Like No One Else. Maureen Smith

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      “If I’m swamped with cases,” Paulo answered as he sat down beside her, “food isn’t always a top priority.”

      “I can understand that,” Tommie conceded. “On my busiest days, I don’t even think about eating until my last class is over, which isn’t until eight on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.”

      Paulo slanted her a wry smile. “Is that why Mrs. Calhoun prepares meals for you? To make sure you don’t starve yourself to death?”

      Tommie nodded, chuckling ruefully. “She loves to fuss and fret over me. She can’t help herself. She raised four children and has nine grandchildren. Nurturing is second nature to her. But I’m not complaining. I’ve hardly had to cook since I hired her, and quite frankly, she’s much better at it than I’ve ever been.” She watched as Paulo sampled a forkful of lasagna. “How is it?”

      “Incredible,” he said, sounding mildly surprised. “Probably the best lasagna I’ve ever had.”

      “Oh God,” Tommie groaned. “Please don’t tell Mrs. Calhoun that. You already had her eating out of the palm of your hand after you complimented her piano playing. If you tell her she makes the best lasagna you’ve ever had, she’ll think you walk on water.”

      Paulo’s straight white teeth flashed in a grin. “Now, now. Don’t be jealous.”

      Tommie rolled her eyes. “In your dreams, Sanchez.”

      He chuckled, taking another bite of lasagna. “So, how are you enjoying Houston so far?”

      “I love it,” Tommie said sincerely. “I’ve got this fabulous loft, my own dance studio. I’m close to the downtown theater district, and I’ve made a lot of friends at the Houston Met.”

      “The dance company?”

      Tommie nodded. “I’ve already been to several performances there. I never realized Houston had such a thriving arts scene. I feel right at home.”

      Paulo cocked a brow at her. “You’re telling me you don’t miss the hustle and bustle of New York, the city that never sleeps?”

      “A little,” Tommie admitted quietly. “There’s no place on earth like New York City. But Texas is, and always will be, my home.”

      “Is that why you left the Big Apple?” Paulo murmured, studying her with those dark, probing eyes that saw way too much. “Because you were homesick?”

      Tommie lifted one shoulder and averted her gaze, becoming absorbed in her meal, even as she felt her appetite waning. She didn’t want to think about, let alone discuss, the devastating scandal that had derailed her professional dancing career seven months ago. She’d never told anyone what had happened in New York. As close as she and her older sister had become in recent years, not even Frankie knew Tommie’s shameful secret. She certainly wasn’t about to bare her soul to Paulo Sanchez, a man who was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger to her.

      Deciding to turn the tables on him, Tommie ventured casually, “What about you? What made you decide to leave San Antonio?”

      Paulo shrugged, returning his attention to his food. “I wanted a change of scenery.”

      Tommie’s eyes narrowed on his face. Just as before, she sensed that there was a story behind his vague response, and once again, her curiosity was aroused. But the sudden tension in Paulo’s broad shoulders and the hardening of his jaw warned her to back off.

      So I’m not the only one with secrets.

      Oddly comforted by the thought, Tommie said conversationally, “I guess moving to Houston wasn’t such a stretch for you. Frankie told me you have family here.”

      Paulo nodded. “I used to visit them every summer when I was growing up. My cousin Rafe and I were thick as thieves.”

      Tommie smiled whimsically. “Interesting analogy, considering you both grew up to become law enforcement officers. Guess you both decided it was nobler to play cops than robbers.”

      Paulo smiled a little. “Never looked at it that way. Rafe always wanted to be an FBI agent. Me? I had a hard enough time just staying out of trouble.”

      Tommie widened her eyes in exaggerated disbelief. “You? Getting into trouble? No way!”

      Paulo chuckled. “Good thing I’m a changed man.”

      Tommie snorted rudely. “Yeah, right.”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      She gave him a knowing look. “Need I remind you of the compromising position I caught you in at my sister’s wedding, of all places?”

      “Oh. That.” His mouth curved in a wolfish grin. “What can I say? Some people cry at weddings. I prefer to get laid.”

      Tommie sputtered indignantly, “Sebastien is one of your best friends! You were a groomsman! Couldn’t you at least have waited until after the reception before you tended to your libido?”

      Paulo’s grin widened. “Obviously not.”

      Tommie shook her head in disgust. “Pig.”

      He threw back his head and laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that did dangerous things to her heart rate. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, wishing for the umpteenth time that he didn’t have such a powerful effect on her. He was sexy as hell with his leather jacket, butt-hugging jeans, cocky swagger, and wickedly irreverent attitude. A man like Paulo Sanchez could only bring Tommie heartache, and that was the last thing she needed or wanted in her life.

      Paulo draped his arm over the back of her stool and leaned close, his brown eyes glinting with mischief. “Come now, Tomasina,” he murmured, his voice a low, silky caress. “Are you objecting to what you caught me doing at your sister’s wedding, or the fact that I wasn’t doing it with you?”

      Tommie stared at him, heat suffusing her cheeks. He knew. The arrogant bastard knew that she’d wanted him that day. He knew how humiliated she’d felt when she stumbled upon him with another woman.

      Angrily she jerked her gaze away and snapped, “Don’t call me Tomasina.”

      Paulo chuckled, a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he drew back from her. “My apologies,” he drawled. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with Mrs. Calhoun calling you Tomasina.”

      She frowned. “That’s different.”

      “How so?”

      “Mrs. Calhoun is old school. She doesn’t like nicknames, especially masculine-sounding nicknames for females. And she reminds me a lot of my favorite grandmother, who passed away when I was seventeen.” Tommie shrugged, idly picking at her lasagna. “As far as I’m concerned, Mrs. Calhoun can call me whatever she wants. You, on the other hand, enjoy no such privilege.”

      Paulo feigned a wounded look. “That really hurts my feelings.”

      Tommie couldn’t help laughing. “You are so full of it! Which reminds me, you never did answer my question. What are you doing here?”

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