Seduced by the Hero

by Pamela Yaye

  Everyone at the table laughed.

  “That can’t be a true story. It sounds like an episode of a reality TV show,” Dionne said, dabbing at her eyes with her fingertips. “I think you guys are pulling my leg.”

  “You do, huh?” Demetri winked at Angela. “Baby, show her the footage.”

  “Footage!” Dionne and Sharleen shouted in unison. “What footage?”

  Angela took her cell phone out of her purse, tapped the screen several times, then raised it in the air. “Since you asked,” she said, with a knowing smile, “here it is.”

  Leaning forward in her seat, Dionne stared in horror—and amusement—as an online video titled “Sexy Chicago Newscaster Goes Off on Baseball Superstar” played on the screen.

  “Damn, coz, Angela gave it to you good.” Immanuel shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it. “Next time your manager tells you not to do something, you should listen to him!”

  Demetri stared down at Angela, his eyes shimmering with love and adoration. “I’m glad I disregarded Lloyd’s advice, because meeting Angela was the best thing to ever happen to me. If I had to do it all over again, I would.”

  Demetri hugged Angela to his side and kissed her lips.

  Dionne had never met a cuter couple, though Emilio and Sharleen were definitely giving Demetri and Angela a run for their money. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and if Sharleen moved any closer to Emilio she’d be sitting in his lap. The couples were so smitten with each other. Dionne could actually feel the love in the air.

  “You guys have been engaged forever,” Emilio teased. “When’s the big day?”

  Angela beamed. “We’re getting married next summer.”

  “And this time I’m not letting you postpone it.” Demetri’s tone was firm, and his eyes were narrowed in determination. “We’re getting hitched next year come hell or high water.”

  “Hey!” Angela shrieked, pulling out of his arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Baby, I’m just keeping it real. I was ready to marry you last year, but you just had to go to the White House and interview the president and first lady for your Christmas special.”

  Scowling, she poked a finger in his chest. “But you told me to do it.”

  “Of course I did,” he said with a wink. “That’s what a caring, supportive fiancé does for the woman he loves, but if you postpone the wedding again I’m withholding the lovin’!”

  Dionne burst out laughing for the second time within minutes, and water filled her eyes. The Morretti men are the real deal, she thought, glancing around the table. Demetri and Emilio were sensitive, romantic men who loved to spoil their women, and it amazed her how open and honest they were about their feelings.

  “How is Rafael?” Immanuel asked. “Every time I call his cell goes straight to voice mail.”

  “That’s because he’s knee-deep in dirty diapers!” Demetri chuckled. “He’s got his hands full with Violet, and he recently found out they’re expecting baby number two.”

  Sharleen raised a brow. “Another baby? Wow. Their daughter is only eight months old.”

  “They’re making up for lost time,” Angela explained with a laugh. “Paris wants a big family, and I have a feeling they’ll be a family of eight in no time.”

  “What about you guys?” Emilio asked. “Do you have any plans to increase the fold?”

  “No, not yet, but we’re getting plenty of practice.”

  Angela touched Demetri’s face and pecked him on the lips. “That we are.”

  The waiter arrived, dropped off another round of drinks and appetizers, and sped off.

  “Are we going to bowl or what?” Emilio rubbed his hands together. “I have an ass-whuppin’ with your name on it, Demetri, and this time I won’t go easy on you. The winner gets bragging rights and cash, so put your money where your mouth is.”

  Immanuel barked a laugh. “I’m in! You’re both due for a beat down, so let’s do this.”

  Dionne watched as the men got up from the couch and stalked over to lane seven, leaving the women behind. “Dionne, how come you’re not eating?” Angela asked. “You don’t like junk food?”

  “Girl, please. Look at me. Do I look like the health-conscious type to you?”

  The women laughed and clinked cocktail glasses. Dionne had few female friends, and had always turned to her sisters for advice and support. But right now, she enjoyed having girl talk with Sharleen and Angela. The Chicago newscaster was full of life and positive energy, and one of the most down-to-earth people Dionne had ever met. Add to that, she looked like a superstar. Silky black hair kissed her shoulders, her makeup was flawless, and her backless purple dress was fresh off the runway.

