After one fake kiss, she’s crushing on the sexy CEO—again! Only from USA TODAY bestselling author Anna DePalo!

Teacher Marisa Danieli needs a headliner for her school fund-raiser. Her best bet? Cole Serenghetti, former star hockey player turned CEO of his family’s construction empire. Sure, she had a disastrous high school crush on the guy, but business is business…

Until it turns into funny business—and posing as a couple. This time, the feelings are red-hot and made worse by the fact that Marisa’s ex-fiancé is dating Cole’s ex-girlfriend! Is Marisa’s fund-raiser coup about to backfire, or is this second chance with the CEO the real deal?

“Still can’t resist the sports guys?”

“I’m a slow learner.”

She’d been anything but a slow learner the one time they’d had sex. She’d been the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.

He cursed silently. He had to stop thinking about her. Even though right now the sunlight from a nearby window caught in her hair, creating a halo effect, and illuminated the fascinating flecks in her eyes. But what really drew him was the bow of her mouth. Soft, pink and unadorned—just waiting to be kissed, even now, fifteen years later.

She frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. I’m stalked by schoolteachers all the time.” She flushed.

“If you came to get my attention, you’ve got it.”

* * *

Second Chance with the CEO is part of the The Serenghetti Brothers series—In business and the bedroom, these alpha brothers drive a hard bargain!

Dear Reader,

It’s good to be writing for Harlequin Desire again after taking time to attend to family! This is my thirteenth Desire book, and the first in a series about the Serenghetti family—four powerful, passionate Italian-American siblings!

Teacher Marisa Danieli needs a fantastic headliner for the Pershing School fund-raiser in order to earn a job promotion. Unfortunately, her best bet is sweet-talking Cole Serenghetti—former professional hockey player returned to the family fold as CEO of Serenghetti Construction, high school troublemaker and, most important, her disastrous teenage crush...until she got him suspended from school.

Cole would rather eat an ice puck than headline Marisa’s fund-raiser, but fairly soon, thanks to one steamy kiss in a bar for the sake of their exes, everyone believes that Marisa and Cole are a couple. The second time around, will everything work out for Pershing’s most scandalous fake couple, or will history repeat itself?

Watch out for more stories about the Serenghetti siblings, coming soon from Harlequin Desire!

Warmest wishes,

Anna

Website: www.AnnaDePalo.com

Facebook: www.Facebook.com/AnnaDePaloBooks

Twitter: @Anna_DePalo

Second Chance with the CEO

Anna DePalo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

USA TODAY bestselling author ANNA DEPALO is a Harvard graduate and former intellectual-property attorney who lives with her husband, son and daughter in her native New York. She writes sexy, humorous books that have been published in more than twenty countries and has won the RT Reviewers’ Choice Award, the Golden Leaf and the Book Buyers Best Award. For the latest news, sign up for her newsletter at www.annadepalo.com.

For Colby, Nicholas & Olivia, for understanding that I write.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

One

“Cole Serenghetti,” she muttered, “come out, come out, wherever you are.”

She knew she sounded like a corny fairy-tale character, but she’d been short on happy endings lately, and the words couldn’t hurt, could they?

Then again, there was always be careful what you wish for...

As if she’d conjured him, a tall man appeared under a crossbeam at the construction site.

A feeling of dread curled in her stomach. How many times had she started out thinking she could do this and then her courage had flagged? Three? Four?

Still, the students at Pershing School depended on her bringing Cole Serenghetti to heel—her job could hinge on it, as well.

Marisa lifted her hand from the steering wheel and squeezed it to stop a sudden tremor. Then she raised her field glasses.

Features obscured under his yellow hard hat, the man strode down the dirt path leading to the opening in the chain-link fence surrounding the construction site, which would soon be a four-story medical office complex. Clad in jeans, a plaid shirt and vest and work boots, he could have been just any other construction worker. But he had an air of command...and his physique showed potential for inclusion in a beefcake calendar.

Marisa’s heart pounded hard in her chest.

Cole Serenghetti. Former professional hockey player returned to the family fold as CEO of Serenghetti Construction, high school troublemaker and her disastrous teenage crush.

Could the package be worse?

Marisa slunk lower in the driver’s seat, letting the binoculars dangle against her chest from their cord. The last thing she needed was for a police officer to come around and ask why she was stalking a rich bad-boy real estate developer.

Blackmail? Pregnant with his child? Planning to steal his Range Rover, parked oh-so-tantalizingly close and unguarded at the curb of the office building under construction?

Would anyone believe that the truth was much more mundane? Everyone knew her as Miss Danieli, sweet-natured teacher at the Pershing School. Ironic if her new secret life as a millionaire stalker came at the cost of her job and reputation when all she was trying to do was help the high school-aged students at her college-preparatory school.

Tossing aside her field glasses, she popped out of her Ford Focus and darted down the street, her open coat flapping around her, as her quarry reached the sidewalk. There were no pedestrians on this side street at four in the afternoon, though it was nearing evening rush in the city of Springfield. She’d seen construction workers earlier, but there were none on the street now.

As she approached, the dank smells of the construction site hit her. It was dirty, and the air was heavy with particles that she could almost feel, even in the damp cold that clung to western Massachusetts in March.

She heard her stomach grumble. She’d been too nervous about this meeting to eat lunch.

“Cole Serenghetti?”

He turned his head while taking off his hard hat.

Marisa slowed her steps as she was jerked back in time by the sight of the dark, ruffled hair, the hazel eyes and the chiseled lips. A scar now bisected his left cheek, joining the small one on his chin that had been there in high school.

Marisa felt her heart squeeze. His newest scar looked as if it had hurt—bad.

But he was still the sexiest man she’d ever crossed.

She tried hard to hold on to her scattered thoughts even as she drank in the changes in him.

