouble.”
Abruptly Tommie dropped her hand from his face and averted her gaze, her insides quivering. Damn it. What was it about Paulo Sanchez that made her lose her mind every time he was near?
Sex appeal. He’s got too damned much for his own good.
Frowning at the thought, Tommie glanced across the room, hoping to see Zhane and Daniela Santiago returning to the table. No such luck. They were still waiting in line to place an order. They seemed to be getting along quite well, their faces animated as they laughed and conversed with each other.
Tommie heaved a long, wistful sigh. “I think your cousin’s trying to steal my best friend.”
Paulo chuckled, following the direction of her gaze. “Appears that way.”
“Oh my God. Did he just compliment her Christian Louboutin shoes?”
Paulo grinned at her outraged tone. “Knowing Daniela, she’s probably inviting Zhane to go shopping with her even as we speak.”
Tommie gasped. “She wouldn’t dare!”
But as she watched in disbelief, Daniela Santiago reached inside her red Hermès handbag and pulled out a BlackBerry.
“Uh-oh,” Paulo intoned, his grin widening. “Daniela’s checking her calendar. That’s never a good sign.” After another moment he shook his head, announcing gravely to Tommie, “I’m sorry. It looks like they’ve set a date.”
Tommie scowled in disgust. “Men are so unfaithful. Even the gay ones.”
Paulo threw back his head and laughed, drawing several admiring female glances.
Resisting the urge to glare at the other women, Tommie picked up her fork and resumed eating. “So, what’s on your agenda today, Detective?” she asked conversationally. “Where are you headed after breakfast?”
“To the office with Daniela,” Paulo said.
Tommie arched an amused brow. “Why? Is it Take Your Cousin to Work Day?”
He smiled briefly. “Not quite.”
When he didn’t elaborate, she prodded, “You’re going there on official business?”
He nodded. “I’m investigating a homicide. One of the firm’s employees was found murdered yesterday.”
“Oh no. That’s terrible. Did you know the employee?”
“Not really. I met her once at a function.” He paused. “Actually, you met her, too.”
“I did?” Tommie asked in surprise.
Paulo nodded. “The crime-scene unit found one of your dance programs in her nightstand. You had autographed it for her when you performed in Houston in February. Actually, I have her photo—” He glanced down at himself, then grimaced. “Never mind. I left my jacket in the car.”
“What was her name?”
“Maribel Cruz.”
Tommie pursed her lips, searching her memory. After several moments she shook her head, saying apologetically, “The name doesn’t ring a bell. I’ve met hundreds of people after performances, autographed more programs than I can count.”
“That’s what I figured,” Paulo said.
“What did I write?”
“In the program?” At Tommie’s nod, he said, “You told her, ‘Don’t ever give up on your dreams.’”
Tommie ate a forkful of waffle and chewed thoughtfully. “She must have been an aspiring dancer,” she mused.
“Why do you say that?” Paulo asked.
“I meet a lot of aspiring dancers, women who approach me after a performance and tell me how much they’ve always wanted to dance professionally but never had the opportunity. They tell me how much they hate their job because it keeps them from pursuing their dreams. I always encourage them to follow their heart, even though I know better than anyone how hard it is to break into the world of professional dancing.”
“Was it hard for you?”
Tommie snorted. “Hell, yeah. I’ve been dancing and performing ever since I was four years old, but I didn’t get my big break until I was almost thirty. Before I moved to New York to tackle Broadway, I worked as a legal secretary. The pay was phenomenal, and the firm I worked for was top-notch. But busting my ass as someone’s secretary was not what I wanted to be doing for the rest of my life. So I definitely know where these women are coming from when they tell me…” She trailed off, staring quizzically at Paulo, who had the oddest expression on his face. “What?”
“I didn’t know you were a legal secretary. What was the name of the law firm you worked for?”
“Thorne and Associates. Why?”
He stared at her, his gaze hard and piercing. After a prolonged moment he shook his head, as if to dismiss an absurd thought. “Nothing,” he muttered. “Forget it.”
But Tommie’s curiosity had been piqued, and something in his demeanor had sent a whisper of unease sifting through her. “Come on, Paulo. What gives?”
He hesitated, looking grim. “You may have had more in common with Maribel Cruz than you thought.”
Tommie frowned. “What do you mean?”
“She was a legal secretary at my family’s law firm.” Paulo paused. “Before that, she worked at Thorne and Associates.”
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