theater or warehouse district—made it difficult for him to resell without taking a huge profit loss.” Which he eventually did anyway when he sold the property to Tommie way below market value.
“I guess you came along at the right time,” Paulo observed.
“Most definitely,” Tommie agreed. “This building was a steal. I was able to kill two birds with one stone—I found a place to live and a place for my business.”
“What’s the square footage?”
“Five thousand. A bit small by warehouse standards, but more than enough to suit my needs. I would have killed for this kind of space back in New York.”
They had reached the landing. To their right, the studio sat dark and empty.
As Tommie followed Paulo to the main door, she said, “Seriously, though. The next time my sister asks you to check up on me, feel free to let her know you’re a busy detective with better things to do with your time than babysitting grown women.”
Paulo stopped at the door and turned back to her. “The only problem with that,” he murmured, his eyes roaming across her face, “is that your sister never asked me to check up on you.” He paused for a moment, letting that sink in before adding, “Thanks for dinner. I’ll be seeing you around.”
Tommie locked the door behind him and leaned against it, her pulse drumming as his parting words echoed through her mind. I’ll be seeing you around.
Good Lord. The man could make even the most innocuous statement sound like a seductive promise. What had he meant by that? Surely he didn’t intend to show up there again, after she’d specifically told him not to?
And what about the other thing he’d said? Did he really expect Tommie to believe that her sister hadn’t put him up to visiting her?
She frowned.
Only one way to find out.
Chapter 2
As Paulo emerged from Tommie Purnell’s building that evening and climbed into an unmarked police cruiser, his mind wasn’t on the crime scene he’d been summoned to a few minutes ago. Instead his thoughts were dominated by the woman he’d just left behind.
Tommie Purnell was as stunningly beautiful as he remembered, with flawless brown skin, long dark hair streaked with honey, sultry dark eyes, high cheekbones, and full, lush lips. She also happened to be sexier than any woman had a right to be—five foot eight inches of voluptuous curves poured into the body of a centerfold. A walking wet dream.
From the moment Paulo met her four years ago, he’d been ensnared by the sensuality she exuded like powerful pheromones. Everything about her, from her smoky voice to the way she moved, was primitively erotic. Dangerous.
Every unmarried man at the wedding, and even some of the hitched ones, had wanted to fuck her. None more so than Paulo. He’d had the privilege of escorting Tommie down the aisle and holding her in his arms as they’d danced together at the reception. And he’d been the envy of every bachelor gathered in the crowd when he’d caught the garter belt, giving him the perfect excuse to run his hands up Tommie’s shapely thigh, to feel the hot silk of her skin. When he looked into her glittering eyes, he’d known that beneath her haughty facade, she had wanted him as much as he’d wanted her. But no matter how sexy she was, and no matter how powerful the attraction between them, Paulo’s gut instincts had warned him that Tommie Purnell was trouble with a capital T. And considering his track record with women, which included a brief, disastrous marriage that had ended in divorce and an affair that had resulted in unspeakable tragedy, the last thing Paulo needed in his life was to become involved with a temptress like Tommie.
Since her arrival in town seven months ago, he’d purposely kept his distance. He knew that seeing her again would only remind him of how much he wanted her, and how completely wrong she was for him. Besides, he hadn’t come to Houston looking for romance. He’d come here in search of a fresh start, to get his life back on track.
If only he could have stuck to his guns and stayed the hell away from Tommie.
The sight of her in a tight black leotard that outlined her firm, voluptuous breasts, and black leggings that molded those impossibly long legs of hers, had sent his blood pressure skyrocketing through the roof. When their gazes locked in the mirror, Paulo knew that nothing had changed. The chemistry between them was as potent as ever. If his cell phone hadn’t rung when it did, there’s no telling whether he would have stopped at just kissing her.
Paulo scowled, forcefully shoving all thoughts of Tommie to the back of his mind as he reached his destination, a meticulously landscaped neighborhood located minutes away from Houston’s Galleria. Even before Paulo turned onto Woodland Drive, a quaint, tree-lined street flanked by large one- and two-story brick houses, he saw the flashing lights of emergency vehicles. A car from the sheriff’s department was already parked at the end of the street, discouraging unauthorized persons from turning into the block. Three vans from local television stations and several other vehicles were staked out along the intersecting road. The reporters and cameramen taped live footage of the scene while the onlookers stood outside their cars gawking at the unfolding drama.
Paulo maneuvered around the police cruiser barricading the lane and nosed into a narrow spot beside the ambulance. He unwrapped a piece of Nicorette gum and stuffed it into his mouth, then reached for the door handle. He climbed out of the car and stepped into the clear, crisp night, grateful for the cold snap that had settled over the city, however temporarily.
As he started toward the single-story redbrick house that was swarming with activity, he saw neighbors hovering in doorways and clustered on front lawns and sidewalks. He felt the weight of their stares as he strode up the front walkway, lined on both sides with carefully tended beds of azaleas and begonias. A white BMW was parked in the driveway, and the house had been roped off with yellow crime-scene tape.
The uniformed officer standing guard at the front door nodded a greeting to Paulo and lifted the tape high enough for him to duck under.
“You the first on the scene?” Paulo asked as he signed the obligatory security logbook.
The officer nodded. “Call came into dispatch about an hour ago. I was the closest, lucky me.” He grimaced, shaking his blond head. “It ain’t pretty in there.”
“It rarely is.” Paulo stepped into the spacious foyer and glanced around the tastefully furnished living room. A cream sofa and love seat, along with a brown leather chaise longue, were arranged around a limestone fireplace that soared to the second-story ceiling. Vibrant watercolors depicting scenes of a bustling Mexican village hung on the walls.
The place was already crawling with crime-scene investigators, detectives from the sheriff’s department, and staff members from the coroner’s office. Measurements were being taken, the rooms dusted for fingerprints or shoe prints, a vacuum used to suck up any unseen trace evidence. A videographer panned the rooms of the house, throughout which bright lights had been set up.
Another uniformed officer greeted Paulo by name, then ushered him down a long, wide corridor. The air was redolent with the stench of blood and violent death.
At the end of the hallway they reached the master bedroom. A young woman’s nude body lay spread-eagled on the floor in a pool of blood. She’d been stabbed multiple times across her throat and chest. Blood from the deep, savage lacerations had leaked onto the oatmeal-colored Berber carpeting beneath her.
