Like No One Else

by Maureen Smith

  Smiling at the memory, she turned her head into Paulo’s palm and kissed it. “I really like your parents. I was almost afraid they wouldn’t accept me. You know, because of that story you told me about the way the Sanchez family rejected Ignacio’s mother because she was black.”

  Paulo shook his head. “My parents aren’t like that. They just want me to be happy. Nothing else matters. And they happen to think you’re amazing.” He chuckled softly. “They were pretty impressed with your dancing earlier.”

  Tommie grinned as she thought of their first dance, a sensual, salsa-flavored dance that was traditional for newlyweds at Mexican weddings. His grandmother Maria had stood nearby directing Tommie’s movements while their guests clapped to the music and cheered. The way Paulo ground his hips rhythmically into Tommie’s had driven her crazy. If he hadn’t come along and dragged her off to the bridal suite, she might have beat him to it.

  “You still owe me a date for salsa dancing,” she reminded him. “You’ve got some serious moves, Mr. Sanchez.”

  His eyes glinted wickedly as he began reaching under her dress. “If you’re ready, Mrs. Sanchez, I can show you some more.”

  “Later,” Tommie said, swatting at his hand. “You’ve already messed up my hair and got me all sweaty. And I wasn’t planning on sweating in this dress—it’s Vera Wang.”

  “Vera who?”

  “Never mind.” She sighed. “Thank God for Zhane and Daniela. Trying to talk fashion with you and Frankie is an exercise in futility. Not that you don’t clean up nice though,” she added, admiring how powerfully handsome he looked in his black tuxedo. “Very nice.”

  “Glad you approve.” His gaze sobered. “You sure you won’t regret moving back to San Antonio?”

  “No,” she said quietly. “I think it was time to come home. Both of us.”

  “I think so, too.”

  Paulo had sold the house he and his first wife had shared, a symbol of his readiness to finally free himself from the ghosts of the past and start a new chapter in his life. He and Tommie had bought a big, beautiful house that they fully intended to fill with the rollicking laughter and running feet of children.

  Paulo had been welcomed back to the San Antonio Police Department with a promotion to sergeant. He and Sebastien now worked out of the same station and saw each other every day. After selling her converted warehouse for top dollar to an eccentric local film producer who’d been morbidly fascinated with the harrowing events that took place there, Tommie had found a new location for her dance studio, a studio used by Korrine Santiago, who enjoyed dancing ballet in her spare time. Tommie would be interviewing dance instructors when she and Paulo returned from their honeymoon in two weeks.

  She and Zhane were seriously contemplating launching their own dance company in the near future. He’d been telling her for some time that he needed a change of scenery, a break from his family’s nonstop drama. Tommie thought it might do him good.

  A change of scenery had definitely done wonders for her and Paulo.

  She smiled at the thought, gently weaving her fingers through Paulo’s hair, a little sad that Naomi had insisted on the groom getting a haircut.

  As if reading her thoughts, Paulo chuckled. “Don’t worry. It’ll grow back soon.”

  “I’m not worried.” Her mouth curved in a naughty grin. “I still have plenty to grab on to.”

  “Mmmm. And speaking of…”

  Deliberately ignoring the wicked intent in his eyes, Tommie sighed. “We’ve come full circle, Paulo. We first met at a wedding, and now here we are, nearly five years later, at our own wedding.”

  “Amazing how that worked out.” His hand slipped beneath her dress, slid into her warmth. He groaned huskily. “You’re wet, sweetheart.”

  Tommie nodded, feeling a delicious stab of heat as his talented fingers moved deeper. “I’ve been wet since the day I met you.”

  It was either the right—or the wrong—thing to say. Paulo’s gaze glittered with swift hunger as he moved his body over hers, raised her gown, and settled himself between her legs.

  “We should really get back to our guests,” Tommie protested weakly as he ran an appreciative hand over her white lace garter. “What if someone comes looking for us?”

  “Cesar’s guarding the door. No one’s getting past him.”

  She gasped. “He’s doing what?”

