by Pamela Yaye
Her cell phone rang and she put it to her ear, thinking it was Immanuel. “Hello?”
Click.
Annoyed, she stared down at the phone in disgust. The prank calls had started the day after she’d arrived home from the hospital, and had increased in frequency ever since. Her cell phone provider said there was nothing it could do and advised her to change her number. Dionne considered telling Immanuel about the calls, but struck the thought from her mind. They were both busy, with a million things to do, and she didn’t want her problems to add to his stress.
Dionne glanced at her watch. She had just enough time to go home and freshen up before Immanuel picked her up for their date. An image of him clad in an Armani suit flashed in her mind, and a shiver tickled her spine. They were friends and nothing more, so why did the thought of seeing him again excite her?
Because he’s kind and chivalrous and you have a lot in common, whispered her inner voice. Immanuel treats you like a person, not an object, and it’s refreshing to be with someone who appreciates your mind, not just your body.
Dionne picked up her pace. Anxious to see Immanuel, she rushed over to her rental car, hopped inside and sped out of the parking lot.
Chapter 10
The private luxury suite at Turner Field was filled with gorgeous furniture, flat-screen TVs and a chic marble bar. Sports memorabilia lined the sable-brown walls, and glass windows provided an unobstructed view of the field. Pop music played from the mounted speakers, and when Dionne heard the opening bar of her favorite Prince song a smile overwhelmed her mouth. Years ago, when she was in graduate school, her sisters had surprised her with tickets to his Atlanta show. They’d danced all night, sang off-key to each hit and screamed like teenage girls. Dionne thought about Mel and Lorna and wondered how they were doing. She hadn’t spoken to them since they’d visited her home and left in a huff, but she planned to call them tomorrow. Surely they weren’t still mad at her—
“Is everything okay? You suddenly went quiet on me...”
Hearing Immanuel’s voice, Dionne blinked and met his gaze.
That was her first mistake.
Touching his arm was her second.
Inhaling his cologne, her third.
Time screeched to a halt, and everything in the room faded to the background. He rested a hand on top of hers, splayed his fingers against her flesh, and her body trembled with desire. Immanuel looked at her as if she was hot, desirable, the sexiest woman he’d ever seen. His grin, the one that sparked in his eyes and warmed his lips, made her clit tingle and her panties wet.
His touch made her dizzy and her thoughts scatter, but she didn’t pull away. She didn’t have the willpower it required, not after all the flirting and touching they’d been doing since he picked her up at home. Dionne was drawn to Immanuel, loved being with him, and could easily spend the rest of the night playing this thrilling game of cat-and-mouse. When it came to the opposite sex, she’d always had a will of steel, more self-control than a man of the cloth, but Immanuel excited her, turned her on like no one else, and flirting with him was the ultimate rush. Is it just a matter of time before we become lovers? she wondered, her heart racing at the thought. Is this the night he’ll finally make his move?
Dionne licked her lips. Her gaze left his face and slid down his ripped physique. His shoulders filled out each inch of his white mock-neck shirt. His dark straight-leg jeans were a perfect fit, and his Timberland boots gave him a bad-boy edge, one that made her nipples harden and her body quiver. Embarrassed by her physical reaction to him, she turned away and reached for her cocktail glass. “I’m good,” she said, tasting her martini. “Some game, huh?”
“What game? I’m having so much fun with you I forgot who was playing.”
His eyes zeroed in on her face, held her in their powerful grip. The energy pulsing between them was insane, more potent than a shot of vodka and impossible to resist. Immanuel was the sexiest man ever, and there was an air of mystery about him that she was inexplicably drawn to.
“You look incredible tonight,” he whispered. “Every night, actually.”
Immanuel put a hand on her leg, and her pulse shifted into overdrive.
“Are you having a good time?”
“Of course,” she said, returning his smile. “I always have a good time with you.”
“Great answer.”