He was bigger and broader than he’d been at eighteen, and his face had more hard planes. But the charisma of being a former National Hockey League star—and sex symbol—turned millionaire developer was the biggest change of all. And while he sported the new scar, he showed no signs of the injury that had been serious enough to end his hockey career. He moved fine.

Even though Pershing was located on the outskirts of Welsdale, Massachusetts, the town that the Serenghettis called home, she hadn’t been anywhere near Cole since high school.

She didn’t miss the once-over he gave her, and then a slow smile lit his face.

Relief swept through her. She’d been dreading this reunion ever since high school, but he seemed willing to put the past behind them.

“Sweetness, even if I wasn’t Cole Serenghetti, I’d be saying yes to you.” The lazy smile stayed on his face but his gaze traveled downward again, lingering on the cleavage revealed by her long-sleeved dress, and then on her legs, shown off by her favorite wedge-heeled espadrilles.

Oh...crap.

Cole looked up and smiled into her eyes. “You’re a welcome ray of sunshine after a muddy construction site.”

He didn’t even recognize her. Crazy giddiness welled up inside. She’d never forgotten him in the past fifteen years, worrying over her betrayal—and his. And all that time, he’d been sleeping like a baby.

She knew she looked different. Her hair was loose for a change and highlighted, the ends shorter and curling around her shoulders. Her figure was fuller, and her face was no longer hidden behind owlish glasses. But still...she plummeted to Earth like a hang glider that had lost the wind.

She had to get this over with, much as she hated to end the party.

She took a steadying breath. “Marisa Danieli. How are you, Cole?”

The moment hung between them, stretching out.

Then Cole’s face closed, his smile dimming.

She curved her lips tentatively. “I’m hoping to hold you to that yes.”

“Think again.”

Ouch. Well, this was more like the script that had been playing in her head. She forced herself to keep up the polite professionalism without, she hoped, tipping into desperation. “It’s been a long time.”

“Not long enough.” He assessed her. “And I’m guessing it’s no accident you’re here now—” he quirked a brow “—unless you’ve developed a weird compulsion to prowl construction sites?”

She’d always been bad at door-to-door solicitation jobs, and now, it seemed, was no exception. Breathe. Breathe. “The Pershing School needs your help. We’re reaching out to our most important alumni.”

“We?”

She nodded. “I teach tenth-grade English there.”

Cole twisted his lips. “They’re still putting their best foot forward.”

“Their only foot. I’m the head of fund-raising.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Congratulations and good luck.”

He stepped around her, and she turned with him.

“If you’ll just listen—”

“To your pitch?” He shot her a sideways look. “I’m not as big a sucker for the doe-eyed look as I was fifteen years ago.”

She filed away doe-eyed for later examination. “Pershing needs a new gym. I’m sure that as a professional hockey player, you can appreciate—”

“Former NHL player. Check the yearbook for athletics. You’ll come up with other names.”

“Yours was at the top of the list.” She picked her way over broken sidewalk, trying to keep up with his stride. Her espadrilles had seemed like a good choice for a school day. Now she wished she’d worn something else.

Cole stopped and swung toward her, causing her to nearly run into him. “Still at the top of your list?” He lifted his mouth in a sardonic smile. “I should be flattered.”

Marisa felt the heat sting her cheeks. He made it sound as if she was throwing herself at him all over again—and he was rejecting her.

She had an abysmal record with men—wasn’t her recent broken engagement further proof?—and her streak had started with Cole in high school. Humiliation burned like fire.

A long time ago she and Cole would have had their heads bent together over a book. She could have shifted in her seat and brushed his leg. In fact, she had brushed his leg, more than once, and he’d touched his lips to hers...

She plunged ahead. “Pershing needs your help. We need a headliner for our fund-raiser in a couple of months to raise money for the new gym.”

He looked implacable, except that twin flames danced in his eyes. “You mean you need a headliner. Try your pitch on someone else.”

“The fund-raiser would be good for Serenghetti Construction, too,” she tried, having rehearsed her bullet points. “It’s an excellent opportunity to further community relations.”

He turned away again, and she placed a staying hand on his arm.

Immediately, she realized her mistake.

They both looked down at his biceps, and she yanked her hand back.

She’d felt him, strong and vital, his arm flexing. Once, fifteen years ago, she’d run her hands over his arms and moaned his name, and he’d taken her breast in his mouth. Would she ever stop having a heated response to his every touch, every look and every word?

She stared into his eyes, which were now hard and indecipherable—as tough as the rocks he blasted for a living.

“You need something from me,” he stated flatly.

She nodded, her throat dry, feeling hot despite the weather.

“Too bad I don’t forgive or forget a deliberate betrayal easily. Consider it a character flaw that I can’t forget the facts.”

She flushed. She’d always wondered whether he’d known for certain who’d ratted out his prank to the school administration, earning him a suspension and likely costing Pershing the hockey championship that year. Now it seemed she had her answer.

She’d had her reasons for doing what she’d done, but she doubted they’d have satisfied him—then or now.

“High school was a long time ago, Cole,” she said, her voice thin.

“Right, and in the past is where the two of us are going to stay.”

His words hurt even though it had been fifteen years. Her chest felt tight, and it was difficult to breathe.

He nodded at the curb. “Yours?”

She hadn’t realized it, but they were near her car. “Yes.”

He pulled open her door, and she stepped off the curb.

A swimming sensation came over her, and she swayed.

Still, she tried for a dignified exit. A few more steps and she’d put an end to this uncomfortable reunion...

As the edges of her vision faded to black, she had one last thought. I should have eaten lunch.

She heard Cole curse and his hard hat hit the ground. He caught her in his arms as she slumped against him.

When she floated to consciousness again, Cole was saying her name.

