Like No One Else (33 page)

She cried out at the sheer force of it, feeling him deep in her womb, where she was still throbbing from the first mind-shattering orgasm.

He cupped her face in his hands, leaned close. “Don't ever question how much I want you,” he said huskily. “Do you understand?”

She jerked her head in a tight nod, unable to speak.

Slowly he withdrew from her, almost to the tip, then plunged back inside with a hoarse groan of pleasure that joined her own. She twined her arms around his neck, her nails digging into his back as he began thrusting into her, deep, slamming thrusts that rocked the bed, rocked her to the core of her being. She sank deeper into the pillows, arching herself, offering him everything.

“I can't get enough of you,” Paulo whispered raggedly, kissing her with passionate yearning. “Tell me what you want,
querida
, and I'll give it to you.”

Tears stung her eyes at the desperate longing in his voice. She clasped her legs tightly around his hips. “I want everything you've got,” she urged breathlessly. “Give me everything. Don't hold back.”

He shuddered, and taking her at her word, he thrust harder, faster, reaching deeper with every urgent stroke.

Tommie gave herself completely over to their savage lovemaking, the primal joining of body and soul. Time ceased to have meaning. All she knew was the pleasure of his solid weight upon her, the plunge and glide of his hot, thick shaft inside her, the wet, slapping sounds of their bodies filling the room. She wanted their lovemaking to last forever, but they were already hurtling toward the cliff together, free-falling over the edge.

She stared into his face and cried out with a wild, exultant joy as he exploded inside her, filling her with his scalding heat, calling her name hoarsely and reverently as his rapid thrusts triggered her own sweet, shimmering explosion. She buried her face against his chest and melted into tears, both frightened and exhilarated by the feeling of euphoria sweeping through her, a feeling unlike anything she had ever known before. She wanted to freeze this moment in time, a moment of profound intimacy and complete perfection.

They clutched each other for a long time, panting and trembling. At length Paulo lifted his head and gazed deep into her eyes. “Are you okay?”

Tommie smiled, soft and dreamy. “Better than okay.”

He kissed the tears from her cheeks, brushed his mouth across hers with exquisite tenderness. She breathed a sigh of contentment as he gathered her protectively against him, nestling her bottom against his lap and drawing the covers over their damp, cooling bodies.

“I must be losing my damned mind,” he murmured, his warm breath caressing the back of her neck. “I haven't had unprotected sex since I was fourteen, and twice in two days I've forgotten to use a condom with you. I'm sorry.”

“It's all right,” Tommie mumbled with another sleepy, satiated smile. “I have an IUD. One of those long-term ones. Besides, I love feeling you inside me. All of you.”

He kissed her nape, tightened his arms around her waist.

As she yawned and closed her eyes, she drowsily reflected on what a roller-coaster day it had been. Another innocent woman had been found dead, and after receiving an eerie phone call that evening, Tommie had to face the chilling reality that she, too, was in danger. But as she drifted off to sleep, her last thought was of the man who held her securely in his arms. She had confided her darkest, most painful secrets to Paulo, and he hadn't run away. He'd stayed and comforted her, nurtured her, made sweet, passionate love to her. Proving just why she'd fallen hopelessly, irrevocably, in love with him.

Saturday, November 14

When Paulo awakened the next morning, the sun was shining brightly through the windows, the bed was empty beside him, and the fragrant aroma of coffee and bacon wafted from the kitchen. Smiling to himself, he rolled out of bed and padded into the adjoining bathroom to relieve himself. When he'd finished he grabbed the spare toothbrush Tommie had provided—the woman had a spare of everything—and quickly brushed his teeth. Returning to the bedroom, he tugged on his jeans, which he'd found with relative ease this time.

He shuffled down the hallway, dragging a hand through his unruly hair and yawning. As he neared the kitchen, he could hear Tommie humming softly to herself. That brought another smile to his face.

He found her standing at the stove flipping pancakes on a griddle while bacon sizzled in a frying pan. Her dark hair was tousled, her feet were bare, and she wore the same black silk robe she'd had on yesterday morning, the one that made him wish he'd had time for a quickie. When she reached up to remove two plates from the cabinet, the hem of the short robe climbed up her shapely thighs. His mouth went dry, and he marveled that even after a night of intense lovemaking, he still couldn't get enough of her.

She glanced up at his entrance and gave him a smile of such radiant warmth his heart slammed against his rib cage. “Good morning.”

He stared at her for a moment, riveted by that smile, by her fresh morning beauty.

She eyed him quizzically. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all,” he said, advancing into the kitchen.

She let out a startled squeal as he spun her away from the stove and opened her robe, cupping her warm breasts and slanting his mouth hungrily over hers.

