Читать книгу Like No One Else - Maureen Smith - Страница 11

Tuesday, November 10

“I just don’t understand it.”

Tommie glanced up from shaking pepper on her grits to smile quizzically at the man seated across the table from her. “What?”

Zhane Jeffers gestured expansively toward the thick Belgian waffle and fried chicken wings piled on her plate, along with a side order of buttery grits. “How do you eat the way you do and still keep that itty-bitty waist?” he said wonderingly.

Tommie laughed. “I’m a dancer.”

Zhane snorted. “So am I, honey, and there’s no way I could maintain this svelte figure if I pigged out the way you do. As if the waffles and wings weren’t fattening enough, you had to order grits, too?” Incredulous, he shook his head, neat black dreadlocks brushing his shoulders. “Your metabolism must be fierce.”

Tommie grinned. “At least for now. Knock on wood,” she said, rapping her knuckle on the smooth cherry table. She ate a forkful of waffle and let out a deep, appreciative sigh. “Mmm, that is sooo good. You don’t know what you’re missing, Zhany.”

“Oh yes, I do,” he retorted, lifting a cup of creamy coffee to his mouth. “High cholesterol, high blood pressure, clogged arteries, diabetes, obesity, and heart disease. If you don’t believe me, just look at my family. Every last one of them belongs on that reality show for fat-asses who need to lose weight—The Biggest Loser.”

“Oh, don’t be such a killjoy,” Tommie chided, even as she happily went to work on a chicken wing.

Zhane just smiled indulgently and shook his head at her. He was an attractive, dark-skinned man in his early thirties with the trim, lithe physique of a dancer and the moody temperament to match. He and Tommie had crossed paths for the first time shortly after she’d moved to Houston. She’d been at the grocery store, unconsciously doing a series of pliés while she waited in a long checkout line, when an amused voice behind her had drawled, “Built like an hourglass, but moves like a prima ballerina.”

Tommie had whirled around, hands on hips, a stinging retort on the tip of her tongue for the impertinent stranger. But one look at the dreadlocked black man dressed in drag, and she’d quickly realized she wasn’t being hit on. The appreciation glowing in the stranger’s dark eyes had been that of one dancer admiring another. They’d quickly struck up a conversation, each delighted to learn that the other had performed on Broadway. Zhane, now a member of the Houston Metropolitan Dance Company, had invited Tommie to a friend’s costume party that evening, and they’d been inseparable ever since.

Every Tuesday morning they met at the Breakfast Klub, a hip soul food restaurant best known for its signature dishes—catfish and grits, and wings and waffles. The surroundings were simple yet stylish, with the works of local artists showcased on the walls and both smooth jazz and gospel drifting from the stereo. Even at that early hour the place was packed, every table and booth occupied. On Saturdays the line went out the door and wrapped around the small building.

“Why don’t you blow off your classes today and go to the Galleria with me?” Zhane suggested, spreading raspberry jam on his toast. That was all he’d ordered—coffee and toast. A waste, Tommie thought. “There’s a sale at Neiman Marcus.”

Tommie groaned. “Why are you torturing me, Zhany? You know I can’t go shopping with you. Even if I could cancel the rest of my classes today—which I wouldn’t—I’m on a budget.”

“A budget?” Zhane sounded scandalized, as if she’d just announced she was becoming a Republican.

Tommie laughed. “Yes. A budget. I need to be frugal with my finances. I still want to make a few renovations to my building, and pretty soon I’ll be hiring another instructor, who sure as hell ain’t gonna work for free.”

Zhane sniffed. “Too bad. I saw a pair of Jimmy Choo peep-toe pumps that had your name written all over them, honey.”

Tommie whimpered pathetically.

Zhane chuckled. “I know you’re enjoying doing your own thing, sugarplum, but in case the teaching gig doesn’t work out for you, you know Richard would love to have you on board.”