For a moment she thought she was fantasizing about their sexual encounter in high school...until the smells of the construction site penetrated her brain, and she realized what had happened.

She was cradled against a warm, solid body. Her trench coat was bunched around her like a cocoon.

She opened her eyes, and her gaze connected with Cole’s. His golden-green eyes were intense.

She was also up close and personal with the new scar traversing his cheek. It looked painful but not jagged. Had he taken a skate blade to the face? She wanted to reach up and trace it.

He frowned. “Are you okay?”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “Yes, let me down.”

“May be a bad idea. Are you sure you can stand?”

Whatever the effects were of his career-ending injury, he seemed to have no problem holding a curvy woman of medium height in his arms. He was all hard muscle and restrained power.

“I’m fine! Really.”

Looking as if he still had misgivings, Cole lowered his arm. When her feet hit the ground, he stepped back.

Her humiliation was complete. So total, she couldn’t bear to face it right now.

“Just like old times,” Cole remarked, his tone tinged with irony.

As if she needed the reminder. She’d fainted during one of their study sessions in high school. It was how she’d first wound up in his arms...

“How long was I out?” she asked, not meeting his eyes.

“Less than a minute.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Are you all right?”

“Perfectly fine. I haven’t been to an emergency room since I was a kid.”

“You still have a tendency to faint.”

She shook her head, looking anywhere but at him. Talk about being overwhelmed by seeing him again. Anticipating and yet dreading this meeting, she’d been too nervous to eat. “No, I haven’t fainted in years. The medical term is vasovagal syncope, but my episodes are very infrequent.”

Except she had a terrible habit of fainting around him. It was their first meeting in fifteen years, and she’d already managed a replay of high school. She didn’t even want to consider what he was thinking right now. Probably that she was a consummate schemer with great acting skills.

He suddenly looked bland and aloof. “You couldn’t have planned a better Hail Mary pass.”

She cringed inwardly. He was suggesting that fainting had allowed her to buy time and get his sympathy. She was too embarrassed to get angry, however. “You play hockey, not football. Hail Mary is football. And why would I want to make a desperate last move with little chance of success?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Confuse the other side.”

“And did I?”

He looked as if he wished he were wearing all the protective gear of a hockey uniform. She was throwing him off balance. She was dizzy with momentary power, though her arms and legs still felt rubbery.

“I haven’t changed my mind.”

She lowered her shoulders and stepped toward her car.

“Are you okay to drive?” he asked, hands still shoved into his pockets.

“Yes. I feel fine now.” Tired, defeated and mortified, but fine.

“Goodbye, Marisa.”

He’d closed the door on her years ago, and now he was doing it again, with a note of finality in his voice.

She pushed aside the unexpectedly forceful emotional pain. As she stepped into her car, she was aware of Cole’s brooding gaze on her. And when she pulled away, she glanced in her rearview mirror and saw that he was still watching her from the curb.

She should never have come. And yet, she had to get him to say yes. She hadn’t come this far to accept defeat like this.

* * *

“You look like a man in need of a punching bag,” Jordan Serenghetti remarked, hitting his boxing gloves together. “I’ll spring for this round.”

“Lucky bastard,” Cole responded, moving his head from side to side, loosening up. “You get to work out the kinks by slamming someone on the ice rink.”

Jordan still had a high-velocity NHL career with the New England Razors, whereas Cole’s own had finished with a career-ending injury.

Still, whenever Jordan was in town, the two of them had a standing appointment in the boxing ring. For Cole, it beat the monotony of working out at the gym. Even as a construction executive, it paid to lead by example and stay in shape.

“Next hockey game isn’t for another three days,” Jordan responded, approaching with gloves raised. “That’s a long time to be holding punches. Anyway, don’t you have a babe to work out the kinks with?”

Marisa Danieli was a babe, all right, but Cole would be damned if he worked out anything with her. Unfortunately, she’d intruded on his thoughts too often since she’d dropped back into his arms last Friday.

Jordan touched a glove to his boxing helmet and then grinned. “Oh yeah, I forgot. Vicki dumped you for the sports agent—what’s his name, again?”

“Sal Piazza,” Cole said and sidestepped Jordan’s first jab.

“Right, Salami Pizza.”

Cole grunted. “Vicki didn’t dump me. She—”

“Got tired of your inability to commit.”

Cole hit Jordan with his right. “She wasn’t looking for commitment. It was the perfect fling that way.”

“Only because she’d heard of your reputation, so she knew she had to move on.”

“As I said, everyone was happy.” They danced around the ring, oblivious to the gym noises around them.

Even on a Wednesday evening, Jimmy’s Boxing Gym was humming with activity. The facility was kept cold but even the cool air couldn’t diminish the smell of sweat and sounds of exertion under the fluorescent lights.

Jordan rolled his neck. “You know, Mom wants you to settle down.”

Cole bared his teeth. “She’d also be happy if you quit risking thousands of dollars in orthodontia on the ice rink, but that’s not going to happen, either.”

“She can pin her hopes on Rick, then,” Jordan said, referring to their middle brother, “if anyone knew where he was.”

“On a movie set on the Italian Riviera, I’ve heard.”

Their brother was a stuntman, the risk taker among them, which was saying a lot. Their long-suffering mother claimed she’d lived at the emergency room while raising three boys and a girl. It was true they’d all broken bones, at one time or another, but Camilla Serenghetti still wasn’t aware of her sons’ most hair-raising thrills.

“It figures he’s on a paparazzi-riddled set,” Jordan grumbled. “No doubt there’s at least one hot actress in the picture.”

“Mom has Mia to fall back on, even if she is in New York.” Their youngest sibling was off pursuing a career as a fashion designer, which meant Cole was the only one based in Welsdale full-time.

