Perfection in every kiss...

After a decade abroad, international playboy Immanuel Morretti is ready to reunite with his family and share the good life with that one special woman. When he rescues Dionne Fontaine from a dangerous attacker, he knows in his heart that he’s found her. Despite the desire igniting between them, the self-made Southern beauty refuses to take their sizzling affair to the next level.

With her life-coaching center taking off, Dionne is poised for game-changing success. Then this dashing, sensuous man comes into her life and his tenderness and passion tempt her to believe in happy endings. From Atlanta to Seattle to Venice, Immanuel showers her with romantic dinners and intimate nights beyond her wildest dreams. But explosive secrets from their pasts could sabotage their thrilling vision of love...and a future together...

Dionne nodded, but she didn’t move.

Immanuel didn’t either. Couldn’t. Felt as if his feet were glued to the ground. Their eyes met, held for a beat. Lust exploded inside his body, threatened to consume him. Their connection was undeniable, but it was nothing he’d ever act upon. He’d been burned by love before, betrayed by a woman he’d thought was his soul mate, and he wasn’t going down that road again. Not even for a dime piece like Dionne. He had to keep his head, had to remember that no good could ever come of them being lovers. That’s easier said than done, he thought.

Dionne stared at him, her gaze strong and intense. His hands itched to touch her, to caress every slope and curve on her delicious body. His pulse quickened, and his thoughts ran wild. What would she do if I kissed her? Would she push me away or kiss me back? Does she feel the chemistry between us, or is it a figment of my imagination?

There’s only one way to find out, whispered his inner voice.

Dear Reader,

Born into one of Italy’s wealthiest, most prominent families, Immanuel Morretti has more money than he can ever spend. But that doesn’t mean he’s lived a charmed life. He is estranged from his father, has endured a bitter scandal that damaged his reputation and business, and he caught his fiancée in bed with another man—his younger brother. Love is the last thing on Immanuel’s mind when he relocates from Venice to Atlanta, so imagine his surprise when he meets Dionne Fontaine and falls hard and fast for her.

Too bad she’s off-limits.

On the outside looking in, Dionne seems to have it all, but she has fears and insecurities just like the rest of us. Unlucky in love, with two failed marriages, she’s given up all hope of ever meeting her soul mate and living happily ever after.

Enter Immanuel Morretti.

The security specialist is more than just a handsome face and chiseled physique. He’s the total package, a hero with a heart of gold, and everything about him excites her. Dionne and Immanuel are a match made in heaven. After a romantic weekend in The Emerald City filled with passionate kisses, shared confidences and delicious lovemaking, they decide to take a chance on love—and each other.

Hearing from readers is the highlight of my day, so keep the emails, reviews and messages coming! I appreciate each and every one of you, and I’m humbled by your support. Happy reading.

All the best in life and love,

Pamela Yaye

Seduced by the Hero

Pamela Sadadi

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PAMELA YAYE has a bachelor’s degree in Christian education. Her love for African-American fiction prompted her to pursue a career in writing romance. When she’s not working on her latest novel, this busy wife, mother and teacher is watching basketball, cooking or planning her next vacation. Pamela lives in Alberta, Canada, with her gorgeous husband and adorable, but mischievous, son and daughter.

Acknowledgments

This is my twentieth Harlequin novel. Yes, you read that correctly. TWENTIETH. It seems like just yesterday I got “the call,” but it’s been eight wonderful years.

They say it takes a village to raise a child, and the same can be said about publishing a romance novel! I want to thank Harlequin, my amazing agent, Sha-Shana Crichton, for believing in my gift, past and present Kimani staff, and my friends and family for their unwavering support. I’m living my dream, and you’re the reason why. Here’s to twenty more!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Copyright

Chapter 1

“Surely you can’t be that dumb.” Dionne Fontaine heard the scathing retort leave her mouth and wished she could cram the words back down her throat. Not because she felt guilty for losing her temper, but because the novice life coach with the Dolly Parton–like cleavage had burst into tears.

Her vice president and friend, Sharleen Nichols, glared at her as if she were the problem, and Dionne wondered if she’d been too harsh. Considering all of the facts, Dionne determined her next move. Sharleen and Annabelle Clark had arrived at her office ten minutes earlier, during her morning meditation time, and although she’d been annoyed by the interruption, Dionne had given them her undivided attention. She was the CEO of Pathways Center, the head woman in charge, and she prided herself on being accessible to her employees. Even starstruck life coaches who put themselves in compromising situations with male clients.

“Annabelle did nothing wrong,” Sharleen insisted, her tone matter-of-fact. “It’s not her fault Ryder Knoxx propositioned her during their free consultation yesterday. She shouldn’t be blamed for his poor judgment.”

Feeling contrite, Dionne spoke in a sympathetic tone. “Entertainers are notorious womanizers with no conscience. Since it’s obvious Mr. Knoxx has a crush on you, I’ll assign you to another client and pass the aging rock star on to a more seasoned life coach.”

Panic flickered across her face. “No. Don’t. I like him, and we have a lot in common.”

“This isn’t about you, Annabelle. This is about doing what’s best for our clients.”

Her shoulders drooped, and she slid down in her chair, as if she were trying to disappear into the plush, soft fabric. “But we clicked,” she whined. “Ryder thinks we’re kindred spirits.”

Of course he does. He’s trying to get into your pants, and you’re too stupid to realize it.

Dionne struggled to control her temper. It was a challenge, especially in light of everything that had happened at the center in recent months, but she maintained her cool. “Your goal as a life coach is to encourage and support clients through their problems and issues, not become their BFFs.”

Annabelle started to speak to argue her point, but Dionne silenced her with a look. Her Southern drawl was charming, but she was a pain in the ass and she wanted to get rid of her. “Life coaching is about helping people improve the quality of their lives without expecting anything in return,” she continued. “It’s imperative you act professional at all times, and don’t, under any circumstances, accept money, gifts or favors from clients.”

“Does that mean I can’t attend the world music awards with Ryder next month?”

“That’s exactly what it means.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” Dionne snapped, finally losing her patience. The more time she spent with Annabelle, the less she liked her, and she suspected the only reason the university graduate had applied to Pathways was to hook up with a celebrity. “You’ve only been working here for three months, and since you started it’s been one problem after another...”

Sharleen tried to interrupt her, but Dionne was on a roll. She didn’t believe in biting her tongue or sugarcoating the truth. She always spoke her mind. “I’m all for a woman using her physical assets to get ahead, but you need a make-under. Tone down the eyeliner, lay off the hair spray and, for goodness’ sake, cover your tits. This is a place of business.”

Sniffling, Annabelle cleaned her plump, tearstained cheeks with the back of her hands. “You’re right, Mrs. Fontaine. I’m sorry. I’ll do better, I promise.”

“You better, or you’re fired.”

Sharleen winced as if she were in pain, but Dionne pretended not to notice.

“Pathways is my life, and I won’t let you or anyone else destroy my agency.”

Nodding, Annabelle rose to her feet and straightened her low-cut, belted dress. “I better head back to my office. My next session starts at ten, and I need time to prepare.”

Annabelle hustled through the open door and closed it behind her.

Dionne was glad to see her leave. “You never should have hired her,” she said, reaching for her oversize mug and raising it to her lips. “She’s young and immature, and so damn gullible. It’s hard to believe she’s twenty-seven years old.”

“Annabelle’s a good life coach.”

“That remains to be seen.”

Sharleen released a deep breath. With her flawless complexion and delicate features, she’d always been a pretty girl, but since meeting race-car driver Emilio Morretti, she’d stepped up her fashion game. No longer self-conscious about the scars on her arms and legs she’d suffered in a tragic house fire, she’d traded in her dark suits for vibrant designer outfits. The oversize bow on the neckline of her red A-line dress was eye-catching, and her pearl accessories enhanced the femininity of her look.

“You’re being too hard on her,” Sharleen said.

“And you’re being too nice.”

“Leave everything to me. I’ll mentor her and show her how to be a great life coach.”

Dionne admired her optimism. Appointing Sharleen as her VP was the smartest thing she’d ever done. She hoped they’d be friends and partners for many years to come.

Not if Emilio Morretti has his way, whispered her inner voice.