They had sat on stools in front of the window when they arrived hours earlier, and even though Dionne didn’t know anything about baseball, she was having a great time. The mood was festive, charged with excitement, and laughter abounded. “Is your cousin’s fiancée here?” she asked, noting all of the attractive women in the room. “Sharleen thinks Angela’s the best thing since fat-free ice cream, and I’d love to meet her. She sounds like good people.”
“No, Angela’s not here. She’s a sports nut who likes to be close to all the action, so she watches from the stands with Demetri’s overzealous fans.”
Dionne heard a brash, horselike laugh, recognized it immediately and rolled her eyes. She could spot a dog a mile away, and Immanuel’s business partner needed to be in a kennel. Malcolm was strutting around the room with his chest puffed out, bopping from one woman to the next, acting like he owned the place.
“This game sucks. And so does the home team,” Malcolm bellowed, taking a swig of his beer. “Demetri’s killing the Astros tonight. There’s no way in hell they can make a comeback.”
Malcolm plopped down on the stool beside Immanuel, and Dionne swallowed a groan. It surprised her the men were not only business partners, but longtime friends. They couldn’t be more different. Immanuel was suave, cultured and refined, the kind of man people gravitated toward. Malcolm was loud and juvenile, the type of man women ran away from, not to.
“Are you ready to bounce?” Malcolm asked. “Let’s go check out the 69 Club.”
Immanuel’s narrowed gaze and wrinkled nose spoke of his displeasure. “We’re too old for that bar. Most of the clientele are underage, and—”
“Like hell I am. I don’t look a day over twenty-five.”
Laughter exploded from Dionne’s mouth. Both men turned to look at her, their eyebrows raised. She didn’t like Malcolm, but since she didn’t want to make any enemies, she simmered down.
“Dionne, you enjoy having a good time, right?” Smiling with the likeness of a snake, he ogled her chest. “Want to check out a hot new club?”
His question was ridiculous. As if. Why would she want to go to a sleazy nightclub on the wrong side of town when she’d rather be alone with Immanuel? They’d had great conversations about life and love, and the more Dionne learned about him the more she wished he were her man. “Thanks for the invitation, but I’ll pass. I’m not the club type.”
Rap music began to play, and Malcolm hopped to his feet. “I’ll be back in a few.” He put his cell phone to his ear and swaggered off.
Dionne spotted Sharleen and Emilio standing at the bar, and waved in greeting. They made an attractive couple in their Chicago Royals attire, and were gazing at each other with stars in their eyes. “Sharleen and Emilio are here. Let’s go say hi.”
“I’m good here. You go ahead.”
“Come on,” she said, dragging him up to his feet. “Don’t be like that.”
“Don’t be like what?”
“An old sourpuss!”
His nose twitched, but he didn’t laugh.
“Fine, I’ll text Sharleen and ask them to come to us.”
“If Emilio knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay on his side of the room.”
“Immanuel, no one likes a bully.”
“Who are you calling a bully?”
“You,” Dionne said, pointing a finger at his chest. “And it’s not cool.”
“I’m not a bully.”
“
Then prove me wrong.” Dionne tilted her head to the side and wore a knowing smile. “Be the kind, chivalrous gentleman your grandmother raised you to be, and every woman in here will be eating out of your hands.”
“I don’t want to impress anyone but you.”
“Then let’s have a drink with your brother and his gorgeous fiancée.”
Dionne grabbed her purse, tucked it under her arm and walked purposely toward the bar. In her peripheral version, she saw Immanuel behind her and cheered inwardly. “I thought you’d never get here,” she said, approaching Sharleen. “What took you guys so long? I was worried you’d changed your mind about coming tonight.”
“I wanted to be here sooner, but my boss left work early again today, and I had to lock up.” Wearing a long face, she sighed dramatically. “Girl, pray for me. She’s such a tyrant.”
“Emilio, are you sure Sharleen’s the one?” Dionne asked. “She’s a real handful.”