“It sucks being the oldest, Cole,” Jordan said, as if reading his thoughts, “but you’ve got to admit you’re more suited to run Serenghetti Construction than any of the rest of us.”

In the aftermath of Cole’s career-ending hockey injury, their father, Serg, had suffered a debilitating stroke. Cole had grasped the reins of Serenghetti Construction eight months ago and never let go.

“It doesn’t suck,” Cole said. “It just needs to be done.”

He took the opportunity to hit Jordan with a surprise right. Damn, it felt good to rid himself of some frustration in the ring. He loved his brother, so it stunk to be even a little envious of Jordan’s life. It wasn’t just that Jordan was still a star with the Razors, because Cole had had a good run with the team himself. His younger brother also enjoyed a freedom missing from Cole’s own life these days.

Their father had always hoped one or more of his sons would carry on the family business. And in the casino of life, Cole had drawn the winning card.

Cole had been familiar with the construction business ever since he’d spent summers working on sites as a teenager. He just hadn’t anticipated having his hockey dream cut short and needing to pull his family together at the same time. Business had been tight until recently, and with Serg nearly flat on his back, Cole had been doing some scrambling with the hand he’d been dealt.

With any luck, one way or another, Cole could get on with his life again soon. Even if his future wasn’t on the ice, he had his own business and investment opportunities to pursue, particularly in the sports field. Coaching, for one thing, was beckoning...

“So why don’t you tell me what’s got you in a bad mood?” Jordan asked, as if they weren’t in a ring trying to knock each other off their feet.

Cole’s mind went to his more immediate problem—if she could even be called that instead of...oh yeah, a wrecking ball in heels. He built things, and she destroyed them—dreams being at the top of her list. Best remember her evil powers. “Marisa Danieli stopped by the construction site today.”

Jordan looked puzzled.

“High school,” Cole elaborated and then watched his brother’s frown disappear.

He and his brothers had graduated from different high schools, but Jordan knew of Marisa. After her pivotal role in Cole’s suspension during senior year, she had for a time become infamous among the Serenghetti brothers and their crowd.

“Luscious Lola Danieli?” Jordan asked, the side of his mouth turning up.

Cole had never liked the nickname—and that was even before he’d started thinking of Marisa Lola Danieli as the high school Lolita who had led him down the path to destruction. She’d earned the tongue-in-cheek nickname in high school because she’d dressed and acted the opposite of sexy.

He hadn’t told anyone about his intimate past with Marisa. His brothers would have had a field day with the story of The Geek and The Jock. As far as anyone knew, she was just the girl who’d scored off him—ratting out his prank to the principal like a hockey player slapping the puck into the goal for the game-winning shot.

For years the moment the principal had let slip that Marisa was the person who’d blabbed about him had been seared into his memory. He’d never pulled another prank again.

Still, he wasn’t merely dwelling on what had happened when they’d been about to graduate. The fact that his hockey career had ended in the past year made it bad timing for Marisa to show up and remind him of how close she’d come to derailing it before it had begun. And as he’d told Jordan, he’d accepted his new role as CEO, but it wasn’t without its frustrations. He was still on a big learning curve trying to drive Serenghetti Construction forward.

His brother’s punch caught him full on the shoulder, sending him staggering. He brought his mind back to what was happening in the ring.

“Come on. Show me what you’ve got,” Jordan jeered, warming up. “I haven’t run into Marisa since you two graduated from Pershing.”

“Until today, I could say the same thing,” Cole replied.

“So, what? She’s come back for round two now that you’re on your feet again?”

“Hilarious.”

“I was always the funny brother.”

“Your sense of fraternal loyalty warms my heart,” he mocked.

Jordan held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, nearly coming to a stop. “Hey, I’m not defending what she did. It sucked big-time for you to miss the final game and for Pershing to lose the hockey championship. Everyone avoided her wherever she went in town. But people can change.”

Cole hit his brother with his left. “She wants me to headline a fund-raiser so Pershing can build a new gym.”

Jordan grunted and then gave a low whistle. “Or maybe not. She’s still got guts.”

Marisa had changed, but Cole wasn’t going to elaborate for his brother. These days there’d be nothing tongue-in-cheek about the nickname Luscious Lola, and that was the damn problem.

Before he’d recognized her, his senses had gone on high alert, and his libido had gleefully raced to catch up. The woman was sex in heels. It should be criminal for a schoolteacher to look like her.

The eyeglasses that she used to wear in high school were gone, and her hair was longer and loose—the ends curling in fat, bouncy curls against her shoulders. She was no longer hiding her figure under shapeless sweatshirts, and she’d filled out in all the right places. Everything was fuller, curvier and more womanly. He should know—once he’d run his hands over those breasts and thighs.

Before she’d announced who she was, he’d been thinking the gods of TGIF were smiling down at him at the end of a long workweek. Then he’d gotten a reprieve until she’d literally fallen into his arms—a one-two punch.

In those seconds staring down into her face, he’d been swamped by conflicting emotions: surprise, anger, concern and yeah, lust. More or less par for the course for him where Marisa was concerned. He could still feel the imprint of her soft curves. She sent signals that bypassed the thinking part of his brain and went straight to the place that wanted to mate.

Jordan caught him square on the chest this time. “Come on, come on. You’re dazed. Woman on your mind?”

Cole lifted his lips in a humorless smile. “She suggested that participating in the fund-raiser for Pershing might be good PR for Serenghetti Construction.”

Jordan paused before dancing back a step. “Marisa is a smart cookie. Can’t fault her there.”

Cole grumbled. Marisa’s suggestion made some sense though he’d rather have his front teeth knocked out than admit it. He’d never liked publicity and couldn’t have cared less about his image during his professional hockey days, to the everlasting despair of his agent. And since taking over the reins at Serenghetti Construction, he’d been focused on mastering the ropes to keep the business operating smoothly. Community relations had taken a backseat.