The sports legend had proposed to Sharleen on her twenty-eighth birthday, and three weeks later she was still floating on air. Standing on the podium after winning the World Series All-Star Race, Emilio had stunned her friend—and the 1.5 million viewers watching worldwide—by popping the question on live TV. The happy couple were planning to exchange vows in Venice, Italy. Although Dionne had tried talking Sharleen out of getting married in December, her friend was determined to tie the knot in just three months’ time. She was convinced Emilio was “the one,” and she was so anxious to jump the broom, it was all she could talk about. Dionne only hoped Sharleen wouldn’t one day regret her decision—

Like me, she thought sadly, swallowing hard. If I had known then what I know now, I never would have married Jules after dating for only six months.

“Annabelle has the requisite skills,” Sharleen continued. “She just needs to put what she’s learned in the classroom into practice, and I’m confident she can—”

“Well, I’m not. I think she’s a liability, and I want her gone.” Taking a sip of her green tea, she kicked off her Gucci pumps and reclined comfortably in her zebra-print chair. Dionne loved her office. It was bright, welcoming and feminine, just like her. She’d spent a fortune decorating it, and was thrilled her interior designer had brought her vision to life. Star-shaped chandeliers hung from the ceilings, teal walls evoked feelings of calm, her Versace furniture reeked of glamour, and the burgundy carpet was pillow-soft.

“Give Annabelle another chance. This is her first coaching job, and she’s still finding her footing,” Sharleen explained. “I believe in her, and you should, too.”

Dionne drank her tea, gave some thought to what Sharleen said. “I liked you better when you were single,” she teased, hoping to lighten the mood with a joke. “You used to be tough and tenacious, but now that you’re in love you’re a total softy.”

A smile brightened Sharleen’s face. It was obvious she was thinking about her fiancé. It took everything in Dionne not to roll her eyes to the ceiling when her friend sighed dreamily and gazed longingly at her engagement ring. It was the size of a golf ball, encrusted with diamonds, and it was the most beautiful piece of jewelry Dionne had ever seen.

“I can’t help it,” Sharleen said with a giggle. “I’m so freakin’ happy, I feel like dancing in the streets. I want to share my happiness with everyone I know.”

“I’m thrilled for you, but your romance is bad for business.”

“Bad for business?” she repeated, arching an eyebrow. “In what way?”

“Because of you, our female life coaches are secretly hoping to make a love connection with every wealthy client, and as a result are breaking the employee conduct rules.”

“My feelings for Emilio have nothing to do with him being famous, and everything to do with who he is as a person. He makes me feel special, as if I’m all that matters...”

They all do in the beginning, but it doesn’t last. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. I’ve been married twice.

“If Emilio lost everything tomorrow, it wouldn’t change how I feel about him. I’d live with him in a cardboard box if I had to.” Happiness warmed her face, and she laughed heartily. “But enough about me and my amazing fiancé. How are you doing?”

Dionne finished her tea and put down her mug. “Great, fantastic, couldn’t be better.”

“I know the last few weeks have been tough on you, what with your in-laws bad-mouthing you to the press and the construction delays at the Seattle and LA offices, but I’m here for you, Dionne. You don’t have to deal with those issues alone.”

“Thanks, Sharleen, but I’m fine, really.”

“I don’t believe you...”

What do you want me to say? “My whole world is falling apart, and if I didn’t have Pathways to keep me going, I’d probably have a nervous breakdown”?

“It isn’t healthy to keep things bottled up.” Sharleen sounded wise, like a therapist counseling a distraught client. Her expression was filled with concern. “We’re a team, and I have your back. No matter what. You can count on me.”

Dionne shifted around on her chair and fiddled with the diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist. Every day, without fail, Sharleen asked how she was feeling, and every day, without fail, Dionne lied through her teeth. She didn’t want to talk about Jules or their contentious divorce proceedings. Not with Sharleen. Not with anyone. Working helped Dionne forget her hurt, her failures, and she’d rather suffer in silence than pour out her heart. She admired Sharleen and thought she was an exceptional life coach, but a woman desperately and madly in love wasn’t the right person to confide in. Neither were her two older sisters, Mel and Lorna, who both just didn’t understand what she was going through.

No one does—that’s why I keep my feelings to myself. Her gaze strayed to the window, and she peered outside. Pathways Center was in an attractive plaza filled with glitzy boutiques, cafés and beauty salons, but what Dionne loved most about the location was the hustle and bustle of Peachtree Street. Growing up in a large family, she’d always thrived in chaos, and having her business in a high-traffic area fueled her creative juices.

“We’ll get through this together. You have my word.” Sharleen reached across the desk and touched Dionne’s hand, giving it a light squeeze. “If you need anything, just ask. I’m here for you, and so is the rest of the Pathways family. You’ve built a fantastic team, and any one of our colleagues would be glad to listen if you need to talk. We’re a hundred percent behind you, Boss.”

Dionne opened her mouth to thank Sharleen for her support, but she couldn’t find her voice. She wasn’t one to cry, but her friend’s words made her eyes tear, and the room swam out of focus. Good God, what’s wrong with me? I’m an emotional wreck, and it’s only ten o’clock.

“How did your meeting go yesterday with Jules and his attorney?” Sharleen asked. “Are you any closer to finalizing the terms of your divorce? Have you finally reached an agreement you’re both satisfied with?”

I wish, but he’s determined to screw me over. Dionne’s gaze fell across the picture frame on her desk. The photograph had been taken Labor Day weekend at her childhood home, and every time Dionne looked at the picture of her loved ones, her heart ached. In her culture divorce was frowned upon, something her deeply religious Somali father was vehemently against, and Dionne felt horrible about the pain she’d caused her family. Her parents adored Jules; so did her siblings, and every day her mother implored her to kiss and make up with her estranged husband.

No way, no how, she thought. Her Prince Charming had turned out to be a frog, and she was sick of playing the role of the dutiful wife. They were finished, over for good, and there was nothing Jules could say to convince her to reconcile. Their marriage had been stained with insults, name-calling and lies, and Dionne was ready for a clean break.

“Nothing’s changed. Jules is still as stubborn as ever and...”

Dionne suddenly closed her mouth, stopping herself from saying any more. Even though she knew the divorce was for the best, discussing the demise of her marriage always made her emotional. Scared her emotions would get the best of her, and she’d end up bawling all over her Escada pantsuit, Dionne turned toward her computer monitor and typed in her password. “I have to finish my speech for the Seattle Leadership Conference, so let’s touch base later.”

“It’s Thursday, remember? I’m off at noon.”

“Hot date?” Dionne teased, playfully wiggling her eyebrows.

“You know it.” Sharleen cheered and danced around in her chair. “Emilio’s taking me to Fiji for the weekend.”

“Again? But you guys were there Labor Day weekend.”

“What can I say? My fiancé likes spoiling me, and I’d be a fool to stop him.”

Enjoy it while it lasts, because things will change. They always do, and not for the better.

“I’ll be back on Sunday, but call if you need me.”

“Why bother? You never answer your phone after hours.”

Her eyes twinkled, and a smirk curled the corners of her glossy lips. “You wouldn’t either if you had a man to wine you and dine you.”

“It’s a shame Emilio doesn’t have a twin,” Dionne joked, laughing.

“He doesn’t have a twin, but he does have five very single, very handsome brothers. Want me to hook you up?”

“Hell no!” she shrieked, fervently shaking her head. “The last thing I need is another lying, cheating man in my life. I’m better off alone.”

“Not all men are dogs, you know.”

You’re right, they’re not, but the good ones are rare and harder to find than the exit at a corn maze. Dionne hadn’t dated anyone since leaving Jules and moving out of their marital home, and she had no intention of putting herself out there anytime soon. Her focus was on building her business and spending time with her family. They wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t betray her trust—

“You and Jules have been separated for almost a year,” she pointed out. “Wouldn’t you like to do something besides work? You’re a great catch, Dionne, and there are plenty of eligible, successful men who’d love to date you.”

“I’m not interested. I like my life just the way it is, thank you very much. I have my business, my family and my friends, and that’s more than enough.”

“Well, if you change your mind just let me know.”

I won’t, so don’t hold your breath. Unconditional love is a myth, and the notion of living happily ever after is a fairly tale.

The phone sounded, and Dionne sighed in relief. She was tired of talking about men, namely her good-for-nothing ex, and wanted to get back to doing what she did best: running her business. Dionne hoped it was her divorce attorney calling with good news, and placed her hand on the receiver to signal the end of their conversation.

