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