Tommie snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know,” she muttered, thinking of the dance company’s artistic director, who made a point of seeking her out every time she attended one of Zhane’s performances, smiling and gazing at her in a way that made her skin crawl. Tommie was no fool. She knew Richard Houghton was interested in a helluva lot more than her dancing skills.

“What do you have against Dick?” As soon as the words left his mouth, Zhane grinned at his own double entendre. Several other diners, overhearing the question, glanced over at them and snickered.

When Tommie glared at Zhane, he laughed and waved a dismissive hand. “Girl, don’t worry. Nobody’s gonna mistake your fine ass for a fishmonger. As I was saying, I can’t understand why you don’t like Richard. He’s smart, talented, reasonably attractive. His family is loaded, and unlike most of the male dancers I know, he actually likes women. What more could a straight girl ask for?”

Tommie shrugged, nibbling on the strawberry that had topped her waffle. “I’m sure Richard is a decent guy. But he just doesn’t do it for me. To be perfectly honest with you—and I’ll kill you if you repeat this to anyone—he gives me the creeps.”

Zhane’s perfectly manicured brows shot up in surprise. “What do you mean he gives you the creeps? In what way?”

“Well, the way he stares at me makes me uncomfortable.”

Zhane guffawed. “Honey, please! Have you looked in the mirror lately? Men stare at you all the time. You should be used to it by now.”

“I know,” Tommie muttered, wishing she’d just kept her big mouth shut. “But it’s different with Richard. I don’t know how to explain it. The way he looks at me…It’s like he knows a secret about me, or thinks he does. It’s creepy.”

Zhane grinned. “Maybe he does know a secret about you. I heard you were a naughty little girl up there in New York.”

Tommie smiled, but it was forced. Zhane’s teasing remark had hit a little too close to home, reminding her of the reason she’d fled New York in the first place. Although Zhane was the least judgmental person she knew, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him about the terrible scandal that had led to her release from the Blane Bailey Dance Company. The one time she’d almost confided in Zhane, she’d quickly talked herself out of it.

Shame was a powerful captor.

Noticing her strained expression, Zhane frowned. “Oh, honey, you’re serious about this, aren’t you? Richard really does make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not a big deal. Really. Forget I said anything.”

Zhane looked unconvinced. “If he ever says or does anything inappropriate, sugarplum, just say the word and I’ll kick his ass for you.”

Tommie laughed, though she knew that Zhane could back up his threat. He’d grown up in the Third Ward, one of the poorest, most crime-infested communities in Houston. Throughout his childhood he’d been forced to defend himself against neighborhood bullies who’d routinely picked on him because he was different. It hadn’t taken Zhane long to realize that the only way he could survive the bullying was to fight back. So that’s what he’d done—and had been doing ever since. Once at a club, Tommie had watched him go off on a big, mean-looking biker who’d made the mistake of calling Zhane a queer behind his back—something the man had undoubtedly regretted by the time Zhane got through with him.

Chuckling at the memory, Tommie drawled, “Thanks for the offer, sweetie, but that won’t be necessary. Besides, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for getting you kicked out of the dance company for assaulting the director. I’d never forgive myself.”

But Zhane was no longer listening to her. He was staring across the crowded room, an appreciative gleam filling his dark eyes as he announced in a theatrical falsetto, “Hottie alert.”

Smiling, Tommie followed the direction of his gaze. And froze.

There, standing near the front of the restaurant, was Paulo Sanchez.

Her heart thumped.

Although he’d obviously shaved, and had traded in yesterday’s leather jacket and black jeans for a dark turtleneck and charcoal trousers, Paulo still managed to exude a raw, rugged masculinity that left no doubt that beneath the tamed facade beat the heart of a virile, primitive male.

Not surprisingly, he wasn’t alone. Standing beside him, her arm tucked companionably through his, was an exotic young beauty who looked like a haute couture model, with her ultrachic bob and glam Chanel pantsuit. Tommie told herself the dagger of envy she felt had more to do with the woman’s killer threads than the way she was latched on to Paulo’s arm.