Marisa had a brain, all right—in contrast to many of the women who’d chased after him in his pro days. She’d literally been a book-hugger in high school. The jocks in the locker room hadn’t even been able to rate her because it had been hard to do reconnaissance.

He’d eventually had the chance to discover the answer—she’d been a C-cup bra. But the knowledge had ultimately come at a steep price.

These days he’d bet the house that she had an A-plus body. She was primed to set men on their path to crashing and burning, just like old times.

Except this time, her next victim wouldn’t be him.

Two

Squash racquet back of hall closet. I’ll pick it up.

Marisa hit the button to turn off her cell phone. The message from Sal had come while she was out. She’d been so shaken by talking to Cole for the first time in fifteen years that she hadn’t realized she had a text until after she’d gotten back to her apartment.

Annoyance rose up in her. As far as text messages went, it wasn’t rude. But it hadn’t come from just anybody. It had come from her former fiancé, who’d broken things off three months ago.

During their brief engagement, she’d been sliding into the role of the good little wife, picking up Sal’s dry cleaning and making runs to the supermarket for him. From Sal’s perspective, asking her to retrieve his squash racquet from her hall closet was unquestionably fair game. No doubt Sal had an appointment to meet a client at the gym, because even sports agents had to establish their athleticism—though Sal played squash only once in a blue moon when an invitation was issued.

She contemplated heaving the racquet out the window and onto the lawn, and then asking Sal to come find it.

Before she could overrule her scruples, she heard someone turn the lock in the front door. She frowned, nonplussed. Hadn’t she asked Sal to return his key...?

She yanked the door open, and her cousin Serafina stumbled inside.

Marisa relaxed. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Of course it’s me,” Serafina retorted, straightening. “You gave me a key to the apartment, remember?”

“Right.” She’d been so lost in thought, she’d momentarily assumed Sal had come back to retrieve the racquet, letting himself in with an extra copy of the key. And he was uptight enough to do it. The rat.

She was glad now she’d kept her condo even when her relationship with Sal had started getting serious enough that they’d contemplated moving in together. She’d bought the small two-bedroom five years ago, and at the time, it had been a major step toward independence and security.

She wondered where Cole called home these days. In all likelihood, a sprawling penthouse loft. She wouldn’t be surprised if he lived in one of his own constructions.

One thing was for sure. He was still one of Welsdale’s hottest tickets while she... Well, shapely was the most forgiving adjective for her curves. She was still a nobody, even if she had a name at the Pershing School these days.

“What’s with you?” Serafina asked, taking off her cross-body handbag and letting it slide to the floor.

“I was thinking of a place to bury Sal’s squash racquet,” she responded and then waved a hand at the back of the apartment. “It’s in the hall closet.”

“Nice.” Serafina smiled. “But with all the dogs in this complex, someone’s bound to sniff out the cadaver real quick.”

“He needs it back.” She’d been hurt when she’d been dumped. But notwithstanding her irritation at Sal at the moment, these days she simply wanted to move on.

Serafina’s lips twitched. “The racquet is an innocent bystander. It’s not like you to misdirect anger, especially the vindictive kind.”

After a moment Marisa sighed and lowered her shoulders. “You’re right. I’ll tell him that I’m leaving it on the table in the building foyer downstairs.”

Ever since her debacle with Cole in high school, she’d been worried about being thought of as a bitch. She didn’t need Cole Serenghetti; she needed a therapist.

“But tell the jerk what he can go do with it!” Serafina added.

She gave her cousin a halfhearted smile. Serafina was a little taller than she was, and her hair was a wavy dirty blond. She’d been spared the curly dark brown locks that were the bane of Marisa’s existence. But they both had the amber eyes that were a family trait on their mothers’ side, and their facial features bore a resemblance. Anyone looking at them might guess they were related, though they had different last names: Danieli and Perini.

While they were growing up, Marisa had treated Sera as a younger sister. She’d passed along books and toys, and shared advice and clothes. More recently, having had her cousin as a roommate for a few months, until Serafina found a job in her field and an apartment, had been a real lifesaver. Marisa appreciated the company. And with respect to men, her cousin took no prisoners. Marisa figured she could learn a lot there.

“Now for some good news,” Serafina announced. “I’m moving out.”

“That’s great!” Marisa forced herself to sound perky.

“Well, not now, but after my trip to Seattle next week to visit Aunt Filo and Co.”

“I didn’t mean I’m glad you’re leaving, I meant I’m happy for you.” Three weeks ago her cousin had received the news that she’d landed a permanent position. Serafina had also gotten plane tickets to see Aunt Filomena and her cousins before starting her new job.

Serafina laughed. “Oh, Marisa, you’re adorable! I know you’re happy for me.”

“Adorable ceases to exist after age thirty.” She was thirty-three, single and holding on to sexy by a fraying thread. And she’d recently been dumped by her fiancé.

Of course, Cole had been all sunshine and come-here-honey...until he’d recognized who she was. Then he’d turned dark and stormy.

Serafina searched her face. “What?”

Marisa turned, heading down the hall toward the kitchen. “I asked Cole Serenghetti to do the Pershing Shines Bright fund-raiser for the school.”

She hadn’t died of mortification when she approached him for a favor after all these years, but she’d come close. She’d fainted in his arms. A hot wave of embarrassment washed over her, stinging her face. When would the humiliation end?

Some decadent chocolate cake was in order right now. There should be some left in the fridge. A pity party was always better with dessert.

“And?” Serafina followed behind.

Marisa waved her hand. “It was like I always dreamt it would be. He jumped right on my proposal. Chills and thrills all around.”