Thankfully, Sharleen took the hint and rose from her chair. “Have a good weekend,” she said, marching towards the door. “Don’t work too hard.”

Back in CEO mode, Dionne sat up tall and cleared her throat. Even though her marriage was in shambles, she looked forward to coming to work every day and enjoyed connecting with clients. “Dionne Fontaine speaking,” she said brightly, turning away from her computer screen. “How can I help you?”

“You can start by returning the money you stole from me.”

Her eyes narrowed, filled with hate. Damn. It was Jules. Again. How many times did she have to tell her assistant not to put his calls through? Her ex could be persuasive, charming even, but still Lily worked for her, not Jules, and now because her assistant was a softy, she was stuck talking to her estranged husband. The man who’d made her life a living hell for the past year. Her first impulse was to hang up the phone, which is what she usually did when he called, but this time she didn’t. “I have nothing to say to you. Quit calling me at work. I’m busy.”

“Return my money. You stole from me, and I want every cent back.”

Dionne played dumb, pretending not to know what he was talking about. She was, of course, aware of what Jules was referring to, but she wasn’t going to argue with him about the six-figure donation she’d made to the Atlanta Children’s Shelter just days before she filed for divorce. If you can spend thousands of dollars at the strip club, then I can give thousands of dollars to a worthy cause.

“This has gone on long enough,” he snapped, his voice taut with anger. “You made your point. Now, move back home before I change my mind about giving you another chance.”

“This isn’t a game. We’re through, and there’s nothing you can say to change my mind.”

“You don’t mean that. Think of all the good times we’ve had.”

What good times? We argued constantly, and you betrayed me over and over again. For five years, they’d lived in comfort and affluence, but it was time to end her marriage and move on with her life. Her parents couldn’t talk her out of it; neither could her in-laws, and in the time they’d been separated, she’d never once regretted her decision.

“Every marriage goes through rough times,” he said. “Don’t let your insecurities ruin us.”

“It was your lies that destroyed us, not me.”

“We need to talk, alone, without our attorneys. What time will you be home?”

Her stomach twisted into knots. Was Jules in her house? Was he calling from her master bedroom? Snooping through her things again? Last Friday, she’d arrived home to find Jules in her living room, and if she hadn’t pretended to call the police with her cell phone, he’d probably still be demanding she withdraw the divorce papers.

“If you keep harassing me I’ll file a restraining order against you.”

“But I love you.”

Dionne burst out laughing. Surely he wasn’t serious? Jules thought if he poured on the charm, she’d be putty in his hands, but his attempt to sweet talk her was so pathetic she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. His moods changed as often as the weather, and she’d always been on guard around him. She never knew what to expect, what would set him off, and hated how he used to take his frustrations out on her. “You don’t love anyone but yourself. That’s how it’s always been, and you’ll never change.”

“If you come back home I’ll buy you a Porsche, a new mansion, anything you want...”

Dionne tuned him out, losing interest in his smooth, slippery speech. Instead of trying to fix the problems in their marriage, Jules had put all his time and energy into running his family’s construction business, Fontaine Enterprises. To this day Dionne felt as if she’d never truly known him. He had a temper, but it was his lies and infidelities that had destroyed their relationship. Despite his family pedigree and accomplishments, Jules was the most insecure man she’d ever met, and Dionne had no respect for him.

“Is this about money?” she asked.

Jules barked a laugh, and the sharp sound pierced Dionne’s eardrum.

“Of course this is about money. With you it always is. Call off the divorce and I’ll increase your weekly allowance by ten thousand dollars. Will that make you happy?”

Disgusted, Dionne stared down at the receiver with contempt. Jules was showing off, talking big, but she knew the real reason he was calling, why he was blowing up her phone day and night. Jules had political aspirations, dreams of being the next mayor of Atlanta, and feared a divorce would tarnish his perfect image. Dionne didn’t give a rat’s ass about his public persona. Reconciliation wasn’t an option, never would be. It wasn’t in his DNA to be faithful and honest, and she was tired of making excuses for his poor choices. Their marriage was broken, irrevocably damaged, and nothing could change that. “You know what would make me happy, Jules? A divorce. So revise your initial offer, or take your chances in court in November.”

“I made you a generous offer, and I’m even willing to overlook the money you stole from me.” His voice was terse, colder than ice. “If you embarrass me or my family in court I’ll make your life a living hell, so I strongly suggest you think long and hard about your decision.”

Dionne broke into a cold sweat and couldn’t stop her hands and legs from shaking.

“Imagine what would happen to your business if the truth came to light.”

Panic drenched her skin. Dionne had one regret in life, and it wasn’t eloping at nineteen with her first husband; it was confiding in Jules about her past. He was threatening to tell the world the truth about her rags-to-riches success story, and his threats were weighing on her. On the surface, she appeared to be strong, but she was stressed out about the divorce and her future.

“You’re not a self-made woman. You’re a fraud, and if you don’t do what I say, you’ll suffer my wrath...”

Dionne was afraid of losing everything she’d worked hard for, but she refused to buckle under the weight of her fear. Jules didn’t control her anymore, couldn’t tell her what to do, and she was sick and tired of arguing with him. “This conversation is over.”

“Like hell it is. It’s not over until I say it’s over. You hear me?”

“Goodbye, Jules. See you in court.”

Without a second thought, Dionne dropped the receiver on the cradle, pushed all thoughts of her estranged husband out of her mind and got back to work.

Chapter 2

Two weeks. That’s how long security specialist Immanuel Morretti had been trailing Dionne Fontaine. Always from a distance, he kept a low profile and blended into the background, wisely hiding himself in the crowd. He’d followed her husband’s instructions to a tee, and was surprised to discover everything Mr. Fontaine had said about his estranged wife was true. She was curt, demanding and obsessed with her looks. Beauty treatments, shopping sprees and spa days were the norm. She loved dining at chic restaurants filled with socialites and celebrities.

Parked under a lamppost in a black Ford Expedition with tinted windows, Immanuel watched the front door of Pathways Center, keeping his eyes trained on the brick building in the middle of Peachtree Plaza. His company, Mastermind Operations, specialized in physical, personal and cybersecurity, and his surveillance division was in such high demand he’d had to hire additional staff last week. Since opening Mastermind Operations in Atlanta three months earlier, he’d been working nonstop—meeting prospective clients, training staff and creating innovative ad campaigns. But since Jules Fontaine had insisted Immanuel personally take on his case, he’d had no choice but to clear his schedule and leave his business partner, Malcolm Black, in charge. Jules Fontaine was not someone you refused, and Immanuel knew working for the esteemed CFO could open doors for him.

Immanuel had committed Dionne Fontaine’s daily routine to memory. He’d collected a wealth of information since “meeting” her, but he hadn’t uncovered anything incriminating yet. Her husband was convinced she was having an affair with a younger man, and he wanted physical evidence before their November court hearing. That gave Immanuel eight weeks to prove his worth to Mr. Fontaine, and he would.

Yawning, Immanuel leaned back in his seat and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He’d been sitting in his truck for hours, but had used his time away from the office wisely. He’d read his emails on his BlackBerry, returned phone calls and spoke to his assistant at length.

His BlackBerry sounded, flooding his truck with light. Pressing Talk, he put his cell phone to his ear and greeted his cousin. “Hey, Nicco, what’s up?” Immanuel lowered the volume on the radio. “How’s married life treating you?”

“Great, coz, I couldn’t be happier. You have no idea what you’re missing.”

“I think I do, and I’ll pass. Marriage isn’t for everybody, and it damn sure isn’t for me.”

“I felt the same way until I met my baby,” Nicco said good-naturedly. “You’ll change your mind once you meet Mrs. Right. You’ll see.”

Immanuel shook his head, snorted a bitter laugh. “Mrs. Right is a myth, so don’t bet on it.”

Nicco chuckled, and Immanuel did, too. He didn’t talk to his cousin often, only a couple times a month, but whenever they did, he had a good laugh. Now that he was living in the States, he planned to reconnect with his relatives, starting with Nicco and his brothers, Demetri and Rafael. He was looking forward to getting to know them better.

“How’s Hotlanta treating you? Finally settled in, or still living out of boxes?”