“Mmm, he is scrumptious,” Zhane purred. “He has that whole rugged thing going on. A dangerous edge. Me likey.”

Tommie’s mouth curved. “I don’t think you’re his type, Zhany.”

Zhane feigned innocence. “What type? Handsome and fashionably dressed?”

Tommie laughed.

As if he’d picked up on the sound Paulo turned his head, his gaze locking on to hers. Tommie’s stomach bottomed out. The laughter died on her lips.

They stared at each other for a long, charged moment.

Without breaking eye contact, Paulo leaned down and murmured something to his companion, who nodded and glanced across the room. The next thing Tommie knew, the couple began heading toward her table.

“Hell,” she muttered under her breath. As if she needed Paulo flaunting yet another one of his playthings in her face.

“Oh my God,” Zhane breathed, staring at her. “Do you know him?”

“You could say that. Do I have powdered sugar on my mouth?”

“No. Just a little chicken grease.” At Tommie’s stricken look, Zhane grinned. “I’m teasing. You’re gorgeous. That piece of eye candy on his arm’s got nothing on you.”

Tommie flashed her friend a grateful smile, though she wished she had time to freshen her lipstick. At least she looked presentable in a pink cashmere sweater, jeans, and thigh-high stiletto boots. She’d never been one of those women who left the house dressed as if she were merely going out to check the mail—even when that was the case.

She summoned a cool, relaxed smile just as Paulo and the couture model reached the table. Deliberately ignoring the woman, Tommie drawled, “If I didn’t know better, Detective, I would think you were stalking me.”

Paulo’s mouth twitched. “Maybe I am.”

Tommie stared at him, surprised that he’d made such an admission, even jokingly, in front of his companion. Even more surprising was the woman’s reaction, or lack thereof. She smiled at Tommie, an open, friendly smile that lacked even a hint of possessiveness.

Impatient to get the introductions under way, Zhane thrust his hand toward Paulo. “Zhane Jeffers. And you are…?”

“Paulo Sanchez.” He shook Zhane’s hand before turning to the woman at his side. “This is my cousin Daniela Santiago.”

Tommie’s eyes widened. “Your cousin?” she blurted without thinking.

“That’s right,” Paulo murmured, his eyes glinting with amusement because he knew she’d mistaken the woman for his lover. “Daniela, I’d like you to meet Tommie Purnell.”

“Tommie?” Daniela Santiago repeated.

Tommie didn’t know how to interpret the look that passed between Daniela and Paulo; it was so fleeting she could have imagined it. Only she knew she hadn’t. Had Paulo discussed her with his cousin?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Daniela said, smiling warmly at Tommie.

“Likewise,” Tommie murmured.

“How long have you and Paulo known each other?”

“Yes, honey, do tell,” Zhane eagerly chimed in. “Inquiring minds wanna know.”

Resisting the urge to kick him under the table, Tommie answered, “We met at my sister’s wedding four years ago.”

“I had the pleasure of escorting Tommie at the ceremony,” Paulo added, a lazy smile playing at the corners of his lips. “It was one of the best weddings I’ve ever been to.”

“Oh, I’ll bet it was.” Unable to resist, Tommie added sweetly, “How is she, by the way? You know, the lovely young brunette I caught you molesting in the bridal suite?”

Paulo chuckled softly, shaking his head at her. “Still holding a grudge about that, Tommie? Tell you what. The next wedding we attend together, I’ll let you molest me during the reception. Afterward, too, if you’re really good.”

“Paulo!” Daniela gasped, torn between shock and amusement.

With a mischievous grin, Zhane suggested, “Hey, you never know. The next wedding you two attend together might be your own.”

This time Tommie did kick him under the table. Hard.

“Ouch!” he howled.

Tommie just glared at him, unrepentant.

“Your wings and waffles are making my mouth water, Tommie,” Daniela said, her hazel eyes still twinkling with laughter. “I’d better go order my own before I dive face-first into your plate.”

