Читать книгу Seduced By The Hero - Pamela Yaye - Страница 11

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.