Regret tormented his soul. After last year’s scandal, he’d had no choice but to close down his offices in Venice. But not a day went by that he didn’t think about his family, especially his grandmother, Gianna. They were close, and despite the mistakes he’d made in his past, she’d always been his most fervent supporter. “Dante found me a bachelor pad in Brookhaven, and as of last night I’m all moved in,” he said. “I’m starting to like Atlanta—”

“Liar. You’re homesick and anxious to return to Venice, aren’t you?”

“Far from it. I have my hands full at the office and more work than employees.” Immanuel had done his research, taken the time to explore the market, and realized the Peach State was an entrepreneur’s dream. It had one of the strongest economies in the United States, and was home to prominent, influential businesspeople. Within months of opening Mastermind Operations, it was the agency to the stars. Thanks to his cousins’ numerous connections, celebrities and entertainers were flocking to his agency for protection, and business couldn’t be better. He had twenty-five employees on his payroll, and planned to double that number by the end of the year. He gave his staff the freedom to be themselves, encouraged them to think outside the box, and was reaping the dividends of trusting his team. Immanuel was contemplating opening a second location in Georgia, and had commissioned his younger brother, Dante Morretti, to find another property in Savannah.

“It sounds like business is booming. Tell me more.”

Immanuel did. He told Nicco about his five-year plan, his latest ad campaign and the Fontaine case. It was the big break he’d been waiting for, and if everything went according to plan, he’d be doing business with Fontaine Enterprises for years to come. The Atlanta-based, family-operated company was one of the premier construction companies in the state. It owned dozens of local businesses and had plans to expand into other American markets.

“Jules Fontaine of Fontaine Entreprises? He’s a big fish. How’d you meet him?”

“Through a mutual friend.”

“I’m glad things are working out for you,” Nicco said, his tone filled with warmth and sincerity. “And I’m looking forward to seeing you in December.”

“You’re coming to Atlanta for the holidays?”

“No, I’m going to Venice for Emilio’s wedding. Aren’t you going?”

Immanuel raked a hand through his dark brown hair, searching his brain for a suitable excuse. His sister, Francesca, had called him weeks earlier with the news, and as she chatted about Emilio and his fiancée, Immanuel got the sense that his brother had changed his life for the better. He was proud of him, but he didn’t want to reunite with the superstar. “I can’t go to the wedding. I have to work.” He added, “You’re an entrepreneur. You know how it is.”

“Nothing’s more important than family, Immanuel. Never forget that.”

That’s easy for you to say. Your kid brother didn’t screw your fiancée.

“I called Emilio yesterday to congratulate him on his engagement, and he sounded great, all excited and amped up. His fiancée is obviously a miracle worker, because the last time I spoke to Emilio he was an emotional wreck.”

And for good reason. Immanuel thought of Lucca, and pain stabbed his chest. His nephew, an adorable five-year-old with curly hair and wide, expressive eyes, had died in a tragic pool accident at Emilio’s Greensboro estate. The last time he’d seen his brother was at Lucca’s funeral, and Immanuel cringed when he remembered the cruel things he’d said at his nephew’s grave site. He’d let his anger and resentment get the best of him, and knew deep down he owed Emilio an apology. But he wouldn’t attend his December wedding. Just couldn’t do it.

“Coz, I have to go...” Nicco trailed off and didn’t finish his thought.

Immanuel heard children’s voices, laughter and a door slam.

“I told the kids I’d take them to Chuck E. Cheese’s, and they’re getting impatient.”

“No worries, Nicco. Check you later.”

“I’ll call you next week. Love you, man.”

Immanuel ended the call and plugged his cell phone into the charger. He picked up his energy drink and took a swig from the can. He glanced at his Rolex watch and frowned. Mrs. Fontaine usually worked until six o’clock, but it was seven forty-five, and he still hadn’t seen any signs of her. Stretching, he leaned back in his seat and drummed his fingers absently on the steering wheel. Minutes later, the lights went out in Pathways Center, and the front door opened.

And there she was. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen: Dionne Osman Fontaine. Immanuel bolted upright and peered through the windshield. The sidewalk was her stage, her own personal runway, and as she strode toward the parking lot with an air of confidence, desire shot through his veins.

His temperature soared to unimaginable heights. An erection grew inside his jeans. Immanuel was so aroused, so turned on by the sight of her, explicit thoughts crowded his mind. Thoughts of kissing her, caressing her and ripping the clothes off her sexy, curvy body. It happened every time he saw Mrs. Fontaine. His physical reaction to her embarrassed him, made him feel like a pubescent kid, rather than a thirty-nine-year-old man worth millions.

As he watched her, he took note of Dionne’s graceful walk. She moved seamlessly, with a grace all her own. Every hair was in place, and her milk-white coat and black pantsuit made her look glamorous. He found it hard to believe she was thirty-five years old. She had the youth and vitality of a college-aged woman and the taut, toned shape to match.

Images of Dionne clad in a purple mesh top and spandex shorts were engraved in his mind. Four mornings a week, Dionne took a spin class, and watching her at the small downtown studio was the highlight of his day. The master life coach was exactly his type—strong, smart, independent, vivacious—but she was a diva. Someone who yearned for fame and fortune, and he was through hooking up with shallow, materialistic woman obsessed with the high life. And besides, she belongs to another man. My client.

His eyes trailed her every move. Petite, with creamy mocha skin, almond-shaped eyes and righteous curves, it was no surprise that everyone on the sidewalk stopped to stare. Her scarlet lips made her mouth look tempting, inviting, and thoughts of kissing her ruled his mind.

Knock it off, chastised his conscience. Dionne’s married to Jules Fontaine—a man who could ruin you in this town—and if you ever cross the line you’ll regret it.

Immanuel nodded to himself, knew it was true, but continued admiring the Somali-born beauty with the exotic look. Dionne had her briefcase in one hand, her purse in the other and her cell phone pressed to her ear. What else was new? She was addicted to her iPhone and couldn’t go five seconds without checking it.

You’re a fine one to talk, argued his inner voice.

Curious, he cocked an eyebrow. Immanuel wondered who Dionne was talking to. It was someone special. Had to be. Her eyes were bright, and her smile was radiant. Was her lover on the phone? The man her ex was convinced she was having an affair with? Immanuel hadn’t found any evidence of her infidelity and suspected Mr. Fontaine was wrong about his estranged wife being promiscuous. She worked nonstop, even on weekends, and spent her free time at home—alone—not in bars and nightclubs.

Dionne stopped at the rear of her Lexus and popped open the trunk. Immanuel put on his seat belt and turned on the ignition. He didn’t want to lose her in the parking lot, and reminded himself to follow from a distance as she exited the plaza. His cell rang, and he glanced down at the center console. His grandmother’s phone number appeared on the screen. But he didn’t have time to shoot the breeze, so he decided to let the call go to voice mail.

Immanuel looked up just in time to see a short figure clad in dark clothes approach Dionne. He scanned the man’s face. The stranger had a desperate look in his eyes, a wild, crazed expression that was frightening, but Dionne was too busy talking on the phone to notice. He was pale and built like a defensive lineman. Immanuel read him like a book, sized him up in ten seconds flat. The guy was a thug, a no-good punk who’d rather rob than work, the most dangerous type of criminal. Immanuel had to act fast.

Sensing what was about to happen, he threw open his car door and took off running across the parking lot. The cold autumn wind sliced through his black button-down shirt, chilling his body to the bone, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. It was a matter of life and death, and he had to reach Dionne before the bastard attacked her, or worse, tried to kidnap her.

His breathing was heavy, ragged, and his heart was beating out of control. Feeling a surge of adrenaline, Immanuel ran faster, harder. Bent on reaching her, he dodged cars and wide-eyed strangers as he raced through the parking lot.

Immanuel heard Dionne scream, watched in horror as the man grabbed her and shook her violently. His stomach fell, plunged to his feet, and anger shot through his veins. What happened next stunned him. Dionne didn’t comply with her assailant’s demands, instead deciding to fight back. Kicked, punched, scratched at the stranger’s eyes and face.

“Stop!” Immanuel shouted. “Get away from her. Let her go!”

The stranger knocked Dionne to the ground, grabbed her purse, and jumped into her car. Seconds later, he started the engine and sped out of the parking lot in her silver Lexus SUV.