“I’m a hundred percent sure. She’s my everything, and I won’t live without her.”
The couple melted into each other’s arms and shared a kiss.
Dionne waited for Emilio and Immanuel to acknowledge each other’s presence, but they didn’t. Thankfully, Sharleen did.
“Immanuel! It’s great to finally meet you!” Speaking in Italian, she leaned in and kissed him on each cheek. “I thought this day would never come! I’ve heard a lot about you—”
“None of it’s true.”
Stunned, Dionne cranked her head to the right and examined Immanuel’s profile. His voice was filled with animosity, and his face was dark with rage. His hands were curled into fists, and his mouth was a hard line. What can I do to help? she thought, her gaze darting between the two men. Dionne feared if she didn’t do something quick, the situation was going to go from bad to worse. She quickly linked arms with Sharleen and moved away from the bar. “We’re going to the ladies’ room. We’ll be back in a few.”
Sharleen frowned. “We are? But I just got here, and the calamari smells so good.”
“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’ll buy you some at the concession stand. Let’s go.”
* * *
Immanuel wanted to beg her to stay, but he couldn’t get his lips to work. Damn, Dionne had set him up and he hadn’t even see it coming. His eyes tracked her through the room, sliding down her delicious curves and hips. Her short Chicago Royals baseball jersey showed off her toned arms, her skinny jeans made her ass look fantastic, and her high heels elongated her legs. His mind started to scheme and plot on how to get the exotic beauty into his bed permanently.
Dionne is still legally married, reminded his inner voice. That means she’s off-limits.
Standing at the bar with his brother—the man who’d betrayed his trust and crushed his dreams—he felt his temperature rise and his pulse pound violently in his ears. But this wasn’t the time or the place to have it out with Emilio, so he turned away.
Emilio caught his arm, gripped it tight.
His body stiffened. His first impulse was to push him away, but he remembered the advice Dionne had given him at Bacchanalia and took a deep, calming breath. Immanuel hated to admit it, but she was right. His feud with Emilio had gone on long enough. It was a struggle, but he kept his anger in check. “Get your hands off me.”
“Immanuel, we need to talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“Fine. I’ll talk. You listen.”
He wheeled around and was surprised to see sadness flicker across Emilio’s face. He looked troubled, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Was Emilio genuinely sorry about what he’d done? Had he learned his lesson? Immanuel rejected his thoughts. He knew better. His brother was just putting on a show for his pretty fiancée. Emilio had hit the jackpot, which was no surprise. His brother was accustomed to dating—and stealing—beautiful women, and Sharleen was a stunner.
“Make it quick. I want to get back to the game.”
“I never meant to hurt you.”
“You slept with my fiancée. What did you think would happen?”
“I had no idea Valentina was your girl.”
Immanuel scoffed and folded his arms across his chest. “Likely story.”
“It’s true. I didn’t see you arrive at the party together that night. I was hyped about winning another championship, and when she stepped up to me in the game room, I...”
Emilio broke off speaking, but Immanuel filled in the blanks.
“You couldn’t resist her charm, is that it?”
“Immanuel, I’ve changed. I’m not the man I used to be.”
“I’m happy to hear that, because you used to be a jerk.”
“Thanks, bro. I can always count on you to keep it real,” Emilio said with a wry smile.
On the flat-screen television mounted above the bar, Immanuel watched players and coaches on each team shaking hands, and knew the game was over. Demetri and his team had pulled off another impressive win, and he was proud of his cousin. Immanuel glanced around the suite in search of Dionne, but couldn’t find her anywhere. Were guys chasing her down at every turn? Had she met someone at the concession stand? Were they exchanging numbers and—
“The things you said at the funeral...” Emilio hung his head. “They almost killed me.”
“I was way out of line. I’m sorry.” Immanuel looked away. Had to. Talking about Lucca, his beloved nephew, made his heart ache. Since he didn’t want to have an emotional breakdown at Turner Field he changed the subject. “Congratulations on your win at the World Series All-Star Race. It was a tough course, but you made it look easy.”
