Like No One Else (18 page)

“So this is the proverbial bachelor pad,” she teased, taking a slow turn around the foyer before strolling into the living room as if she owned the place. She glanced around at the dark, contemporary furnishings and nodded approvingly. “It's much nicer than I expected. Cleaner, too.”

“Gee, thanks,” Paulo muttered wryly.

Tommie grinned. “Don't take it the wrong way. You just don't strike me as the type of guy who'd know how to decorate, much less be a neat freak,” she said, running a manicured fingertip across the polished surface of a side table.

Paulo considered, then decided against telling her that a professional cleaning service was responsible for the pristine state of his apartment. Let her think she'd been wrong about him.

He followed her as she moved on to the small dining room, setting the takeout bag on the gleaming cherry table, where fresh-cut flowers had been arranged in a crystal vase Paulo had never seen before. Because he tipped generously, the cleaning lady always left nice little surprises for him.

“When I called the station, they told me you'd just left for the day,” Tommie said, untying her trench. “I took a chance that you hadn't eaten dinner yet. I hope you're hungry. I ordered a lot of food.”

Paulo was hungry all right, but it wasn't the prospect of eating dinner that had him salivating. Tommie had removed her coat, and when he got an eyeful of her in a black shorts jumper that molded the voluptuous curves of her body, he nearly swallowed his damned tongue. The outfit, coupled with a pair of thigh-high stiletto boots, fueled his imagination with erotic fantasies of dominatrix games. Handcuffs, black leather, spanking, and the wicked crack of a whip.

“Where can I hang this up?” Tommie asked.

Paulo blinked at her, feeling dazed. “What?”

Her mouth twitched. “I need to hang my coat in the closet.”

“Oh. Here, I'll take it.”

She passed it to him, then turned and headed for the kitchen, hips swinging seductively. Paulo stared after her, lust clawing at his insides.

After hanging her coat in the hall closet, he retraced his steps to the kitchen, where he found her leaning over as she surveyed the dismal contents of the refrigerator. Her shorts had ridden up her deliciously round buttocks, and her leather boots molded her long, curvaceous legs like a second skin. Blood rushed straight to Paulo's groin as he imagined those killer legs locked around his waist during hot, no-holds-barred sex.

“What're you looking for?” he asked, his voice so low and rough he hardly recognized it.

Tommie shook her head, chuckling. “Just as I suspected. Bare as a bone. I knew there was a typical bachelor hiding around here somewhere.”

“Yeah, well, we can't all have personal chefs who bake lasagna and peach cobblers for us.”

She laughed. “Don't be jealous,” she teased, grabbing two bottles of Coke from the refrigerator and bumping the door closed with her hip. Paulo dragged his gaze from her luscious butt just as she turned, passing him the drinks.

“Plates?” she asked.

Paulo pointed, then resumed watching her ass while she retrieved two plates from the cabinet.

Once they were seated at the table, he surveyed the fragrant, generous portions of Pad Thai, curry chicken, and pineapple fried rice, and felt his stomach growl softly in anticipation. But as he reached for a fork, he was struck by a sudden thought.

“How do I know you haven't poisoned the food?”

Tommie choked out a laugh. “
Excuse
me?”

“You were pretty pissed off at me last night. And then out of the clear blue you show up at my apartment bearing dinner? How do I know I'm not going to bite into a spring roll and come away with a mouthful of cyanide?”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “What a twisted little mind you have, Detective. But if you knew how much I love eating, you would know I'd never do anything as sacrilegious as wasting perfectly good Thai.” She paused, lips pursed thoughtfully. “If I really wanted to kill you, I'm sure I could think of far more creative ways.”

Paulo laughed grimly. “I'm sure I'll sleep better tonight knowing that.”

Tommie grinned. “And just to prove to you that I haven't tampered with the food—” She picked up his spring roll and bit into it with a low, appreciative moan that made his loins tighten in a hot rush.

“See? No poison. Now your turn.” As she held out the spring roll to him, Paulo couldn't help wondering what must have gone through Adam's mind before he'd accepted the forbidden fruit from Eve.

Holding Tommie's gaze, Paulo leaned forward and took a bite of the proffered spring roll. He chewed slowly, watching her eyes turn smoky with desire.

“Good?”

“Very,” he murmured.

“I told you,” she whispered, biting into the roll after him. Paulo stared at her, wondering how she managed to make the simple act of eating feel like foreplay. Suddenly he wanted to sweep away the food, lift her into his arms, and stretch her out across the table. He wanted to peel that hot little number off her body, drape her legs over his shoulders—leaving the thigh-high boots on—and bury his tongue in the hot, slick folds of her sex.

The urge was so powerful that he had to force himself to look away from her just to break the sensual spell she'd cast over him. Because there was no doubt in his mind that she
had
cast a spell over him.

And something told him she knew it, too.

Paulo frowned, unnerved by the idea of losing the upper hand to her, to
any
woman, after he'd sworn never to let such a thing happen again.

As they ate, he was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he only half listened as Tommie chattered easily about her day, telling him about the lecture she'd given that morning, describing the sense of pride and gratification she'd felt while talking to the dance students afterward. It was only when she mentioned being at the hospital to visit a critically wounded teenager that Paulo snapped to attention.

“Wait a minute,” he interrupted, staring at her. “Are you talking about the fourteen-year-old kid who was shot by his mother's boyfriend this morning?”

Tommie nodded. “It's so sad. Zhane and his family are devastated. Kadeem is Zhane's favorite nephew. If he doesn't pull through this—”

“The victim was Zhane's nephew?” Paulo asked in surprise.