Immanuel wanted to chase him down and kick his ass for assaulting a defenseless woman, but he couldn’t leave Dionne alone. He didn’t stop running until he reached her side. She was unconscious, lying motionless on the ground. Her face was swollen, her bottom lip was cut, and her designer clothes were stained with dirt.

Struggling to catch his breath, Immanuel dropped to his knees, gathered Dionne in his arms and searched the parking lot for help.

Chapter 3

Pain racked Dionne’s body, stabbed every inch of her five-foot-two frame, making it impossible to move. She tried to open her eyes, but couldn’t. Her limbs were cold, shivering uncontrollably, and her forearms ached. Where am I?

Sniffing the air, she detected the faint scent of flowers, and a delicious, masculine cologne that evoked thoughts of French kisses, red wine and dirty dancing. Cologne?

Panic soaked her skin. Her head felt groggy, as if she’d had one too many cocktails last night during happy hour. Did I have a one-night stand? Did I follow some guy home from the bar? Am I lying in bed with him right now? Dionne deleted the thought, refused to believe it, not even for a second. She’d never hook up with a random stranger, and besides, she’d worked at the office late last night, not gone for drinks at her favorite martini bar with her sisters.

Listening intently, Dionne soaked in the world around her. She heard the buzz and whirl of monitors and machines, a TV blaring, felt a coarse material rubbing against her skin. An intercom came on, and realization dawned. I’m in the hospital. Why? What happened? Was I in a car accident? Did I crash my Lexus— Before Dionne could finish the thought, memories flooded her mind. Leaving her office...someone sneaking up behind her...fighting him off...the crippling blow to the head.

Dionne struggled to get air into her lungs. It felt as though a bowling ball were sitting on her chest. Taking a deep breath, she broke free of the violent images holding her hostage. She wouldn’t think about it. Wouldn’t allow her attacker to victimize her in the privacy of her thoughts. Holding herself tight, she told herself she’d survived, that everything was okay. She was alive, safe, and he couldn’t hurt her anymore.

With great difficulty, Dionne forced her eyes open. The room was bright, the air still and quiet. She lifted her blanket and gasped when she saw the cuts and bruises all over her body. The wristband on her left arm listed her name and health care number. More questions remained. Dionne continued to take in her surroundings. A wooden chair sat at the foot of the bed, a crystal vase overflowing with roses was displayed on the side table, and a tall, slim man in a black power suit stood in front of the window.

Dionne narrowed her gaze, sized him up. She needed to know who the stranger was and why he was in her hospital room. Was he a cop? Giving herself permission to stare, she admired his profile. The man was a force. A six-foot-six Adonis with olive skin, a full head of jet-black hair and a lean physique. He had specks of salt in his goatee and an imposing presence. He was a man of influence, someone who made things happen, who wasn’t afraid of taking swift and decisive action. Dionne guessed he was in his thirties, but wouldn’t be surprised to learn he was older. Is he a doctor? she wondered, noting his designer threads.

The stranger must have sensed her watching him, because he turned toward the bed and met her gaze. The faint scar along his left cheek only enhanced his rugged, masculine look, and his piercing blue eyes were lethal weapons.

A slow, easy smile crept across his lips.

Dionne’s heart skipped a beat, drummed in her ears. She instantly recognized him, knew exactly who the drop-dead sexy stranger was. He wasn’t a doctor. He was a Morretti. Had to be. No doubt about it. He had a straight nose and a strong jawline, and looked like an older version of Emilio.

Months earlier, before things went south with her employee Brad McClendon, Dionne had researched Mastermind Operations online. She’d planned to hire Immanuel Morretti’s security company to help Brad find his estranged wife and sons. But since Brad had quit and taken his celebrity clients with him, she’d changed her mind about helping him reconnect with his family.

Dionne thought hard. She never forgot a name or a face and recalled everything she’d read about the Italian businessman on his agency’s website. He’d spent five years in the Italian military in the special forces division, and had worked for a decade as a personal bodyguard before opening his security business in Venice. On the website, she’d seen pictures of Immanuel with dignitaries, celebrities and high-ranking government officials, and according to the Italian newspaper La Repubblica, his agency was second to none.

“Good morning, Mrs. Fontaine.”

He spoke with a thick Italian accent, one she was sure drove women wild, but his expression was one of concern. Questions stirred her curiosity, made her wonder why Emilio’s brother was in her hospital room. Did Sharleen send Immanuel over to check on her after hearing about her attack? Is that why he was there?

“How are you feeling?”

Dionne cleared her throat and found her voice. “I’m sore, and more than a little confused,” she admitted sheepishly.

“My apologies. Let me introduce myself. I’m—”

“Immanuel Morretti,” she provided, pulling herself up to a sitting position.

Surprise showed on his face, coloring his eyes. Immanuel looked rich, like the kind of man who dined nightly on wine and caviar. He carried himself in a dignified way. Thanks to her master’s degree in psychology, Dionne was skilled at reading people, and instinctively felt the security specialist was someone she could trust. “You’re Emilio’s brother and the CEO of Mastermind Operations.”

“You’re a World Series racing fan?” he questioned, fine lines wrinkling his forehead. “I never would have guessed it.”

“Emilio’s engaged to Sharleen Nichols, the VP of my life coaching center. I’ve gotten to know him over the last few months. He’s a great guy, and he treats Sharleen like gold.”

Dionne watched his face darken, saw his jaw clench tight, and wondered what was wrong. Are the brothers still estranged? Is that why Immanuel looks pissed? Because I complimented his brother?

“Can I get you anything? Something to eat or drink, perhaps?”

“No thanks. I’m fine,” she replied, shaking her head. “Where am I?”

“At the Atlanta Medical Center. You were robbed outside of your office last night.”

Her eyes grew moist, and her lips trembled, but she willed herself to keep it together. “I remember,” she said quietly. “But why am I here? I’m fine.”

“You were unconscious when I arrived on scene.”

“You were there? You saw what happened?”

“Yes, Mrs. Fontaine, I did.” Immanuel glanced away and slid his hands into the front pocket of his pants. “I was shopping at Peachtree Plaza when I heard a commotion and ran over.”

“You scared off the assailant... You—you saved my life.”

“No, I didn’t. You did.” His gaze was filled with awe, and it seeped into his tone. “To be honest, I came to rescue your attacker. You gave him one hell of a beating, and I was scared if I didn’t intervene you’d kill him.”

Dionne beamed, feeling a glimmer of pride at his words. “Serves him right for attacking me. He’s lucky I forgot my pepper spray at home, or I would have emptied the entire bottle on him.”

Like his voice, his laugh was pleasing to her ears and brought a smile to her lips.

“You’re a brave woman, Mrs. Fontaine. A woman of incredible strength and heart, and you should be very proud of yourself. Few people would have been able to fight the way you did, and I’m blown away by your courage.”

Moved by his words, she soaked up his praise. “Please, call me Dionne.”

“Only if you call me Immanuel. All my friends do.”

Her thoughts returned to last night, and dread flooded her body. Dionne was curious about what had transpired after Immanuel arrived on scene, and was hoping he could fill in the blanks for her. “What happened after I blacked out? Did the mugger steal my purse?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so, and your Lexus as well.”

“Oh, no. My whole world was inside my purse. My wallet, my address book, my iPad.” A chilling thought entered her mind. “The mugger knows where I live. What if he’s at my house right now? Lying in wait?”

Immanuel strode over to the bed and took her hand in his. He was a calm and comforting presence. Having him nearby made Dionne feel supported and less afraid. She didn’t know if it was because he looked like Emilio—a man she thought was considerate, compassionate and kind—or his warm disposition. But she liked his touch and drew strength from him. “I don’t have a security system at my new place. I’ve been meaning to install one, but I’ve been so busy with work I haven’t had the time.”

“I know it’s upsetting, but try not to worry. The police are investigating...”

What good will that do if the mugger attacks me in my sleep?

“I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of calling one of my technicians to change the locks at your house and office,” he explained. “And if you’d like, he can also install voice-activated alarm systems at both locations.”

“How do you know where I live?”

“I’m a security specialist. That’s my job.”

Dionne felt a wave of relief wash over her. “Thank you, Mr. Morretti. I appreciate it. At least I know the crook isn’t in my house, robbing me blind.” She was glad Immanuel was there. “Have the cops identified my attacker? Do they know who he is? Have they found my car?”