  “Immanuel took me out for dinner before the game, and I ate enough for two,” she said with a laugh. “If I keep pigging out I won’t be able to fit into my dress for the wedding, and I paid big bucks for my Alexander McQueen gown.”

  “Girl, I hear you. I’ve gained twenty pounds since meeting Demetri, and it’s all his fault. He’s constantly feeding me, and I have no self-control when it comes to Italian cuisine. I love it all, especially the desserts, and my man’s the most amazing cook ever!”

  “Be thankful your wedding isn’t six weeks away. I still have ten pounds to lose, but the more I diet the more I gain weight. It’s like the universe is conspiring against me!” Sharleen said, excitement lacing her tone.

  “Don’t worry,” Angela said reassuringly, rubbing her friend’s shoulders. “You’re going to be a beautiful bride, and Emilio won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”

  I know the feeling, Dionne thought, glancing at lane seven in search of Immanuel. She found him standing beside the scorer’s table watching her and waved in greeting. He flashed a boyish smile, one that made his baby blues twinkle, and her heart leaped for joy. His gaze captured hers in a seductive grip, and all she could do was stare. Dionne rested a hand on her chest to calm her raging heartbeat, but it didn’t help. Her pulse continued to race and pound.

  “I love the story of how you and Immanuel met,” Angela gushed. “It’s so romantic.”

  “We’re just friends.”

  “Sure you are, girl. Just keep telling yourself that.”

  “Angela, she’s in denial,” Sharleen said. “It happened to me, too.”

  “And me,” Angela confessed, raising a hand in the air. “Dionne, quit resisting Immanuel and join the ‘He Swept Me Off My Feet’ club, because once a Morretti man sets his sights on you, it’s game over!”

  The thought should have scared her, especially in light of her failed marriages, but it didn’t. Dionne trusted her instincts and made it a point to listen to her gut feeling. Her heart was telling her Immanuel was someone special. The past two weeks had proved as much. He was unlike anyone she’d ever met, a brave, courageous man any woman would love to have.

  Including you, whispered her inner voice.

  Dionne heard her cell phone buzz, saw that she had a new text message from Mel and frowned. What the hell? Her sister’s message was confusing, didn’t make any sense.

  Are you nearby? Text me when you get here.

  Convinced the message was intended for someone else, she typed a message in response. Seconds later, her cell phone rang. “Hey, Mel. What’s up?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Out with friends.” Her gaze fell across Immanuel, and she smiled.

  “The Fontaine Family Charity drive is tonight at Friendship House. You should be here.”

  Dionne was annoyed that her sister was yelling at her, but she kept her temper in check. She was having a great time with Immanuel and his family, and she wasn’t going to let anyone ruin her night. “Mel, I have to go.”

  “So you’re on your way?” Her sister sighed in relief, speaking
in her usual bright and cheery tone. “Thank God. How long will it take you to get here?”

  “Jules and I are getting a divorce, Mel. Our lives aren’t intertwined anymore.”

  “You have to come. The entire family is here, and besides, it’s for a good cause,” she argued. “Adeline has worked tirelessly for Friendship House for decades, and she needs our support to make the charity drive a success.”

  Dionne nodded her head in agreement, but she didn’t vocalize her thoughts. Her sister-in-law’s work with inner-city youth was commendable, but the socialite was as spiteful as they come. Dionne didn’t want anything to do with her. Over the years, Adeline had humiliated her countless times, and she shuddered at the memory of the tongue-lashing she’d given her last year for wearing a sleeveless dress to an event at the Fontaine family church. “Mel, I’ll call you later.”

  She heard whispering, a shuffling sound, then Lorna’s voice on the line.

  “Are you with your new lover?” she demanded, her anger evident. “I spoke to Adeline, and she’s very upset. She said you’re flaunting him all over town. Dionne, how could you!”