“Oh my,” she whispered breathlessly when they at last drew apart. “Someone woke up on the right side of the bed this morning.”

“Mmmm,” Paulo murmured, nibbling her lush bottom lip. “If you come back to bed with me, we can christen the
left
side, too.”

“Very tempting offer,” she purred, dark eyes glittering with laughter, “but first we eat. Oh! The pancakes!” She turned away and flipped them, sighing in relief when she saw that they hadn't burned. “Whew. That was close.”

When Paulo reached for an exposed breast, she swatted at his hand with the spatula and tugged the lapels of her robe together. “Go away. I'm trying to make breakfast here.”

Paulo chuckled softly, reaching inside the cabinet for a mug. He bypassed a bright pink mug emblazoned with the words DANCERS DO IT PRETTIER, and grabbed a plain white one that wouldn't call his manhood into question.

“Your cell phone rang while you were in the bathroom,” Tommie told him as he helped himself to coffee. “I didn't think I should answer it. In case it was official police business—or one of your other women.”

Paulo grinned, swatting her on the backside as he walked over to the breakfast counter, where he'd left his phone last night after making a few calls.
Please, God
, he mentally prayed as he reached for it.
Not another body. No more bad news
.

When he checked caller ID and saw that it was only Rafe's call he'd missed, relief swept through him. He dreaded the idea of being summoned to another crime scene. He needed more time to work the puzzle, to try to piece together the missing clues of who was behind the gruesome murders.

And selfishly, he wanted more time to spend with Tommie.

As he watched her moving around the kitchen, humming cheerfully as she put the finishing touches on breakfast, he realized that he could get very used to waking up to the sight of her every morning. He could get used to the warm domesticity of sharing a bathroom with her, sitting down to breakfast with her, returning home to her at the end of a long, tiring day.

He could get used to having her in his life, period.

It was a scary, jarring thought, but one he couldn't deny.

He sent up another prayer.
If we can just make it through breakfast without interruption, I'd be ever so grateful.

“Who called?” Tommie asked curiously.

“Rafe.” Calling, no doubt, to ask about Ashton Dupree's murder. Although Rafe hadn't bonded with her the way his cousin had at summer camp, her untimely death would still come as a shock to him. As it had to Paulo.

“Are you going home for Thanksgiving?” Tommie asked, removing the bacon from the burner.

Paulo grimaced. “I had planned to, but I don't think it's gonna happen. Not with the way this case is going. I'll probably just stay in town and have dinner with the family. Rafe and Korrine and the kids will be here, too. What about you?”

“I'm going home. Frankie and Mama August are cooking, so the rest of us are just bringing our appetites. Which I always do, anyway,” she added, grinning.

Paulo smiled. “When are you leaving for San Antonio?”

“On Wednesday. I don't have any classes, so I can leave early enough to beat the holiday traffic.”

“Good,” Paulo said. The best thing for her was to get out of town for a while, get out of the killer's crosshairs. But he kept the grim thought to himself, not wanting to spoil her good mood. She looked so cheerful, so happy, that one would never suspect her life was in grave danger.

Was it possible that being with
him
made her happy? Paulo wondered, shaken and humbled by the thought. After his disastrous marriage to Jacinta, he'd all but given up hope on the idea of being able to make any woman happy. Until now….

“Breakfast is ready,” Tommie announced in a singsong voice. “Let's eat upstairs on the terrace. It's supposed to be a gorgeous day—the first warm day we've had in over a week!”

The rooftop terrace was decorated with a vibrant profusion of plants and boasted a panoramic view of the cool, glistening facade of downtown Houston, with its towering glass skyscrapers and lush green parks. But as Paulo and Tommie sat down to eat, they were oblivious of the stunning vista stretched before them. With their chairs pulled together at the glass-topped wicker table, their eyes kept straying to each other, and their hands and mouths soon followed. They fed each other pancake and slices of fresh cantaloupe, licked the juice from each other's fingers, and traded soft, intimate smiles.

By the time the meal ended, they were both so hot and aroused that they didn't bother clearing the table. With only a look passing between them, Paulo grabbed Tommie's hand and led her back downstairs to the loft.

Inside her bedroom they hurriedly undressed each other before Paulo lifted her into his arms and strode purposefully into the bathroom. He twisted on the water faucet and carried her inside the steamy shower stall. As he pinned her against the marble wall, she wrapped her legs tightly around his hips, gasping and throwing back her head as he thrust into her. She caught his rhythm and began moving with him. Faster and faster. His blood pounded against his eardrums as hard as the hot needles of water pounding against their bodies, heightening the sensuality of their coupling. He slicked back her hair and ground his mouth against hers, greedily devouring her. Her lips were wet, her tongue soft, her mouth unbearably sweet.

