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“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 (#ulink_89b928e2-6b27-5d51-9264-a0f8c031ae0f)
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.”