“Why don’t you and Paulo join us?” Zhane offered, all but daring Tommie to kick him in the shin again. “I know how hard it is to get a table in here. Makes no sense for y’all to wait around when we’ve got plenty of room to spare.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Zhane. Do you mind?” Daniela asked, dividing a glance between Tommie and Paulo, who looked distinctly amused as he held Tommie’s gaze.

“I don’t mind,” he drawled. “Miss Purnell?”

“Of course I don’t mind. You’re both welcome to join us.” Really, what else could she say?

Daniela smiled. “Great! I’ll go order our food. No, stay,” she insisted when Paulo offered to take care of it. “I got it. You always mess up the order, anyway.”

“I’ll go with you,” Zhane said, already on his feet. As he and Daniela started away together, he said to her, “Say, you wouldn’t happen to be a member of the Santiago family, would you?”

“Guilty as charged.”

Zhane let out a delighted squeal. “Go on, girl! You’re like Houston royalty!”

Daniela’s laughing response was drowned out by the noisy din of the restaurant as they moved off. Tommie and Paulo stared after them for a moment, then looked at each other, chuckling quietly.

“Your friend’s quite a character,” Paulo commented.

“Yeah. He reminds me of the friends I had back in New York.” Tommie sighed contentedly. “It’s great to have soul mates.”

Paulo cocked an amused brow at her, but said nothing. When he slid into the booth beside her and his knee accidentally brushed hers, heat shot through her veins. She opened her mouth to ask him what the hell he was doing, then changed her mind. She knew he’d sat down next to her, purposely ignoring the other side of the booth, just to unnerve her. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d succeeded.

“You come here often?” he asked.

“Every Tuesday. What about you?”

“Haven’t been here in months. It’s one of Daniela’s favorite restaurants.”

“Mine, too.” Tommie chuckled. “Zhane thinks it’s a greasy spoon.”

“Yet he comes here every week. Just for you.”

“That’s what friends are for.” Tommie gave him a whimsical smile. “Daniela’s beautiful. She looks a lot like her brother, Rafe.”

“That’s what everyone always says.”

“Is she a lawyer like the rest of the family?”

“Yep. Best civil litigation attorney in the state. If you ever need legal representation, she’s your woman.”

“I probably couldn’t afford her,” Tommie said wryly.

Paulo chuckled. “That makes two of us.”

They grinned at each other.

Without thinking Tommie reached out, touching the smooth, angular curve of his cheek. “You shaved.”

“Yeah.”

“Nice.”

“Thanks,” Paulo murmured. “Every now and then I try to look civilized.”

Tommie smiled softly.

As they gazed at each other, she was acutely aware of the heat from his body, the teasing scent of his aftershave, the melting intensity of his dark eyes. Light caught in his black hair, which hung over the collar of his turtleneck. Tommie had an overwhelming urge to run her fingers through the soft, thick strands. In her mind’s eye she saw herself gently pulling his head toward hers, bringing their hungry mouths together. She saw him touching her, his lips and hands caressing her body.

Paulo’s gaze darkened, as if he’d intercepted her thoughts. He shifted closer on the seat, making her breath catch in the back of her throat. Her pulse drummed.

She wanted him. God, she wanted him. If he’d taken her hand at that very moment and led her out of the restaurant, she wouldn’t have resisted, as long as their next destination had a bed.

“If you keep looking at me like that, querida,” Paulo murmured huskily, “we’re both gonna be in a world of trouble.”

Abruptly Tommie dropped her hand from his face and averted her gaze, her insides quivering. Damn it. What was it about Paulo Sanchez that made her lose her mind every time he was near?

Sex appeal. He’s got too damned much for his own good.

Frowning at the thought, Tommie glanced across the room, hoping to see Zhane and Daniela Santiago returning to the table. No such luck. They were still waiting in line to place an order. They seemed to be getting along quite well, their faces animated as they laughed and conversed with each other.