“No, not yet, but they assured me they’re working hard on the case.”

“Where’s my cell phone? I need to call my family or they’ll be worried sick.”

Immanuel released her hand and stroked the length of his jaw. “I’m not sure if detectives recovered it at the scene, but you can ask them when they come to take your statement—”

The door swung open, and a slender fiftysomething nurse burst into the room. Her shoes squeaked as she approached the bed, and her frizzy white hair flapped around her face. “Good day, Mrs. Fontaine. How are you feeling this glorious afternoon?”

“Afternoon?” Dionne repeated, confused by her words. “What time is it?”

Immanuel checked his Rolex watch. “It’s twelve fifteen.”

“I’ve been sleeping for more than fourteen hours?” she asked, unable to believe it.

“You experienced a traumatic event last night and suffered a mild concussion,” the nurse explained. “You need your rest, and for the next few days you’ll have to take it easy.”

Dionne didn’t need rest; she needed a stiff drink, something with a shot of Patrón in it. But she knew her serious, no-nonsense nurse would never honor her request. “I’m thirsty,” she said, touching her throat. “May I please get a cup of green tea?”

“Of course. Just let me check your vitals first. I wanted to do it earlier, at the start of my shift, but you were sleeping soundly and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You need your privacy,” Immanuel said. “I’ll wait outside.”

No. Dionne opened her mouth to ask him to stay, but he was gone in the blink of an eye.

* * *

“Why did you fight back?” Detective Sluggs asked with a bewildered expression on his fat, fleshy face. “You could have been kidnapped, or worse, killed.”

“No, he could have been killed, because I wasn’t going down without a fight.”

The emergency room doctor, a twentysomething brunette with Prada eyeglasses, scrunched up her nose. “I see cases like this every day, and it always amazes me that people are willing to risk their lives over something as trivial as a car.”

“It’s not about the car,” Dionne shot back, annoyed that they were giving her a hard time about the choices she’d made last night. “I work hard for the things I have, and no one has the right to take them from me. That’s why I fought back.”

The doctor and the detective had entered her room ten minutes earlier, just as she was finishing lunch. But five minutes into the interview Dionne had already decided she didn’t like either one of them, especially Detective Sluggs. He was curt and condescending, and his head was so shiny it looked as though it had been polished with Pledge. Dionne couldn’t wait for him to leave. She’d had a busy morning and needed to rest. With the help of her nurse, she’d called the credit card companies, requested her accounts be canceled, then called her parents. She didn’t tell them about the attack or that she was at the hospital, and had to cut the conversation short when her mom told her to make amends with Jules before their November court date.

“Fighting back only makes things worse,” Detective Sluggs said. “You should have given the mugger your purse, handed over your car keys, and gotten the hell out of the way.”

Dionne hit the veteran detective with a cold, dark stare. Why does Detective Sluggs have to be such a jerk? Why can’t he be sympathetic and understanding like Immanuel? Taking a deep breath, she asked the question burning the tip of her tongue. “Is that the kind of advice you give your wife?”

“I’m not married.”

Why am I not surprised? Of course you’re single. You’re a chauvinist pig, just like my ex.

“If you had cooperated with the perp, you wouldn’t have been hurt,” he continued, his tone thick with condemnation. “Next time you’re tempted to do something heroic, don’t, because it could cost you your life. A lot of these criminals are addicts, and the last thing you want to do is antagonize someone high on crack or crystal meth.”

“Detective Sluggs is right,” the doctor agreed, fervently nodding her head. “It’s better to lose your car than to be beaten in the streets.”

Dionne hung her head, stared down at her hands. Were they right? Had she acted reckless last night? Tears rolled down her cheeks, splashed onto her cheap blue hospital gown. But when Dionne heard Immanuel’s voice in her head, she slapped them away.

You’re a brave woman, Mrs. Fontaine. A woman of incredible strength and heart, and you should be very proud of yourself. Few people would have been able to fight the way you did, and I’m blown away by your courage.

“You shouldn’t have been on your cell phone. That was your first mistake.”

Her head whipped up, and her eyes narrowed. She felt her blood pressure rise, with the urge to smack Detective Sluggs upside his lumpy bald head. Orange wasn’t the new black, and since Dionne didn’t want to be arrested for assaulting a cop, she wisely kept her hands in her lap. “Are you saying the attack was my fault? That I’m to blame for what happened?”

Detective Sluggs made a sympathetic face, but his gaze was dark, and his voice was filled with accusation. “Perpetrators prowl the streets looking for people who are distracted, and you made yourself an easy target...”

Dionne pursed her lips so she wouldn’t end up doing something stupid like cursing him out. Although she was annoyed, she gave the detective the floor to speak. And did he ever. He went on and on, spewing his opinions.

“I suspect this was a random, drug-fueled attack, but I want to cover all the bases.” He flipped open his white spiral notebook and scanned the first page. “Mrs. Fontaine, do you have any enemies? Anyone who might want to hurt you or scare you?”

Do I have any enemies? Yeah, the entire Fontaine family. Jules’s older sister, Adeline, had never liked her, and the feeling was definitely mutual. The executive accountant was a control freak who wasn’t happy unless she was calling the shots, and Dionne couldn’t stand her. There was no love lost between Dionne and her in-laws, but they had nothing to do with the attack. “No, no one I can think of,” she answered truthfully. “My husband and I are legally separated and in the process of getting a divorce, but Jules would never do anything to hurt me.”

“Don’t be so sure. Divorce brings out the worst in people.”

Desperate to change the subject, she asked, “Where’s my cell phone?”

“We found it smashed to smithereens in the parking lot last night.”

Disappointment flooded her body, but the loss of her iPhone was the least of her problems. Anxious to end the interview and leave the hospital, Dionne addressed her doctor. “Have my test results come back?”

“Yes,” she said, glancing at the sheets of paper attached to a metal clipboard. “Your CT scan was normal, and you don’t seem to have any lingering effects from the concussion. But I’d like you to see the hospital psychologist before I discharge you.”

“No, thank you. I’m fine.”

“I strongly advise you not to leave. You suffered a traumatic event less than twenty-four hours ago, and it’s imperative you speak to a professional to discuss the attack.”

“I concur,” Detective Sluggs said, stroking his bushy mustache with tender loving care.

Dionne glanced from the detective to the doctor and rolled her eyes to show her frustration. They were giving her a headache, and she was anxious to get away from them. Determined to leave the hospital, whether or not the doctor signed the discharge papers, Dionne searched the room for her clothes. Her Escada pantsuit was probably ripped and dirty, but it was all she had. Besides, she wasn’t going to a black-tie event at the W hotel; she would be headed to her office. By the time she arrived at Pathways Center, her staff would be gone for the day, so she wouldn’t have to worry about anyone seeing her bruised face.

“I have to return to the precinct, but if you remember anything else about the attack, don’t hesitate to contact me.” Detective Sluggs promised to be in touch and left the room.

Finally. I thought he’d never leave. Dionne checked the time on the clock. Immanuel should be back any minute now. For some reason, the thought of seeing him again excited her and made a smile balloon inside her heart. He’d spent the entire afternoon with her, and talking to him about her career had momentarily taken her mind off the assault. Though he was serious and soft-spoken, he made her laugh and told amusing stories about his life in Venice. He’d offered to go to the store for her, and Dionne eagerly awaited his return, because once he arrived with the items she’d requested, she was leaving. She was tired of being in the hospital and was anxious to leave, but first she had to get Dr. Pelayo off her back. “I don’t need to talk to anyone,” she said, speaking calmly, in her most serious voice. “I have a master’s degree in psychology, and I know what to do to preserve my mental health. Now, kindly bring the discharge papers so I can sign them and leave.”

The silence was so loud it drowned out every other noise in the room. Sunshine seeped through the window blinds, filling the drab, boring space with light, but it did nothing to brighten Dionne’s mood. She was frustrated that Dr. Pelayo wasn’t listening to her and was losing patience.

“Very well,” the doctor said after a long moment. “If you insist.”

“Thank you, Dr. Pelayo. I appreciate everything you and your staff have done for me.”

“I’ll have the discharge papers waiting at the front desk within the hour. Who will be picking you up and driving you home?”