  Paulo flashed a devilish grin. “Why do you think I invited him to the wedding? You didn’t think it was because we’ve been friends forever, did you?”

  Tommie’s laughter dissolved into a throaty moan as he sank into her.

  As she wrapped her arms around his neck and caught his slow, relentless rhythm, she marveled at the beauty of second chances. She and Paulo had made their share of mistakes in the past, but they’d weathered the storm together and had found in each other something they’d both sought for a lifetime. A gift that was almost as priceless as their love: the gift of redemption.

  Their honeymoon destination awaited them, a charming bed-and-breakfast tucked away somewhere in Spain.

  And their future awaited them.

  Bright, glorious, full of passion and promise.

  Chapter 22

  Sunday, November 15

  “I’m so nervous,” Tommie muttered, crossing and uncrossing her legs as she stared out the passenger window of Paulo’s Dodge Durango. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

  Paulo chuckled. “Relax. It’s just dinner.”

  “It’s not just dinner,” she corrected, turning to face him. “It’s dinner with your family.”

  “Okay, then. It’s just my family.”

  “Easy for you to say. It’s your family!”

  Paulo laughed, torn between exasperation and amusement. “Ay Dios! What are you so nervous about, woman?”

  “Well, gee, let me think. The man I’ve been dating less than a week is taking me to meet his family, who all happen to be wealthy, successful lawyers with degrees from Ivy League universities and powerful connections that reach to the White House.” She shrugged. “You’re right. Nothing to be nervous about.”

  Amused, Paulo shook his head at her. “Not that it matters,” he said dryly, “but you’re not exactly the girl from the wrong side of the tracks. Your father is a renowned archaeologist, your mother was the CEO of a major pharmaceutical company before she retired, and they live in a million-dollar Victorian. So tell me again why you’re so nervous about meeting my cousins?”

  Tommie groaned, leaning back against the headrest and closing her eyes. “They’re going to hate me. I just know it.”

  “No, they’re not.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “No, they’re not,” Paulo insisted. “They’re going to love you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because they’re smart, down-to-earth people who know a good thing when they see it. And you, Miss Purnell, are definitely a good thing.”

  Turning her head, Tommie smiled gratefully at him. “You’re so sweet. I know I’m driving you crazy with all my hand wringing.”

  “Goodness, no,” he said, widening his eyes as if the thought had never occurred to him.

  “Ha, ha. Very funny.” Grinning, she reached over and threaded her fingers through his thick, freshly trimmed hair. “Thank you for not getting too much cut off when you went to the barbershop this afternoon. I’ve gotten used to your wild, unruly hair. I’ve grown to love it.” And the rest of you, too, she added silently.

  Paulo slanted her a soft look. “Why do you think I only asked for a trim?”

  Tommie stared at him. “You did that…for me?”

  “Of course.” His mouth curved in a wicked grin. “What else are you going to pull when you’re having one of those head-banging orgasms?”

  Tommie laughed, blushing sheepishly. “Good point.”

  As Paulo returned his attention to the road, she admired his darkly handsome appearance. Even with the neatly trimmed hair and a fresh shave,
he still managed to look rakish and primitively male in an open-necked black shirt, a well-cut black blazer, and black trousers. When her gaze strayed to his bandaged hand on the steering wheel, her smile faded.

  She hadn’t known what to think when he returned to the loft yesterday afternoon, a cake dish tucked under one arm and his right hand wrapped in gauze. When she asked him what had happened, he told her he’d cut his hand on a sharp object while he was at his apartment packing some clothes. Tommie hadn’t believed him. Remembering that he’d intended to speak to Roland while he was out, she’d asked him outright whether he’d gotten into a fight with her ex-boyfriend. He’d flatly denied it, saying that Roland wasn’t at the church when he arrived, which was where he’d run into Mrs. Calhoun. Still skeptical, Tommie had called her pianist to thank her for the carrot cake. She, too, had claimed ignorance of any altercation between Paulo and Roland. Deciding that Mrs. Calhoun wouldn’t lie to her, Tommie had let the matter go, though doubt lingered in the back of her mind.

