of the clear blue?” Tommie’s voice was heavy with skepticism. “I’ve been in Houston for seven months, Paulo. Why did you suddenly decide—” She broke off, her eyes narrowing suspiciously on his face. “Wait a minute. Did my sister ask you to check up on me?”
“No.”
“Liar!”
“What?”
“I know the only reason you’re here is that Frankie asked—no, begged—you to stop by.”
Paulo scowled. “First of all, no one begged me to do anything. And even if Frankie did ask me to check up on you, what would be so terrible about that? She’s your big sister, she’s supposed to worry about you.”
Tommie pounced. “I knew it! You did talk to her!” Incensed, she shot out of her chair, snatched her plate of half-eaten lasagna off the counter, and stalked over to the kitchen sink.
Behind her, Paulo said evenly, “I don’t understand why you’re so upset about—”
Tommie whirled around. “Ever since I left New York, Frankie and my parents have been nagging me about moving back home. Every time I talk to one of them on the phone, it’s the same thing. ‘Why do you want to live in Houston, Tommie?’ ‘Wouldn’t you rather be close to all your family and friends, Tommie?’” She shook her head in angry exasperation. “I know they mean well, but I don’t appreciate being treated like some teenage runaway who can’t handle the responsibility of being on my own. I’m thirty-three years old, damn it. I think I’ve already proved that I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
When she’d ended her tirade, Paulo said nothing, staring at her with an unreadable expression. The longer he remained silent, the more Tommie wanted to kick herself for letting her emotions get the better of her. If she had been romantically interested in Paulo, bitching about her problems—when they hardly even knew each other—would have been a surefire way to send him running for the hills. Experience had taught her that nothing drove a man away faster than a woman with too much baggage.
Turning away, she busied herself with scraping the remnants of her lasagna off her plate and down the drain. With the faucet running and the garbage disposal grinding noisily, she didn’t hear Paulo approaching until he appeared beside her at the counter, placing his empty plate into the sink. Tommie tensed as he reached over, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger and gently turning her head, forcing her to meet his dark, intent gaze.
“You may be thirty-three years old, querida,” he murmured, “but you still have a lot of growing up to do.” Before Tommie could open her mouth to protest, he laid a finger against her lips and shook his head slowly. “Just hear me out.”
Tommie glared mutinously at him.
“I come from a big family,” Paulo continued. “I have four siblings and more aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, and nephews than I can count. One thing I’ve learned over the years is that no matter what may have happened in the past or what you may accomplish in life, there’s nothing more important than family. Nothing. The next time your sister or your parents ask you about moving back home, don’t automatically assume they’re trying to keep a leash on you. Consider the possibility that they need you as much as you need them.” He paused, a hint of irony touching his mouth. “And if you think you don’t need them, think again.”
Tommie gazed at him, his words striking a chord deep within her. Her relationship with her family had been complicated for as long as she could remember, and as much as she liked to believe she’d worked through all her issues during the four years she’d been away from home, she knew she still had a ways to go. Her outburst of a few minutes ago was proof of that.
Suddenly aware of Paulo’s finger still resting against her lips, Tommie jerked her head back. “Thanks for the psychoanalysis, Dr. Sanchez,” she quipped with an aloofness she didn’t feel. “Be sure to send me your bill.”
Paulo gave her a small, knowing smile that told her he saw right through her act. As she watched, he reached out and lightly trailed a fingertip down her cheek. Her flesh tingled. Her pulse quickened.
Striving to ignore her body’s reaction to his touch, she glared at him. “You really have a problem keeping your hands to yourself, don’t you, Detective?” she demanded. But her voice was too breathless, too husky with awareness to convincingly deliver the reprimand.
Paulo’s gaze darkened. He shifted closer, subtly trapping her between the counter and his body.
Her heart thudded. She found herself staring at the sensual curve of his lips and wondering, not for the first time, how they would feel against hers, how they would taste.
As Paulo slowly lowered his dark head toward hers, her lips parted.
A cell phone jangled loudly, startling them both.
Frowning at the interruption, Paulo dug the phone out of his back pocket and flipped it open. “Sanchez.”
Turning away, Tommie inhaled a shaky breath, thinking of how dangerously close she had come to letting Paulo kiss her.
Letting? her conscience mocked. You were practically begging him to kiss you!
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Paulo’s expression turn grim as he listened into the phone. “I’ll be right there,” he muttered before snapping it shut and shoving it back into his pocket.
Tommie arched a brow. “Duty calls?”
“Yeah.” There was a trace of regret in his voice. He held her gaze for a long moment, then turned away.
She watched as he strode around the breakfast counter to retrieve his leather jacket from the back of the bar stool he’d been sitting on. “Well, thanks for stopping by,” she said briskly. “As you can see I’m just fine, so you don’t have to check up on me anymore.”
Paulo sent her a wry look as he shrugged into his jacket. “Is that your not-so-subtle way of telling me never to darken your doorstep again?”
Tommie couldn’t help grinning. “You said it, not me.” Grabbing her keys off the countertop, she said, “I’ll walk you downstairs. I have to lock up the building anyway.”
As she followed him down the old stairwell, their footsteps echoed hollowly in the enclosed space, bouncing off the bare brick walls and bounding up to the skylight roof. During the daytime the stairway was flooded with natural light and warmth. At night it seemed cold and cavernous, dimly illuminated with recessed lighting that needed replacing. Getting her dance studio finished had ranked higher on Tommie’s list of priorities than having a well-lit stairwell.
As if he’d intercepted her thoughts, Paulo, frowning at the ceiling, advised, “You should probably get those bulbs replaced soon.”
“I know. It’s a wiring issue, so I have to call an electrician. It’s on my to-do list, along with installing a locker room for my students and getting the intercom system fixed.”
Paulo nodded. “I’m surprised this entire building wasn’t converted into lofts. Those are really popular in this area.”
“That’s what the previous owner intended to do when he first bought the warehouse. He wanted to divide it into four cozy lofts. He only got as far as completing the first unit before he ran into some zoning