Surprise colored his cheeks. “You were watching?”
“Of course. You’re my brother. I always want you to crush the competition.” He added. “I just don’t want you to screw my girl.”
“Damn, bro, that was harsh.”
His eyes strayed to the door, and every time it opened he felt a rush of adrenaline. He missed Dionne and wanted her back at his side. They’d known each other only a couple weeks, but she was important to him. She appealed to him in every way, and he loved to be with her.
“I heard what you did for Dionne. Good looking out, bro.”
“I didn’t do anything. She beat the mugger until he was black and blue, not me.”
“You know she’s married to Jules Fontaine, right? The CFO of Fontaine Enterprises.”
Immanuel nodded. “I know, but they’re getting a divorce.”
“It doesn’t take a year to get a divorce.”
“What are you saying?”
“Nothing, bro. Just be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”
Then stay away from Dionne, he thought sourly. “I’m a big boy. I can handle myself.”
“We’re back.” Sharleen snuggled against Emilio and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Baby, I missed you.”
“Not as much as I missed you. It felt like you were gone for hours.”
Immanuel wanted to gag, but he wore a blank expression on his face instead. He had to find Dionne. A floral scent tickled his nostrils, and he knew she was nearby. The thought heartened him, and when he spotted her behind him, he smiled in satisfaction.
“Did you guys talk?” Dionne asked. “Is everything okay?”
“We’re cool.” Immanuel took her hand. “The game just ended. Are you ready to go?”
“We’re meeting up with Demetri and Angela for drinks,” Emilio said.
Sharleen piped up. “We’re going glow bowling in Buckhead. You two should come.”
“We’d love to.”
“We would?” Immanuel pulled Dionne aside and spoke in a quiet voice. He wanted to see his cousin and meet his bride-to-be, but he wasn’t hanging out with Emilio. It was too much, too soo
n. “We can’t go to Buckhead. We have plans with Malcolm.”
“That’s fine. No worries,” Dionne said, letting go of his hand. “You go hang out with Malcolm, and I’ll ask Emilio and Sharleen to drop me off after bowling.”
Dionne stepped past him as if the matter were decided, but Immanuel caught her around the waist. “Not so fast.” He stared down at her, wishing he could taste her luscious red lips. “We came together, we leave together. Understood?”
“Absolutely,” she said with a sly wink, playfully jabbing a finger in his chest. “Now, let’s bowl. You better bring your A game, or you’re dead meat!”
Chapter 11
“I thought I was big and bad until I went toe-to-toe with this sexy pit bull in a skirt,” Demetri joked. “Angela gave me a thorough tongue-lashing that day, and two years later my brothers and teammates still tease me about our studio showdown.”
Dionne laughed out loud. The baseball star and his fiancée, Angela Kelly, were a hilarious twosome. Listening to Demetri recount the first time they met was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. Immanuel was sitting beside her on the leather couch, and the sound of his hearty chuckles warmed her heart. He held her close to his side, making her feel cherished and adored. I could so get used to this, she thought, leaning comfortably against him. It feels like heaven being in his arms.
The group was at the Painted Pin, an upscale entertainment bar in Buckhead’s Miami Circle. The bar had it all. Valet parking, interactive games, and comfortable seating areas with candlelit tables and attractive furniture. It was a favorite neighborhood hangout, and the patrons—a mix of tourists, college students and couples—were enjoying everything the venue had to offer. Demetri’s bodyguard, an ex-marine with a boxer’s build, stood at the entrance of the VIP lounge keeping the groupies at bay. Fans of Emilio and Demetri were screaming their names and snapping pictures, but the cousins seemed unfazed by the attention.
“I thought Angela was going to whup my ass when I confronted her at WJN-TV,” Demetri confessed. “And that would have been a disaster, because this face is worth millions!”