  She’d gotten sidetracked when Paulo informed her that his cousin Naomi had called to invite him and Tommie to dinner on Sunday evening. Tommie didn’t know what shocked her more: the fact that his family thought she was important enough to warrant an introduction, or the fact that Paulo obviously agreed. She didn’t know what to make of his willingness to introduce her to his cousins. She was afraid to read too much into it, but it was hard not to. Guys like Paulo Sanchez didn’t take women home to meet their families—unless they believed the woman in question had a future in their lives.

  It scared Tommie to realize just how much she wanted a future with Paulo.

  Still, the thought of meeting his family struck sheer terror in her heart. Although Paulo was unquestionably his own man, she knew how important his cousins were to him, knew what an influence they’d had in shaping his life. It would be naive of Tommie to think their opinion of her, good or bad, would make absolutely no difference to Paulo. She knew better.

  So she’d been a nervous wreck since yesterday afternoon, fretting over what to wear, how to style her hair, and how much makeup to apply. After much deliberation—and a desperate phone call to her sister, who’d squealed with excitement upon hearing about her evening plans—Tommie had settled on a simple yet elegant black silk sheath and a pair of Christian Louboutin stiletto pumps she’d splurged on back in New York and had been saving for a special occasion. Because she wore her hair scraped back into a tight bun or ponytail five days a week when she was teaching, she decided to leave it down that evening, loose and caressing her bare shoulders. When she finally emerged from the bedroom and saw the stunned look on Paulo’s face, she knew all the hours of agonizing had been more than worth it.

  She smiled at him now. “I really enjoyed meeting Cesar yesterday. And you say I have interesting friends.”

  Paulo chuckled. Not taking any chances with her safety, he’d arranged for one of his longtime friends to stay at the loft with her while he ran his errands. Cesar Ortegon was a former bodyguard who now moonlighted as a nightclub bouncer while attending college full-time. Tall, burly, with a shaved head and tattoos covering his thick arms, he could easily have portrayed an inmate in a prison movie—which made his ability to quote Aristotle and Shakespeare at the drop of a dime all the more disarming. While Tommie caught up on her bookkeeping, Cesar had stayed out of her way, working quietly on his midterm paper until she, needing a mental break, had drawn him into a friendly poker game. When Paulo returned to the loft, he’d found them laughing and talking trash to each other like they’d been buddies for years.

  Tommie’s case of nerves returned as she and Paulo reached his family’s palatial Mediterranean-style villa in River Oaks.

  “Relax,” Paulo murmured when he came around to open the door for her. He kissed her gently, taking care not to smudge her lipstick. “They’re going to love you.”

  The family was waiting for them, crowded expectantly around the front door. Ignacio and Naomi Santiago, a handsome couple who’d graced many magazine covers as Houston’s most influential power duo. And their daughters Angela, Rebecca, and Daniela, three gorgeous, confident women who bore just enough of a resemblance to one another to leave no doubt that they were related. The two elder sisters were accompanied by their spouses and children, five offspring between them.

  Paulo and Tommie were greeted with huge, welcoming smiles, enveloped in warm hugs, and ushered into the sweeping grandeur of the house. Paulo plucked his youngest cousin off the floor, hoisted the little girl into the air, and spun her around while her delighted squeals bounded up to the vaulted ceiling. Observing the tender expression on Tommie’s face as she watched the touching display, Naomi slipped her arm companionably through hers and said, “I’m so glad you could make it.”

  Tommie turned and smiled at the regally beautiful, dark-skinned woman. “Thank you for inviting me. You have a lovely home and a wonderful family.”

  Naomi’s dark eyes twinkled with mischief. “You know we’re always looking for additions.”

  Before Tommie could respond—assuming she could have formulated a response—Daniela latched on to her other arm, leaned close, and whispered, “Fabulous shoes!”