Confusion must have shown on Dionne’s face, because Dr. Pelayo continued.

“Someone has to pick you up upon discharge and escort you out of the building,” she explained, tucking her clipboard under her arm. “The policy was put in place decades ago to ensure that all patients at Atlanta Medical Center remain safe after their stay—”

“I’m not a child,” Dionne argued. “And I won’t be treated like one.”

The intercom came on, and the women fell silent.

Sitting in bed, doing a slow burn, Dionne pictured herself jumping out her fifth-floor window and running away from the hospital. Who do I have to bribe to get the hell out of here? she wondered, trying to keep her temper at bay. And who came up with this stupid discharge policy? It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, and I won’t adhere to it.

“I have to release you into the care of a loved one, preferably someone who can stay with you for the rest of the day.” Dr. Pelayo’s face softened with concern. “Victims often feel fearful after an attack, so it’s important you’re not alone over the next twenty-four hours. Isn’t there a friend or family member I can call to pick you up?”

“I don’t want anyone hovering over me. I’d rather be alone.”

“I understand, Mrs. Fontaine, and I’m not trying to be difficult, but it’s hospital policy, and if I break the rules I could lose my job.”

Disappointed, Dionne collapsed against the pillows. Will this nightmare ever end?

Chapter 4

Dionne had no argument left in her and reluctantly gave up the fight. Arguing with Dr. Pelayo wasn’t helping her cause, so she considered her options. She thought of calling a taxi to pick her up, but remembered she had no purse, no wallet, no money. Phoning her assistant or one of her senior life coaches was out of the question. She didn’t want anyone to know about the attack and hoped to keep it a secret. Sharleen was in Fiji with Emilio, her sisters were home with their kids and her parents were at work. Though retired, they both worked part-time to stave off boredom, but Dionne knew if she called them they’d drop everything and rush to the hospital. The problem was, she didn’t want them there. She felt ashamed, embarrassed that the mugger had attacked her, and wanted to put the whole ugly incident behind her as quickly as possible.

“Please reconsider calling your husband,” Dr. Pelayo urged. “I understand that you’re separated, but you need his love and support now more than ever.”

No, I don’t. I need a glass of Muscat and a hot bubble bath.

“Tragedies have a way of reminding us what’s important in life and bring us even closer to the people we love. I think your husband would want to be here with you.”

A sharp knock on the door drew Dionne’s gaze across the room. Immanuel entered in all of his masculine glory and nodded politely in greeting. Dionne stared at him. So did Dr. Pelayo. The physician was wearing a dreamy expression on her face, one that indicated she was head over heels in lust. Immanuel had that effect on everyone—nurses, housekeeping, doctors—and seemed oblivious to the commotion he caused whenever he entered a room. That made him all the more appealing in her eyes.

“Sorry I took so long to return. Traffic was crazy on the freeway...”

He spoke quietly in a smooth, sexy tone. His voice was seductive, his cologne, too, and when their eyes met Dionne had to remind herself to breathe. He moved with confidence, like a man who had the world at his feet—and he probably did.

“How are you feeling?”

Better now that you’re here, she thought, but didn’t say. Immanuel was the calm in the midst of the storm, and Dionne was glad he was back. “Almost as good as new.”

Immanuel was holding a shopping bag in one hand and a garment bag with the Gucci logo in the other. He placed both items on the bed. “These are for you. I hope you like them.”

“What’s all this? All I asked for was shampoo and body wash.”

“You’re going home today, and I figured you’d need something nice to wear.”

The shopping bag was filled with sweet-smelling toiletries, everything from deodorant to scented oils and perfume. Dionne unzipped the garment bag, and a gasp fell from her mouth. A navy pantsuit, and a silk scarf were inside. Inside the shopping bag was a shoe box with black red-heeled pumps.

Dionne couldn’t believe it, thought she was dreaming with her eyes open. How did Immanuel know her size? Who’d told him that Gucci was her favorite designer? She’d tried on the same outfit last week at Saks Fifth Avenue, but couldn’t justify spending thousands of dollars on clothes when Jules was fighting her about money. Touching the lapel of the jacket, she admired the intricate design along the collar of the white ruffled blouse, then quickly re-zipped the bag. “Immanuel, I can’t keep this. It’s too expensive.”

“It’s a gift.”

“But it cost forty-five hundred dollars.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone firm. “You had a rough night, and I think you deserve to leave the hospital in style. Don’t fight me on this.”

Dr. Pelayo’s eyes lit up, and Dionne knew the physician was impressed. So was she. Not because of the staggering cost of the outfit, but because Immanuel—someone she’d just met—had done something kind for her, something her ex never did. Jules had relied on his secretary to buy her gifts, even had her sign the cards on his behalf, regardless of the occasion. If Jules had been more thoughtful and attentive, our marriage wouldn’t have fallen apart—

“Have you been discharged?” Immanuel asked.

Dionne blinked and broke free of her thoughts. “No, not yet, but I’m working on it.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Before Dionne could answer, Dr. Pelayo told Immanuel about the hospital discharge policy and expressed her opinion on the matter. “Mrs. Fontaine is going to need a lot of emotional support in the coming weeks, so it’s imperative she reach out to her friends and family for help,” the doctor explained. “I’m trying to convince her to call her husband.”

Immanuel turned to Dionne.

The heat of his gaze left her breathless and tingling all over. Dionne smoothed a hand over her hair, and winced when she felt tangles in her wavy dark locks. Is that why Immanuel’s staring at me? Because I look a hot mess?

“Is that what you want? For Dr. Pelayo to call your husband?”

Hell no. Knowing her response would raise eyebrows, she swallowed her retort and shook her head. Dionne wasn’t calling Jules, and she wished Dr. Pelayo would stop pressuring her to do so. Besides, Jules would never come pick her up. Work was all that mattered, all he cared about, and that would never change.

“I can drive you home.”

Dionne met his gaze. “You can?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, moved by his words. “You’ve already done so much for me, and I’d hate to inconvenience you.”

“It’s no inconvenience at all. I live in Brookhaven too, remember?”

“That’s right, we’re neighbors, I forgot.” Dionne wanted to break out in song. Now she wouldn’t have to bother her family to pick her up, and no one would ever know about the attack. Immanuel Morretti was a hero, a stand-up guy with a heart of gold, and Dionne was grateful for everything he’d done for her in just a short period of time.

A shiver whipped through her body. It frightened her to think what would have happened if Immanuel hadn’t come to her rescue last night.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” Immanuel said, glancing at his gold wristwatch. “I’ll go home, swap my McLaren for my SUV and meet you at the front desk at four.”

“You don’t have to go to all that trouble. I’m just grateful for the ride.”

“Are you sure? It’s a small sports car, and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I’m positive,” she said, blown away by his thoughtfulness. Dionne returned his smile, deciding right then and there that Immanuel Morretti was the most considerate, compassionate man she’d ever met, and she liked him immensely. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay your kindness.”

“You don’t have to. I’m a Morretti, and we’re not happy unless we’re rescuing someone,” he said with a hearty chuckle. Immanuel touched her hand and gestured to the door with his head. “I’ll be in the waiting room. Take as long as you need.”

As Immanuel and Dr. Pelayo exited the room, Dionne saw the doctor make her move. Resting her hand on his forearm, she leaned into him and spoke in a sultry whisper. Is she giving him her number? Asking him out? Inviting him over for drinks?

Dionne sat up and tossed aside the blanket. She told herself she didn’t care, and that it was none of her business what they were talking about. But if that were true, then why did she want to jump out of bed and wrestle the pretty doctor to the ground?

* * *

“Sorry for making you wait, but I’m ready now.”

Immanuel glanced up from the September issue of Entrepreneur magazine, saw Dionne standing beside the water dispenser in the hospital waiting room and felt the magazine fall from his hands. Desire careered down his spine and shot to his groin. Immanuel heard his pulse in his ears, pounding, thumping, and he swallowed hard.

Immanuel recognized he looked foolish, sitting there with his eyes wide, staring at her, but he didn’t have the strength to turn away. Women who carried themselves with poise and grace had always been his weakness, and Dionne was the epitome of class. The Gucci pantsuit was made for her, created for a woman with her delicious shape. Her fresh face only enhanced her natural beauty.

“Immanuel?”