Enveloped in a private, sensual cocoon of heat and steam, Paulo let himself pretend that they were the only two people in the world, that there were no sadistic killers lurking in the shadows, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

He let everything else drift out of his consciousness so he could savor being inside her.

He let himself go with a triumphant shout, his hips pulsing rhythmically against her as he emptied himself into her throbbing womb.

And moments later, as they lay shuddering in each other's arms beneath the bedcovers, he let himself hold her, stroke her, whisper tender, nonsensical words to her.

Because he knew it was only a matter of time before reality would come crashing down on both of them.

And what happened after that would be beyond their control.

 

Two hours later, Paulo swung into the parking lot of a small brick Baptist church with stained-glass windows and a prominent sign in the yard announcing the Sunday worship times and the theme of tomorrow's sermon: “Giving Thanks in the Season of Thanksgiving.”

An attractive, thirty-something man was stepping out of the only car in the deserted parking lot. Paulo parked beside the shiny black Nissan Altima and climbed out of his cruiser. As he sauntered toward the other man, he noted his split lip and the bruised skin around his left eye, and smiled inwardly at Tommie's handiwork.

“Roland Jackson?”

The man nodded, eyeing him suspiciously. “Who's asking?”

Paulo flashed his badge. “Detective Sanchez. I'd like to ask you some questions.”

Jackson frowned. “About what?”

“Tommie Purnell.”

Jackson didn't blink. “What about her?”

“I understand you paid her a visit on Thursday.”

“Yes, I did.” An incredulous look swept across Jackson's face. “Wait a minute. Don't tell me she called the cops just because I went to see her?”

“No,” Paulo said evenly, “but maybe she should have.”

Jackson scowled. “What are you talking about? She had no reason to call the police. I didn't do anything to her.”

“No?”

Jackson glared at him. “I don't know what she told you, but all I did was talk to her. If anything,
I
should be filing assault charges against
her
.”

“For that?” Paulo said, hitching his chin toward the man's split lip. He snorted derisively, shaking his head. “You'd get laughed out of the police station.”

Jackson's face reddened. “I don't have time for this,” he snapped. “I have a ministry meeting to prepare for—”

“How long have you been living in Houston?” Paulo asked abruptly.

“
Excuse
me?”

“I didn't stutter.” Paulo's voice was remarkably calm, considering that he wanted to smash his fist into Jackson's face. He'd been trying to keep a tight rein on his temper since last night, when Tommie told him what her old boyfriend and his buddy had done to her four years ago. Paulo had been furious, devastated that she'd had to go through such a painful ordeal at the hands of someone she'd trusted. He'd wanted blood. Although he'd had an entire night to cool off, the rage, along with the frustration and injustice he'd felt, had not abated. They were like fire under his skin, ready to ignite at any moment.

He'd promised Tommie he wouldn't do anything stupid. He intended to keep that promise—or so he'd told himself as he set out for Roland Jackson's apartment that morning. Jackson was just leaving when he arrived, so Paulo had followed him across town to the small Baptist church. As he did, he'd been struck by a memory of being tailgated one night by a black Nissan Altima—just like the one he was following.

When they reached the church and Paulo saw the empty parking lot, he'd felt a dark glimmer of satisfaction. Like a feral animal who knows it has successfully cornered its prey.

“I don't see how it's any of your business how long I've been living in Houston,” Jackson said hotly. “I haven't broken any laws.”

“Did you follow Tommie here?”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Paulo's voice was menacingly soft as he took a step forward. “Did you move here to harass her?”

“No!”

“I don't believe you.”

“You can believe whatever you want, Detective,” Jackson said archly. “I'm a deacon at this church, a respected member of the community, a God-fearing man.”

“Is that right?” Paulo mocked, advancing another step. “Then you won't lie to me when I ask you whether you moved to Houston after Tommie did.”

“I didn't.”

“Wrong answer, preacher. According to your apartment lease, you moved here exactly
one
week after Tommie did. Are you telling me that's just a coincidence?”

“It must be,” Jackson insisted, stepping backward. “I didn't even know Tommie lived here until recently, when one of the other deacons happened to mention during a meeting that she worked part-time at a local dance studio. When I asked her the name of the studio, that's when I found out it belonged to Tommie.”

Paulo smirked. “How convenient.”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways. At least to those who don't know Him.” A superior smile curved Jackson's mouth. “If you're not walking in God's perfect will, Detective, then you can't begin to know or understand why things happen the way they do. God led me to Houston for a reason. For all you know, He may have preordained Tommie to be my wife.”

Paulo's eyes narrowed. “Like hell.”

“So says the unbeliever.”

Paulo got in his face, snarling contemptuously, “Do you really think she would take you back after what you did to her, you disgusting piece of shit? Are you that delusional?”