  By the time dinner was under way in the formal dining room, Tommie realized her fears about Paulo’s family had been unfounded. While there was no disputing their wealth and status, the Santiagos were completely devoid of pretension. Although they dined on expensive china and the gleaming mahogany table was draped in fine linen, the laughter and conversation that filled the room was anything but refined. It was loud, animated, blissfully chaotic. While Ignacio Santiago was indisputably the captain of the ship, his wife and daughters were equally strong-willed, outspoken, and fiercely devoted to their family. They adored Paulo, alternately doting on him, teasing him, and admonishing him whenever he said or did something outrageous. There was a unity among them all that flowed from one end of the table to the other. A simple, strong, steady flow of love that touched a chord in Tommie and filled her with a sense of belonging.

  She was perfectly at ease answering questions about herself, never feeling like she was being interrogated by a team of lawyers—which, in essence, she was. She told them about working for Crandall Thorne, whom they knew personally, and about her dancing. She and the Santiago women reminisced about their various travels abroad, the food and music, the art and culture. When Tommie and Daniela wandered into a conversation about fashion, the men rolled their eyes at one another. Trading conspiratorial grins, the two women agreed to continue their discussion later, when they wouldn’t be rudely interrupted.

  Through it all, Tommie was aware of Paulo watching her from across the table. She knew that he’d been watching her almost from the moment they’d sat down to dinner. She could feel his gaze on her, a tactile touch that heated her skin and left her nerve endings tingling. More than once she’d deliberately turned her head to catch him staring at her. He’d winked, the edges of his mouth curving in a secret smile that made her heart lurch crazily.

  One such private exchange was caught by Naomi, who gave them a knowing smile before saying conversationally, “So, Tommie, I understand that you and Paulo met at your sister’s wedding four years ago.”

  “That’s right.” Tommie looked at Paulo, her lips quirking and her eyes glimmering with a veiled threat to tell his family all about his scandalous behavior with the brunette. “It was a beautiful wedding, wasn’t it?”

  “Absolutely.” His own eyes glittered with wicked challenge, daring her.

  Naomi sighed. “I suppose the two of you owe a debt of gratitude to Frankie and Sebastien for introducing you to each other. If they hadn’t gotten married, you may never have met.”

  Their gazes softened on each other. “That’s true,” they murmured in unison.

  Conversations around the table died down as eleven other pairs of eyes turned to watch them.

  Naomi took another languid sip of wine. “So, do you have any other weddings you’re plan
ning to attend in the near future?”

  As Tommie started to shake her head, Paulo, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin and rising from the table, said, “Now that you mention it, Naomi. We do.”

  Tommie froze, staring at him as he rounded the table and came toward her.

  The hushed silence that fell over the room was deafening. Silverware stilled, glasses stopped tinkling, no one breathed.

  Holding Tommie’s gaze, Paulo pulled out her chair, knelt in front of her, and took her trembling hands in his. He raised them to his lips, tenderly kissed her fingertips.

  “I love you,” he said in an achingly husky voice. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  Tears welled in Tommie’s eyes, blurring her vision. If she hadn’t been sitting down, shock would have sent her swooning to the floor. “What are you saying?” she whispered, heart lodged in her throat.

  “I’m saying I want you to be my wife, Tommie. Will you do that? Will you marry me?”

  “Oh my God…Paulo…oh, baby…”

  He smiled. “Is that a yes or a no?”

  “Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!”

  As Paulo crushed his mouth to hers, loud cheers and applause erupted around the room. Forks tapped against glasses. Two of the older kids drummed excitedly on the table. Naomi, Angela, Rebecca, and Daniela dabbed at their eyes and exchanged teary, triumphant smiles.

  Oblivious of the commotion around them, Paulo and Tommie kissed deeply and passionately. When they at last drew apart, the dining room was empty. Everyone had quietly cleared out, giving them privacy.

  Tommie smiled into Paulo’s eyes, her arms looped around his neck as he lifted her from the chair, then sat down and pulled her onto his lap. “I can’t believe you just did that,” she whispered. “I can’t believe you proposed.”

  “Neither can I,” he admitted, stroking a hand down her hair and touching her face. “It wasn’t planned. But the moment the words left my mouth, I knew it was right. Nothing in my life has ever felt more right.”

  Tommie’s heart swelled with emotion. “I love you,” she said fiercely. “I want to have your baby.”