“Yes. I said that before.” Tommie frowned at him. “Haven't you been listening to me?”

“Off and on,” he admitted sheepishly.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course. Hearing about a girly dance lecture doesn't hold your interest, but as soon as I mention a shooting, you're all ears.”

“I'm a cop,” Paulo said, as if that should explain everything. “Now tell me how it went down.”

Tommie blew out a deep breath. “Zhane has a younger sister named Zakia. This morning she—”

“Zhane and Zakia?”

“And two more brothers named Zachary and Zeke.” She shrugged, mouth twitching. “What can I say? Their mother had a thing for names starting with the letter
z.
Anyway, Zakia and her live-in boyfriend were arguing this morning, which, from what I understand, is nothing new. When the argument got a little too heated, Zakia's son, Kadeem, stepped in to defend his mother. I guess Zakia's boyfriend—his name is Chauncey Booker—didn't appreciate Kadeem's interference. He got angry, went for his gun, and shot Kadeem in the chest. While Zakia was kneeling over her son's body and screaming at Chauncey, begging him to call for help, he panicked and took off. No one has seen him since.”

“Son of a bitch,” Paulo muttered, shaking his head in grim disgust. “How's the kid doing?”

“He's still in critical condition. He lost a lot of blood. The doctor says the bullet just narrowly missed his heart.”

Paulo grimaced. “Lucky kid.”

“Yeah,” Tommie murmured, “but he's got a ways to go before he's out of the woods. I wanted to stay at the hospital with Zhane. I even packed an overnight bag just in case. But Zhane wouldn't hear of it. He told me to go home, said he didn't want his crazy family driving me insane by morning.”

“That bad, huh?”

She chuckled softly. “Let's just say they would've made the Osbournes look like the Huxtable family.”

Paulo grinned. “That
is
bad.”

“Tell me about it.” She took a sip of her Coke. “At least Zhane turned out normal.”

Paulo burst out laughing.

Tommie lowered her bottle, staring indignantly at him. “What's so funny?” When he just shook his head, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Are you saying you don't think Zhane is normal? Because he's gay?”

“I didn't say that.”

“But that's what you were thinking,” Tommie accused. “I know how guys like you are wired.”

“Guys like me?”

“That whole machismo thing. In the Hispanic culture, it's acceptable for men to think they're superior to women, let alone
girly
men. Your manhood is your badge of honor. Your dick is your weapon. The bigger it is, the harder your swagger.”

Paulo stared at her, torn between amusement and insult. “First of all,” he said succinctly, “don't presume to lecture me about what is, and
isn't
, acceptable in the Hispanic culture. Last I checked, the black community ain't too fond of gay people, either. My reaction to your comment about Zhane being normal had more to do with his wacky personality than his sexual orientation. I don't give a shit who he sleeps with. Matter of fact, if he
weren't
gay, I'd have to worry about him trying to get in your pants. And as for that other matter,” he said, leaning forward to bring his lips close to her ear, “if you want to see how big my dick is, I'm sure something can be arranged.”

He drew away slowly, watching with satisfaction as Tommie drew a deep, shaky breath and averted her gaze. “Maybe I overreacted a little,” she mumbled.

“Just a little,” Paulo agreed, his tone mild. “But I get it. You and Zhane are best friends. He probably doesn't get a lot of support from his family, even though he's always there for them. You're protective over him, don't want to see him hurt or wrongly judged.”

Tommie stared at him in surprised wonder. “How'd you know all that?”

Paulo shrugged. “I'm a detective. It's my job to be perceptive.”

“And you definitely are.” Her lips quirked. “It's kind of scary, actually.”

He merely smiled.

“Speaking of detectives,” Tommie continued, frowning, “Zhane said the one assigned to their case has been giving them the runaround all day. All the family wants is an update on the status of the search for Zakia's boyfriend. Considering what they've been through today, I don't think it's asking too much for someone to return their phone calls.”

“I'm sure they'll be notified when more information is available,” Paulo said diplomatically.

Tommie gave him a look.

After another moment, he relented with a sigh. “I'll make a few calls after dinner, see what I can find out.”

She smiled at him in a way that made him feel absurdly heroic, something he hadn't felt in a very long time. Longer than he cared to remember. Softly she said, “Thank you, Paulo.”

“Don't mention it,” he said gruffly.

Their gazes held. The moment stretched into two.

“Do you realize this is the third night in a row we've eaten dinner together?” Tommie murmured.

“The thought crossed my mind.” Paulo's mouth twitched with humor. “I'm still trying to get over the fact that you're here.”

She shrugged, absently pushing a lone chunk of pineapple around her plate. “I know we departed on bad terms yesterday—”

“You told me to stay the hell away from you.”

“That's right, I did. I was angry. And humiliated. But I'm a big girl. After I had a chance to give it some more thought, I realized that the whole thing was actually pretty funny.”

“Funny?” Paulo was skeptical.

“Yeah. In a way I brought it upon myself, boasting about how I'd never begged a man for anything. Who could blame you for not resisting such a challenge? If the situation were reversed, I probably would have done the same thing. So no hard feelings.”

Paulo wasn't buying it for a second, but he decided to play along. “Thanks for being so understanding,” he said humbly.

Tommie smiled. “What's a little forgiveness between friends?”

“Friends?” Paulo repeated, as if he'd never heard the word before. “So now we're friends?”

“Sure, why not? My sister's married to one of your best friends, who also happens to be very close to your cousin Rafe. It makes no sense for the two of us to be constantly at each other's throats when we're going to be seeing each other at birthday parties, graduations, and weddings for the next forty years.”