  Dionne stared down at the phone, stunned by her sister’s words. Who did Lorna think she was? How dare she scream at her! Not wanting her friends to overhear her conversation, she excused herself from the table and left the lounge. She strode past the entrance and out the front door.

  “You’re jeopardizing your marriage,” she continued. “Don’t you see that? If Jules finds out you’re hooking up with other men he’ll never take you back—”

  “Good, because our marriage is over, and I want a divorce.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Yes. I. Do.” Dionne started to explain, to tell Lorna how she felt about Immanuel, but she stopped herself before the words left her mouth. She loved her sister and valued her opinion, but she didn’t owe her an explanation. It was her life, her decision, and there was no way in hell she was going to the charity drive. “I have to get back to my friends. They’re waiting for me.”

  “You’re choosing some guy you just met over your family?”

  “No, for once I’m doing what makes me happy, instead of doing what you want me to—”

  Dionne didn’t realize she was shouting or crying until she felt a hand on her back and heard Immanuel’s voice behind her. He whispered in her ear, told her everything was going to be okay, tenderly stroking her shoulders.

  “Lorna, I have to go. Bye.”

  Hanging up the phone, she cleaned her cheeks with the back of her hand. Dionne swallowed hard, but the lump in her throat seemed to grow, not shrink.

  The wind whistled through the trees, blowing leaves in the sky, and the crisp, refreshing scent of autumn perfumed the night air. Chilled to the bone, Dionne hugged her arms to her chest.

  “What are you doing out here?” Embarrassed that he’d caught her crying, she couldn’t look at him, fearing she’d crumble if she did. She could feel him staring at her and attempted to dodge his gaze. “You’re supposed to be inside.”

  “I got worried when I saw you leave and wanted to ensure you were okay.”

  “A hero’s job is never done, is that it?”

  Immanuel slid his hands around her shoulders. She felt warm and cozy in his arms, as if she were wrapped in a thick blanket. Her senses spun out of control; she was overwhelmed by his closeness, by his intimate caress. The air was electrified, perfumed with the scent of her desire. Her feelings were in tumult, her emotions, too—had been since the day she woke up in the hospital and saw Immanuel for the first time.

  “Dionne, what’s wrong? Who upset you?”

  It was his tone, the gentle urging of his voice, that did her in, that incited lustful thoughts. But she gathered herself and regained control. “It’s not important.”

  “Yes it is, because you’re important to me.”

  Dionne reluctantly pulled out of his arms. If she didn’t put some distance between them she’d end up crossing the line, and the last thing she wanted to do was embarrass herself. To lighten the mood, she said, “I’m an amazing bowler. Want to see my moves?”

  “Absolutely.” Immanuel raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Bring it on!”

  Chapter 12

  “If that’s your take on love and relationships, you’ll never meet Mrs. Right, because twenty-first century women can take care of themselves.” Cradling the cordless phone between her ear and shoulder, Dionne entered the kitchen and lowered the temperature on the stove. The air smelled of spices and Italian herbs. The aroma was so enticing that she couldn’t wait to eat.

  Noticing the time on the stove, her eyes widened. After work, she’d gone to her evening spin class but she had so much on her mind she hadn’t been able to focus. At home, her problems continued. Instead of doing housework, or packing for her upcoming business trip to Seattle, she’d flopped onto the couch, and called Immanuel. They talked two, sometimes three times a day. Their conversations lasted for hours. Chatting with him about her day always made Dionne feel better.

  “All I’m saying is I liked it better when the roles were clearly defined,” Immanuel said, fervently arguing his case. “If we go out on a date I don’t want you to drive, or order for us, or pay the bill, either. That’s my job, not yours.”

  “Job? I think you’re taking this whole chivalry thing too far.”

  “I think you’re jaded and a bit cynical about men.”

  Hell yeah I am! You’d be jaded too if you’d been screwed over numerous times by the opposite sex. The only men who haven’t played me are my father and brother.