“Great...?”

“Lovely.” She spied the cake container on her old scarred moveable island. “And yummy.”

Cole Serenghetti qualified as yummy, too. There were probably women lined up to treat him as dessert. A decade and a half later he was looking better than ever. She’d seen the occasional picture of him in the press during his hockey days, but nothing was like experiencing the man in person.

And tangling with him was just as much a turn-yourself-inside-out experience as it had always been.

“Um, Marisa?”

Marisa set the cake container on the table. “Time for dessert, I think.”

The kind in front of her, not the Cole Serenghetti variety, even though he probably thought of her as a man-eater.

Marisa uncovered the chocolate seven-layer cake. She’d been so insecure about her body around Sal—she had too many rounded curves to ever be considered svelte. But now that he was in the past, she felt free to indulge again. Of course, Sal had a new and skinny girlfriend. He’d found the person he was looking for, and she was the size of a runway model.

“So Cole was thrilled to see you?” Serafina probed.

“Ecstatic.”

“Now I know you’re being sarcastic.”

Long after high school Marisa had told Sera about her past with Cole, and how things had heated up between her and the oldest Serenghetti brother during senior year—before they’d gone into a deep freeze. Her cousin knew Marisa had confessed that Cole was responsible for the ultimate school prank, that Cole had been suspended as a result and that Pershing had lost the Independent School League hockey championship soon after.

Getting out two plates and cutlery, Marisa said, “It’s not a party unless you join me.”

Serafina sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. “I hope this guy is worth five hundred calories. Let me guess, he still blames you for what you did in high school?”

“Bingo.”

Marisa relayed snatches of her encounter with Cole, the way she’d been doing in her mind since leaving the construction site earlier. All the while, Cole’s words reverberated in her head. I’m not as big a sucker for the doe-eyed look as I was fifteen years ago. Oh yes, he still held a grudge. He’d been impossible to sway about the fund-raiser. And yet, damningly, she felt a little frisson of excitement that he had fallen under the spell of her big, brown eyes long ago...

Serafina shook her head. “Men never grow up.”

Marisa slid a piece of cake in front of her cousin. “It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always? Cut yourself a bigger piece.”

“All the cake in the world might not be enough.”

“That bad, huh?”

Marisa met her cousin’s gaze and nodded. Then she took a bite of cake and got up again. “We need milk and coffee.”

A little caffeine would help. She felt so tired in the aftermath of a faint.

She loaded water and coffee grinds into the pot and then plugged the thing into the outlet. She wished she could afford one of those fancy coffeemakers that were popular now, but they weren’t in her budget.

Why had she ever agreed to approach Cole Serenghetti? She knew why. She was ambitious enough to want to be assistant principal. It was part of her long climb out of poverty. She credited her academic scholarship to Pershing with helping to turn her life around. And now that she was single and unattached again, she needed something to focus on. Pershing and her teaching job were the thing. And she owed it to the kids.

Marisa shook her head. She’d volunteered to be head of fund-raising at Pershing, but she hadn’t anticipated that the current principal would be so set on getting Cole Serenghetti for their big event. She should have tried harder to talk Mr. Dobson out of it. But he’d discovered from the school yearbook that Cole and Marisa had been in the same graduating class, so he’d assumed Marisa could make a personal appeal to the hockey star, one former classmate to another. There was no way Marisa was going to explain how her high school romance with Cole had ended disastrously.

“So what are you going to do now?” Serafina asked as Marisa set two coffee mugs on the table.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s not like you to give up so easily.”

“You know me well.”

“I’ve known you forever!”

Marisa summoned the determination that had helped her when she’d been the child of a single mother who worked two jobs. “I’ll have to give it another try. I can’t go back to the board admitting defeat this fast. But I can’t lie in wait for Cole again at a construction site, like some crazed stalker.”

Serafina wiped her mouth with a napkin. “You may want to give Jimmy’s Boxing Gym a go.”

“What?”

Serafina gave her an arch look. “It’s beefcake central. Also, Cole Serenghetti is known to be a regular.”

Marisa’s brow puckered. “And you know this, how?”

“The guys down at the Puck & Shoot. The hockey players are regulars.” Sera paused and pulled a face. “Jordan Serenghetti stops in from time to time.”

Judging from Sera’s expression, Marisa concluded her cousin didn’t much care for the youngest Serenghetti brother.

“Are you doing more than moonlighting as a waitress there?” Marisa asked with mock severity.

Serafina shrugged. “If you hung out in bars, you wouldn’t need the tip.” Then she flashed a mischievous grin. “Use it in good health.”

Of course Cole Serenghetti would go to a boxing gym. The place was most likely the diametric opposite of the fancy fitness center where Sal played squash. She’d given up her own membership—with guilty relief—when Sal had unsubscribed from their relationship.

She rolled her eyes heavenward. “What do I wear to a boxing gym...?”

“My guess is, the less, the better.” Serafina curved her lips. “Everyone will be sweaty and hot, hot, hot...”

One week later...

Cole saw his chance in Jordan’s sudden loss of focus and hit him hard, following up with a one-two punch that sent his brother staggering.

Then he paused and wiped his brow while he let Jordan regain his balance, because their purpose was to get some exercise and not to go for a knockout. “I don’t want to ruin your pretty face. I’ll save that thrill for the guys on the ice.”

Jordan grimaced. “Thanks. One of us hasn’t had his nose broken yet, and—” he focused over Cole’s shoulder “—I need to talk pretty right now.”

“What the hell?”

Jordan indicated the doorway with his chin.

When Cole turned around, he cursed.