Tommie heaved a long, wistful sigh. “I think your cousin’s trying to steal my best friend.”

Paulo chuckled, following the direction of her gaze. “Appears that way.”

“Oh my God. Did he just compliment her Christian Louboutin shoes?”

Paulo grinned at her outraged tone. “Knowing Daniela, she’s probably inviting Zhane to go shopping with her even as we speak.”

Tommie gasped. “She wouldn’t dare!”

But as she watched in disbelief, Daniela Santiago reached inside her red Hermès handbag and pulled out a BlackBerry.

“Uh-oh,” Paulo intoned, his grin widening. “Daniela’s checking her calendar. That’s never a good sign.” After another moment he shook his head, announcing gravely to Tommie, “I’m sorry. It looks like they’ve set a date.”

Tommie scowled in disgust. “Men are so unfaithful. Even the gay ones.”

Paulo threw back his head and laughed, drawing several admiring female glances.

Resisting the urge to glare at the other women, Tommie picked up her fork and resumed eating. “So, what’s on your agenda today, Detective?” she asked conversationally. “Where are you headed after breakfast?”

“To the office with Daniela,” Paulo said.

Tommie arched an amused brow. “Why? Is it Take Your Cousin to Work Day?”

He smiled briefly. “Not quite.”

When he didn’t elaborate, she prodded, “You’re going there on official business?”

He nodded. “I’m investigating a homicide. One of the firm’s employees was found murdered yesterday.”

“Oh no. That’s terrible. Did you know the employee?”

“Not really. I met her once at a function.” He paused. “Actually, you met her, too.”

“I did?” Tommie asked in surprise.

Paulo nodded. “The crime-scene unit found one of your dance programs in her nightstand. You had autographed it for her when you performed in Houston in February. Actually, I have her photo—” He glanced down at himself, then grimaced. “Never mind. I left my jacket in the car.”

“What was her name?”

“Maribel Cruz.”

Tommie pursed her lips, searching her memory. After several moments she shook her head, saying apologetically, “The name doesn’t ring a bell. I’ve met hundreds of people after performances, autographed more programs than I can count.”

“That’s what I figured,” Paulo said.

“What did I write?”

“In the program?” At Tommie’s nod, he said, “You told her, ‘Don’t ever give up on your dreams.’”

Tommie ate a forkful of waffle and chewed thoughtfully. “She must have been an aspiring dancer,” she mused.

“Why do you say that?” Paulo asked.

“I meet a lot of aspiring dancers, women who approach me after a performance and tell me how much they’ve always wanted to dance professionally but never had the opportunity. They tell me how much they hate their job because it keeps them from pursuing their dreams. I always encourage them to follow their heart, even though I know better than anyone how hard it is to break into the world of professional dancing.”

“Was it hard for you?”

Tommie snorted. “Hell, yeah. I’ve been dancing and performing ever since I was four years old, but I didn’t get my big break until I was almost thirty. Before I moved to New York to tackle Broadway, I worked as a legal secretary. The pay was phenomenal, and the firm I worked for was top-notch. But busting my ass as someone’s secretary was not what I wanted to be doing for the rest of my life. So I definitely know where these women are coming from when they tell me…” She trailed off, staring quizzically at Paulo, who had the oddest expression on his face. “What?”

“I didn’t know you were a legal secretary. What was the name of the law firm you worked for?”

“Thorne and Associates. Why?”

He stared at her, his gaze hard and piercing. After a prolonged moment he shook his head, as if to dismiss an absurd thought. “Nothing,” he muttered. “Forget it.”

But Tommie’s curiosity had been piqued, and something in his demeanor had sent a whisper of unease sifting through her. “Come on, Paulo. What gives?”

He hesitated, looking grim. “You may have had more in common with Maribel Cruz than you thought.”

Tommie frowned. “What do you mean?”

“She was a legal secretary at my family’s law firm.” Paulo paused. “Before that, she worked at Thorne and Associates.”