At the sound of his name, Immanuel snapped to attention. He picked up the discarded magazine, chucked it on the side table and rose to his feet. Smoothing a hand over his suit jacket, he crossed the room toward her. He started to speak, but her floral fragrance tickled his nostrils and his thoughts went off track. The hairs on the back of his neck shot up, and sweat immediately soaked his pale blue shirt. Her beauty was striking, and everything about her appealed to him—her confidence, her resilience, the way she carried herself. Over the years he’d provided security for pop stars, actresses and supermodels, but none of them could compete with the master life coach. But it was more than just her looks. She was a woman of strength and tenacity, and he greatly admired her. She’d fought for her life last night, gone toe-to-toe with a man twice her size, and survived the harrowing ordeal. “Dionne, you’re gorgeous.”

“It’s Gucci,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “Everyone looks great in Gucci.”

“Your beauty has nothing to do with your outfit and everything to do with your smile.”

A flush crept over her cheeks. “Thank you, Immanuel. You’re very sweet.”

And you’re stunning. He remained quiet, cautioned himself not to speak his mind. Immanuel was glad he could help Dionne, but he didn’t want to freak her out by coming on too strong. She had a presence about her, an intangible quality that intrigued him, and he was looking forward to spending the rest of the afternoon with her. Isn’t that what Dr. Pelayo had suggested? That he keep an eye on her? Immanuel planned to follow the doctor’s orders, though he wondered how Dionne would feel about him being at her house. “Shall we go?”

“Absolutely. I’ve been ready to leave for hours.”

Walking down the hallway, Dionne moved at a slow, easy pace. She seemed to be favoring her right side, so Immanuel rested a hand on her back and led her into the waiting elevator. She smelled of lavender—his favorite female scent. They were standing so close, he wanted to take her in his arms and crush his lips to her mouth.

Guilt consumed him. Dionne was still legally married, which meant she was off-limits. Putting the moves on a vulnerable woman would be a boneheaded thing to do, so he dropped his hands to his sides. His infatuation with her was spiraling out of control, but Immanuel was determined to control his libido. I’m horny as hell, but that’s no excuse to put the moves on another man’s wife, he told himself, tearing his gaze away from her bottom. I won’t cross the line.

On the main floor, Immanuel led Dionne past the hospital gift shop, through the lobby and out the sliding glass doors. His car was parked at the curb, and when he opened the passenger door for Dionne she smiled her thanks and slid inside.

Minutes later they were off. Having followed Dionne home from work countless times before, Immanuel knew where she lived, but since driving straight to her house would raise suspicions, he asked for directions. Dionne gave him her address, then turned her face to the window. She obviously didn’t want to talk, so Immanuel didn’t pester her with conversation. She’d suffered a traumatic ordeal, and despite her outward display of calm, he sensed that she was scared to go home. Immanuel didn’t blame her. Her attacker was still on the loose, and the police had no leads.

“It’s weird not having my cell phone,” she said quietly, glancing in his direction. “I keep putting my hands in my pocket, expecting it to be there, but it’s not.”

“That’s normal, especially for someone who uses their phone as much as you do.”

“How do you know I use my phone a lot?”

Immanuel searched his brain for a suitable response, came up empty, and said the first thing that came to mind. “Most people do,” he said with a shrug. “Myself included.”

“My family thinks I’m addicted to my cell, especially my mom, but she’s old-school and doesn’t understand the nature of my job. I run my own company, so it’s important to be available for my staff and clients...”

Immanuel didn’t want to miss anything she had to say, so he turned off the radio and gave her his full attention. It was a challenge, with their arms touching and her heady perfume sweetening the air. But he listened closely and filed information away in his mental Rolodex for a later date.

“How long have you had your business?”

Pride filled her eyes and seeped into her tone. “It will be ten years in January.”

“That’s a remarkable feat. Most small businesses don’t survive the first two years, so you’re obviously doing something right.”

“Damn right I am,” she said. “I’m working my ass off!”

And what a nice ass it is.

“Well, if the life coaching business doesn’t work out you can always become a boxer. You have one hell of a right hook.”

Dionne cracked up. It did his heart good to hear her laugh. Talking to her about Pathways Center was obviously the way to go, so he asked questions about her business.

“What’s your secret?” he asked, wanting to hear more about her journey to success. The research he’d done on Dionne revealed that she was also a best-selling author and motivational speaker. She charged five figures for every speaking engagement, and was one of the most sought-after life coaches in the nation. “How have you managed to create a successful life coaching business when so many others have failed?”

“Hard work and perseverance are the keys to my success. I wouldn’t be here today if I’d wavered, even for a second, about my life’s purpose.”

“Do you have plans to expand your business in other markets?”

The smile vanished from her lips. “My clinics in LA and Seattle were supposed to open this past summer, but construction has been delayed indefinitely.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Immanuel said, shifting gears as he switched lanes. “Who’s the builder, and why haven’t you sued them for breach of contract?”

“Because my hands are tied.” Her voice broke, cracked with emotion, but she quickly regained her composure. “This project was in the works long before I filed for divorce, but if I’d known my ex would deliberately sabotage the project, I never would have used his family’s construction company. The project has been on hold for months, and work probably won’t resume until the divorce is finalized.”

“How long have you been separated from your husband?”

“Almost a year. Out of respect for his family, I agreed to keep quiet about the separation, but once I filed for divorce the story hit the newspapers and things turned ugly...”

Immanuel frowned. His thoughts returned to weeks earlier. During an hour-long meeting with Jules Fontaine, the businessman had called his estranged wife a conniving manipulator who used her looks to advance her career. He claimed he’d kicked her out of their Buckhead estate once he’d learned of her infidelity. Immanuel liked having all of the facts and sensed that Dionne was telling the truth. She didn’t bad-mouth her ex or blame him for their failed marriage. He respected her for taking the high road.

“Do you mind stopping at the AT&T store on Town Road?” she asked. “I’m expecting several important calls this afternoon, and I’ll go crazy if I don’t get a new iPhone.”

“I don’t know,” he teased, faking a frown. “Dr. Pelayo ordered me to take you straight home, and I’d hate to get on her bad side.”

“Don’t worry. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Immanuel chuckled. “No problem. We can go anywhere you want.”

At the intersection, he turned left and found a parking space in the plaza. They entered the store, and Dionne immediately selected the latest iPhone model, and then approached the cash register.

“With the extended warranty, that comes to $649,” the clerk said.

Dionne nodded. “Charge everything to the account on file. I’ll be keeping the same plan.”

“In order to do that I’ll need to see two pieces of ID.”

“I don’t have any ID. My purse was stolen last night.” Dionne peered over the clerk’s shoulder and motioned to the door behind him. “Is your manager around? I spoke to her earlier, and she assured me getting a new cell phone would not be a problem.”

“I’m sorry, but she’s gone for the day.”

“Call her. I explained my situation to her, and she was—”

“I can’t.” He shrugged his bony shoulders. “Come back tomorrow with the proper ID.”

Dionne spoke through pursed lips. “Go. Call. Your. Store. Manager. Now.”

“Ma’am, you’re being rude. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Hoping to defuse the situation, Immanuel opened his leather wallet, took out his Visa Black Card and handed it to the clerk. “That won’t be necessary.” He was ticked off that the guy was giving Dionne a hard time, but he didn’t let his frustration show. “Charge everything to my account.”

“No,” Dionne argued, adamantly shaking her head. “I don’t want you to pay. All he has to do is call his manager. She’ll straighten everything out.”

“Don’t worry, Dionne. I got this.” Winking, he patted her good-naturedly on the hips. That earned him a smile. His chest inflated with pride, filled to the brim. “Hang tight. We’ll be out of here before you know it, and you can go home and get some rest. I promise.”

To reduce the tension, Immanuel chatted with the clerk about the weather and sports. The man was a huge baseball fan and screeched like a parrot when Immanuel told him Demetri Morretti, the star slugger of the Chicago Royals, was his cousin.

“The Royals will be in town at the end of the month,” the clerk said excitedly, rubbing his hands together. “I can’t wait to see Demetri play. I hope the game goes extra innings.”

Immanuel chuckled. “Thanks for everything, man. You’ve been really helpful.”

“Helpful my ass,” Dionne grumbled, snatching the plastic bag off the counter.

“Thanks for choosing AT&T,” the clerk said. “Have a nice day.”

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