Marisa was here, and from all the signs, she didn’t have any more sense about a boxing gym than she did about showing up at a construction site in heels. She was drawing plenty of attention from the male clientele—and some were going back for a second look. But her gaze settled nowhere as she made her way toward the ring that he and Jordan were using. She looked pure and unaware of her sexuality in a floaty polka-dot dress that skimmed her curves. The heels and bouncy hair were back, too.

She was the perfect picture of an innocent little schoolteacher—except Cole knew better. Still, for all outward appearances, the tableau was Bambi surrounded by wolves.

“Now that,” Jordan said from behind him, “is a welcome Wednesday night surprise.”

Cole scowled. Not for him, it wasn’t. He moved toward the ropes, pulling at the lacing of one glove with the other. A staff member for the gym came up to the side of the ring to help him.

“Where are you going?” Jordan called.

“Take a breather!”

“I saw her first,” his brother joked, coming up alongside him.

From when they’d hit puberty, the Serenghetti brothers had one rule: whoever saw a woman first got to make a move.

Cole leveled his brother with a withering look as the gym assistant pulled off his gloves. “That is Marisa Danieli.”

Jordan’s eyes widened, and then a slow grin spread across his face. “Wow, she’s changed.”

“Not as much as you think. Hands off.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who needs a warning. Who yanked off his gloves?” Jordan looked over Cole’s shoulder and then raised his eyebrows.

Cole turned. Marisa had pulled the ropes apart and was stepping into the ring, one shapely leg after the other.

“This should be good,” Jordan murmured.

“Shut up.”

Cole pulled off his padded helmet. The front of his sleeveless shirt was damp with perspiration, and his sweatpants hung low on his hips. It was a far cry from the way he looked in meetings these days—where he often wore a jacket and tie.

He handed off his helmet before turning toward the woman who’d crept into his thoughts too often during the past week. Sweeping aside any need for pleasantries, he demanded, “How did you find me?”

Marisa hesitated, looking as if her bravado was leaving her now that she was facing her opponent in the ring. “A tip at the Puck & Shoot.”

Cole figured he shouldn’t be surprised she was a patron of the New England Razors’ hangout. She could scout for her next victim at a sports bar, and it would be easy pickings.

Marisa took a deep breath, and Cole watched her chest rise and fall.

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s start again. And how are you, too, Cole?”

“Is that how you start the day in school? Correcting your students’ manners?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted.

Jordan stepped forward. “Don’t mind Cole. Mom sent us to Miss Daisy’s School for Manners, but only one of us graduated.” Jordan flashed the mega-kilowatt grin that had earned him an underwear advertising campaign. “I’m Jordan Serenghetti, Cole’s brother. I’d shake your hand but as you can see—” he held up his gloves, his smile turning rueful “—I’ve been pounding Cole to a pulp.”

Marisa blinked, her gaze moving from Jordan to Cole. “He doesn’t look the worse for wear.”

Cole’s muscles tightened and bunched, and then he frowned. He should be used to compliments... Besides, he knew she had an ulterior motive—she still needed him for her fund-raiser.

“We stay away from faces,” Jordan added, “but his nose has been broken and mine hasn’t.”

“Yes,” she said, “I see...”

Cole knew what he looked like. Not bad, but not model-handsome like Jordan. He and his brother shared the same dark hair and tall build, but Jordan’s eyes were green while his were hazel. And he’d always been more rough-hewn—not that it mattered at the moment.

Jordan flashed another smile at Marisa. “You may remember me from Cole’s high school days.”

Cole forced himself to remember the expensive orthodontia as the urge hit to rearrange his brother’s teeth. He noticed how Jordan didn’t reference the high school fiasco in which Marisa had had a starring role.

“Jordan Serenghetti... I know you from the sports news,” Marisa said, sidestepping the whole sticky issue of high school.

Cole had had enough.

“You don’t take no for an answer,” Cole interrupted, and had the pleasure of seeing Marisa flush.

She turned her big doe eyes on him. “I’m hoping you’ll reconsider, if you’ll just listen to what I have to say.”

“If he won’t listen, I will,” Jordan joked. “In fact, why don’t we make an evening of it? Everything goes down better with a little champagne—unless you prefer wine?”

Cole gave his brother a hard stare, but Jordan kept his gaze on Marisa.

“The Pershing School needs a headliner for its Pershing Shines Bright benefit,” Marisa said to Jordan.

“I’ll do it,” Jordan said.

“You didn’t graduate from the Pershing School.”

“A minor detail. I was a student for a while.”

Marisa took a step and swayed, her heels failing to find firm ground in the ring. Cole reached out to steady her, but she grasped one of the ropes for support, and he let his arm fall back to his side.

Careful. Touching Marisa was a bad idea, as he’d been reminded only last week.

“Cole’s the better choice because he graduated from Pershing,” Marisa said, looking into his eyes. “I know you have some loyalty to your school. You had a few good hockey seasons there.”

“And thanks to you, no championship.”

She looked abashed and then recovered. “That has to do with me, not Pershing, and anyway, there’s a new school principal.”

“But you’re the messenger.”

“A very pretty one,” Jordan volunteered.

Cole froze his brother with a look. He and Marisa had known each other in a carnal sense, which should make her off-limits to Jordan. But he wasn’t about to let his brother in on those intimate details—which meant he was in a bind about issuing a warning. Jordan was a player who liked women, making Marisa a perfect target for the charm that he never seemed to turn off.

Jordan shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe it wasn’t Marisa’s fault.”

None of them needed him to elaborate.

“It was me at the principal’s office,” she admitted.

“But you’re sorry...?” Jordan prompted, throwing her a lifeline.

“I regret my role, yes,” she said, looking pained.

Cole lowered his shoulders. He’d gotten the closest thing to an apology.

Still, Marisa had another motive for showing up today. And while he may have gotten over high school and his suspension a long time ago, forgiving and forgetting her treachery was still a long time coming...