  “I love that you’re a self-made woman, but I don’t want you to spend money when you’re with me. I got you, okay?”

  Dionne winced, swallowing hard to alleviate the lump in her throat. She hated the expression self-made woman, and knew the term didn’t apply to her. What would Immanuel think if he knew the truth? Would he think less of her? As he spoke, a frown crimped her lips. “So if I invited you to Bacchanalia again you’d say no?”

  “Of course not. Smart, captivating women are my weakness, and you’re a stunner.”

  “Good answer! I thought I was going to have to cut you!” she said with a laugh. One minute they were talking about their favorite pasta recipes, and the next thing Dionne knew they were having an intense discussion about love and relationships. Immanuel was an old-school gentleman who still believed females were the weaker sex, and Dionne enjoyed schooling him about career women. Talking with Immanuel took her mind off her troubles—her argument with her sisters, her stress at work, and her upcoming meeting at Simmons & Sons Law Firm. She laughed so hard at his jokes, her jaw ached. “If I ask you out—”

  Immanuel cut her off. “I’ll go, but I’m driving, and I’m paying the tab.”

  “That’s silly. It doesn’t matter who drives or who picks up the check.”

  “It does to me. My grandmother raised me to be a gentleman, and I take great pride in taking care of the women in my life. That’s the Morretti way...”

  His words impressed her, and the more he spoke about his role as a man and his duty to care for and protect women, the more Dionne wished she were his girlfriend. It wasn’t the first time she’d had that thought, and probably wouldn’t be the last. Loyal, sensitive men had always been her weakness, and Immanuel was everything she’d ever wanted in a man. He was opinionated and outspoken, and she loved debating with him about hot-button issues.

  As Dionne made dinner, they conversed about work, getting tickets for the improv show at Comedy Club Atlanta, and meeting up with Sharleen and Emilio tomorrow night. It had been three weeks since their group date to the bowling alley, and although there was still tension between the two brothers, Immanuel was more open about seeing Emilio. He had no choice. Dionne made a point of “running into” the couple whene
ver they were out, and would convince Immanuel to join them for a drink. She was looking forward to having Thanksgiving dinner at Emilio’s Greensboro estate.

  A sharp pain stabbed her heart. This year, Lorna was hosting family dinner, but Dionne didn’t feel comfortable going to her sister’s home. Not after the heated argument they’d had at her parents’ house last Sunday night. Since Immanuel wasn’t welcome at Lorna’s home, she’d decided to spend the holiday with her friends. Her parents didn’t like it, thought she was being unreasonable, but there was nothing they could say to change her mind.

  “How is the new car?”

  “You don’t even have to ask,” she said, a smile overwhelming her lips. “I love it.”

  Last weekend, he’d picked her up at noon, and after dim sum in Chinatown they’d gone to a local car dealership. She’d fallen in love with a Mercedes-Benz convertible, and thanks to Immanuel’s excellent negotiation skills she’d gotten a great deal on the sporty red car. She’d driven it home two days later, and every time Dionne looked at it she thought about Immanuel. He was a godsend, the kind of person who’d give a stranger the shirt off his back. Not a day went by that she didn’t wish they were more than just friends.

  “I better go,” Immanuel said. “It’s eight o’clock, and I still haven’t made dinner.”

  “You should come over. The mushroom Bolognese is almost ready, and it smells divine.” Dionne opened the jar of tomato sauce, poured it in the stainless steel pot and stirred slowly. “Should I set another plate at the kitchen table?”

  “Can I eat in front of the TV?” he asked, his voice filled with amusement. “The home team is playing.”

  “I’ll make an exception, but just this one time—” Hearing a noise behind her, she broke off speaking and glanced over her shoulder. The jar fell from her hands and shattered into a million pieces, sending shards of glass flying everywhere.

  Her body was numb, paralyzed in fear, and a scream was trapped inside her throat. Narrowing her gaze, she zeroed in on the moving target. Someone was on her deck. The person was crouched down beside the table moving their hands in a wide sweeping motion, as if they were painting a picture. What the hell?