Like No One Else. Maureen SmithЧитать онлайн книгу.
bouquet while Paulo came away with the garter belt. To this day, she still remembered the wicked gleam in his eyes as his big, callused hands had slowly traveled up her thigh to secure the garter, leaving a trail of scorched nerve endings.
That, finally, had been her undoing.
Right then and there she’d decided to throw caution to the wind and indulge in a one-night stand with Paulo. No strings attached. No empty promises. Just one night of hot, mind-blowing sex between two mature, consenting adults who would go their separate ways in the morning.
After joining the rest of the guests in sending off the happy bride and groom, Tommie had gone in search of Paulo, confident that he would jump at the chance to sleep with her. He’d been seducing her from the moment they met, wearing down her defenses until she’d had no choice but to succumb to him.
But when Tommie discovered Paulo and a leggy brunette making out in the bridal suite, she’d been stunned. And crushed. It was abundantly clear that Paulo, having already grown bored with Tommie, had moved on to the next diversion.
Hearing Tommie’s shocked gasp, the couple had sprung apart on the chaise longue. To her credit, the brunette had looked suitably embarrassed as she tugged at her tight little dress. Paulo, on the other hand, had met Tommie’s outraged glare with a lazy, insolent grin. As if debauching women at weddings was nothing new to him.
Without mincing words, Tommie had ordered the couple out of her sister’s bridal suite. The next time she saw them, Paulo was helping the woman into his car. He’d glanced up, and seeing Tommie framed in the doorway of the beautiful waterfront mansion where the wedding had been held, he’d winked and blown her a kiss. She’d felt as humiliated as if he’d jilted her at the altar.
“Why, Tomasina, aren’t you going to introduce me to your handsome visitor?”
Pulled out of her reverie, Tommie glanced over to find her pianist, Hazel Calhoun, standing there with an inquisitive smile on her bespectacled face as she eyed Paulo with unabashed curiosity.
Grudgingly Tommie performed the introductions.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Calhoun,” Paulo said, shaking the woman’s hand. “You play beautifully.”
Hazel beamed with pleasure. “Why, thank you very much, Mr. Sanchez. I’m so glad you enjoyed the music.”
“I did. And please call me Paulo.”
Tommie watched in disbelief as her pianist—a sixty-five-year-old grandmother, community activist, and church deaconess—giggled and blushed to the gray roots of her scalp.
“Where have you been hiding this delightful young man?” she said chidingly to Tommie.
“Not far enough, apparently,” Tommie grumbled.
“Tomasina!”
Paulo’s dark eyes glimmered with amusement. “It’s all right, Mrs. Calhoun. Tommie and I haven’t seen each other since her sister’s wedding in San Antonio four years ago. We’ve got a lot of, ah, catching up to do.”
Hazel smiled warmly at him. “Are you from San Antonio, too?”
“Yes, ma’am. Born and raised.”
“Like Tomasina.” Hazel seemed inordinately pleased that her employer and Paulo shared a common background. “And now here you both are, in Houston. You must have followed each other,” she teased.
Paulo chuckled. “I’ve been here for two years, so I’ll let you decide who followed whom.”
Tommie bristled. “I didn’t follow you!”
Paulo quirked a brow at her. “No?”
“Of course not! I didn’t even know you’d moved here until after I arrived.”
“Whatever you say,” Paulo drawled.
Tommie scowled. “I didn’t—”
“It was awfully nice of you to stop by for a visit this afternoon, Paulo,” Hazel smoothly intervened. “I wish I could stay and chat with you longer, but I have to run to a meeting at church.” She paused, her dark eyes lighting up as a sudden idea struck her. “Why don’t you stay and have dinner with Tomasina? I baked a fresh pan of lasagna for her last night, and there’s enough to feed an army.”
Stifling a groan at the woman’s obvious attempt at matchmaking, Tommie quickly interjected, “That’s very generous of you, Mrs. Calhoun. But I’m sure Paulo didn’t intend to hang around that long. He’s a homicide detective. He’s probably needed somewhere this very minute.”
“Actually,” Paulo countered with a hint of that devilish grin, “I’m off duty. And it just so happens that I skipped lunch this afternoon. A home-cooked meal sounds great.”
“Wonderful!” Hazel exclaimed, as if he’d just promised to feed all the starving children in Africa.
When Tommie glowered at Paulo, he chuckled, a low, husky rumble that made her belly quiver.
After Hazel left, Tommie locked up the studio for the evening. As she led Paulo up a flight of stairs to her second-story loft, she could feel the searing intensity of his gaze on her backside.
She unlocked her front door with unsteady fingers and quickly crossed the threshold, gesturing him inside. “Bienvenido a mi casa.”
“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish,” Paulo drawled as he brushed past her.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Tommie retorted.
He turned to face her, one heavy black brow raised. “Is that a challenge?” he asked softly.
Tommie met his gaze unflinchingly. “Just a statement of fact.”
They stared at each other for a long, charged moment.
Paulo seemed to have gotten closer or loomed larger. She could feel the heat from his body, could smell the old leather of his jacket. At least three days’ worth of stubble darkened his square jaw, and his thick black hair was longer than she remembered, brushing his collar. His eyes were deep-set and piercing, a shade of brown so intense that at times they appeared to be black. They were accentuated by chiseled cheekbones, a firm, sensual mouth, and a swarthy complexion that attested to his Mexican heritage. He was five foot eleven inches of solid power and muscle. Not as tall as Tommie normally preferred, but tall enough that she’d been able to wear stiletto heels at her sister’s wedding without having to worry about towering over him. After the ceremony, in fact, several guests had remarked on what a striking couple she and Paulo made, how perfect they’d looked together—comments Tommie had laughingly dismissed, though deep down inside she’d agreed.
That afternoon, wearing a black leather jacket, black jeans, and scuffed black boots, Paulo looked every bit the tough guy he was. A potent combination of strength, danger, and raw animal magnetism. Tommie told herself to back away from him, but for the first time in her life, her legs wouldn’t obey her command.
As she stood there, air trapped in her lungs, Paulo’s gaze slid from her face down to the scooped neckline of her leotard, lingering on the swell of her breasts. Her breath quickened, and to her everlasting shame, her nipples hardened under his hot, bold appraisal. His gaze darkened and his nostrils flared slightly, letting her know he’d discerned her body’s reaction to him. Tommie had never felt more exposed in her life, and that was saying a lot, considering she’d once moonlighted as a stripper.
Slowly, deliberately, Paulo lifted his eyes to her flushed face. She stared at him, acutely conscious of her sensitized nipples rubbing against the fabric of her sports bra, the melting warmth spreading from her stomach to her loins. She couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, she’d been so thoroughly aroused by a man merely looking at her. If Paulo chose that moment to kiss her, she honestly didn’t know whether she would have the strength to resist him.
And judging by the mischievous gleam in his eyes, he knew it, too.
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