Like No One Else

by Maureen Smith

  Paulo angled his head to stare into her face. “And you don’t think there’s a correlation between what happened that night and you getting a job at the strip club shortly afterward?”

  “No. I don’t. I didn’t remember what happened that night.”

  “Maybe not,” Paulo countered stubbornly, “but deep in your subconscious you must have sensed that something was wrong, otherwise you wouldn’t have kept asking Roland about it.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” she conceded, holding his intent gaze. “But that’s not the reason I started working at the strip club. I told you my reason. I was hoping to get discovered. It was an immature, shallow, calculated decision on my part, but that’s all there was to it.” I’m sorry, she almost added, because she sensed that he wanted to believe what he was telling her. But she couldn’t lie to him, or to herself.

  She reached up, gently touching his face. “I know you think I was a victim—”

  “You were, damn it,” Paulo growled.

  His fierce protectiveness made her heart ache. If she hadn’t already cried her tear ducts dry, she might have wept again.

  “Listen to me,” she murmured, cupping his face in both hands as she gazed into his dark, troubled eyes. “Are you listening?”

  He hesitated, a muscle clenching in his rigid jaw.

  “Paulo?”

  He gave a short nod.

  “I was victimized, but I’m not a victim. No, hear me out,” Tommie said when he opened his mouth to protest. “Roland and Simeon violated me that night. There’s no getting around that. They took advantage of me in a way that I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy. But as horrible as the experience was, I’m relieved that I don’t remember what actually happened. Maybe Roland did me a favor by drugging me that night. Watching the videotape was traumatic enough. I can’t even imagine how much worse it would have been if they’d forced themselves upon me and I had to relive that every time I closed my eyes and went to sleep, every time I looked in the mirror, every time I even thought about being intimate with another man. At the Sirens and Spurs I worked alongside women who had been molested and raped, and I can tell you right now I didn’t envy their ability to recall, in sickening detail, what their attacker had done to them. I pitied them. My heart broke for them.

  “Seven months ago, when I watched Roland’s videotape and saw what had been done to me, I thought of those girls at the strip club, and I realized, even then, how lucky I was. Because I had four years of blissful ignorance. I’m not saying that I don’t have flashbacks to that night, that disturbing images from the video don’t pop into my mind when I least expect it. It happens. But I’m not controlled by those memories, and I thank God for that.”

  She smiled softly, combing her fingers through the thick, silky brush of Paulo’s hair. “I’ve always had a healthy sexual appetite, and I make no apologies for that. Part of the reason I enjoy dancing so much is the sense of liberation it gives me. The permission to be a passionate, powerful, sensual being. I love our lovemaking, Paulo. I wanted you the moment I met you at the wedding rehearsal dinner four years ago, and that wanting has only gotten stronger over time. Even tonight, sitting here with you, I’ve found myself thinking of how soon I can get you into my bed. Now that I’ve told you about my past, I hope you’re not going to run for the hills or—God forbid—start handling me with kid gloves. That’s the last thing I want. In case you didn’t hear me the first time, let me repeat myself. I love our lovemaking. They didn’t take that away from me. I hope you won’t, either.”

  Paulo said nothing as she rose from the sofa, gathered their wineglasses, and walked to the kitchen, where she set his empty glass on the counter. She carried her own untouched drink into the bedroom and placed it on the bedside table, then proceeded to undress and take her nightly shower. She took longer than usual, hoping Paulo would join her. But as the minutes wore on and he didn’t appear, her hope dwindled. Fear and a growing sense of desperation began to overtake her.

  By the time she climbed into bed, alone, she was downright dejected. It was clear that Paulo would not be coming to her. He’d decided that she was damaged goods, and his conscience simply wouldn’t allow him to continue sleeping with her when he knew they could have no future together.

  So much for seeing where that road is going to lead us, Tommie thought bitterly, blinking back tears as she remembered his earlier words to her. She gulped down her glass of wine, hoping it would dull the sharp edges of her pain and help her fall asleep faster.

  When she finally heard Paulo coming down the hallway, she assumed he was going to ask her where she kept the spare blankets so he could camp out on the sofa.

  As he stepped through the doorway, she barely lifted her head from her pillow, saying tonelessly, “They’re in the hall closet.”

  “That’s nice,” Paulo muttered, peeling off his shirt, kicking off his jeans, and striding purposefully toward the bed, powerful and gloriously naked, “but you already cost me one sleepless night on a damned sofa. No way in hell am I going through that again.”

  Tommie nearly wept with joyous relief as he pulled back the covers and slid into bed with her, seizing her mouth in a fierce, plundering kiss that stole her breath. His hot, sweet tongue delved inside her mouth while his callused hands gripped the hem of her nightshirt, yanked it up over her head, and flung it aside. She trembled with pleasure as he pressed her breasts together and licked the deep valley between them, his breath a warm, silky caress against her skin.

  She clutched his hair and moaned as he slid down the length of her body. He drew her legs up and rubbed his stubble-roughened cheek against the smooth, sensitized flesh of her inner thighs, making her shiver.

  Inhaling her scent into his lungs, he groaned thickly. “God, you smell so good.”

  Tommie let out a shocked cry of pleasure as he drew the tender bud of her clitoris into his mouth. She writhed under the slow, erotic lash of his tongue, her hips bucking in his strong grip. He held her ruthlessly still, licking and lapping at her, his tongue swirling in sensual circles against her swollen labia. He licked her as if she were an exotic fruit dripping with sweet, succulent nectar. As if he could never get enough of her. He feasted until she was sobbing and pleading, her hands tangled in his hair, her thighs quaking uncontrollably. Just as she began to wonder if it was possible to die from sexual torment, he pushed her over the top and sent her flying apart with a loud, keening wail.

  As her body convulsed, he lifted his head and watched her face with a look of dark, masculine satisfaction. “More?”

  “More,” she whimpered.

  He gently unwound her hands from his hair and kissed each of her fingers, his molten eyes blazing down at her with fierce, unmistakable purpose as he rose up over her. He folded her legs back against her chest so that when he drove inside her, his thrust had his whole weight behind him.

  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 th
rust 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.

  Chapter 21

  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.