Jordan shot him a speaking glance. “And Cole apologizes for being Cole.”

Cole scowled. “Like hell.”

They hadn’t even touched on intimate levels of betrayal that Jordan knew nothing about.

Jordan gestured with his glove. “Okay, I typically leave the mediation talks to the NHL honchos, but let’s give this one more try. Cole regrets messing up with his last prank.”

“Right,” Cole said tightly but then couldn’t resist taking a shot at his brother to dislodge the satisfied look on his face. “Jordan, talk show host is not in your future.”

His brother produced a wounded look. “Not even sportscaster?”

“Since we’re all coming clean,” Cole continued pleasantly, looking at Marisa, “why don’t you tell me what’s in this for you?”

She blinked. “I told you. I want to help the Pershing School get a new gym.”

“No, how does this all help you personally?”

Marisa bit her lip. “Well... I hope I’ll be considered for assistant principal someday.”

“Now we’re getting warmer,” he said with satisfaction, cocking his head because this was the Marisa he expected—full of guile and hidden motives. “Funny, I had you pegged for the type who’d be walking up the aisle in a white dress by now and then juggling babies and teaching.”

Marisa paled, and Cole’s hand curled. She looked as if he’d scored a dead hit.

“I was engaged until a few months ago,” she said in a low voice.

“Oh yeah? Anyone I know?” Had Marisa entrapped someone else from high school? Unlikely.

“Maybe. He’s a sports agent named Sal Piazza.”

Beside them, his brother whistled before Cole could react.

“You might know him,” Marisa continued, “because he’s now dating your last girlfriend. Or at least you were photographed in the stands at a hockey game with her. Vicki Salazar.”

Damn.

“Hey, can this be called entangled by proxy?” Jordan interjected, his brow furrowing. “Or how about engaged by one degree of separation? Is that an oxymoron?”

Cole felt a muscle in his face working. His brother didn’t know the half of it. “Put a lid on it, Jordan.”

Cole looked around. They were attracting an audience. The speculative ones were wondering whether this was a lovers’ spat and Marisa was his girlfriend—and whether they could intercept her as she made her way out of the gym. “This is ridiculous. The ring isn’t the place for this conversation. We’re a damn spectacle.”

Marisa looked startled.

He fastened his hand on her arm against his better judgment. “Come on.” He lifted the rope. “After you.”

Marisa cast a glance at Jordan.

“He isn’t coming,” Cole said shortly.

Marisa stepped between the ropes and Cole followed, taking the wooden steps down to the gym floor.

Ignoring curious looks, he steered Marisa toward the back entrance—the one leading to the parking lot. When they reached the rear door, he turned to face her and said, “So you’re engaged to Sal Piazza.”

“I was.” She lifted her chin. “Not anymore.”

“Still can’t resist the sports guys?”

“I’m a slow learner.”

She’d been anything but a slow learner the one time they’d had sex. She’d been the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.

He cursed silently. He had to stop thinking about her. Even though right now, the sunlight from a nearby window caught in her hair, creating a halo effect, and illuminated the fascinating flecks in her eyes. But what really drew him was the bow of her mouth. Soft, pink and unadorned—just waiting to be kissed, even now, fifteen years later.

She frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. I’m stalked by schoolteachers all the time.”

She flushed.

“If you came to get my attention, you’ve got it.” He jerked his head toward the way they had come. “Along with that of most of the guys in there.”

“It’s not my problem if they have a fetish for overworked and underpaid educators.”

He almost burst out laughing. “Your job of recruiting me makes you overworked and underpaid?”

She pursed her lips.

“Your sports agent fiancé didn’t give you any pointers about recruiting athletes?” The dig rolled off his tongue, and then he cocked his head. “Funny, you don’t strike me as Sal Piazza’s type.”

“I’m not.” She smiled tightly, looking as if she’d be dangerous with a hockey stick right now. “He left me for Vicki.”

“He cheated on you?”

“He denied it had gone as far as...sex. But he said he’d met someone else...and he was attracted to her.” Marisa looked as if she couldn’t believe what she was telling him.

“So Sal Piazza broke up with you to get Vicki in bed.” Cole smiled humorlessly. “I should warn the guy that Vicki prefers anything to a bed.”

“Don’t be crude.”

Hell if he could puzzle out Sal. Vicki and Marisa couldn’t even be compared. One was a zero-calorie diet cola—you could guzzle twenty and they wouldn’t fill you up—and the other a decadent dessert that could kill you.

He was also still wrapping his head around the fact that Sal and Marisa had been engaged. Sal was a sports nut, center-court wannabe. And in high school at least, Marisa couldn’t have cared less about sports—her hookup with the captain of the hockey team aside.

On the other hand, from the few times Cole had run into Sal at some sports-related event or another, he’d struck Cole as an affable, conventional kind of guy. Medium build, average looks—bland and colorless. No surprise if Marisa had thought of him as safe and reliable. Not that the relationship with Sal had worked out the way she’d expected.

“When did the breakup happen?” he asked.

“In January.”

Cole and Vicki had last seen each other in November.

“Worried that Vicki might have cheated on you with a mere sports agent?” Marisa asked archly.

“No.” His involvement with Vicki had been so casual it had barely qualified as a relationship. Still, he couldn’t resist getting another reaction out of Marisa. “Even ex-hockey players rank above sports agents in the pecking order.”

She got a spark in her eyes. “So, according to you, I’ve been on a downward trajectory since high school?”

“Only you can speak to that, sweet pea.”

He felt some satisfaction at provoking her. She’d been working hard to maintain a crumbling wall of polite and professional civility between them.

“Your hubris leaves me breathless.”

He smiled mirthlessly. “That’s the effect that I often have on women, but it’s because of my huge—”

“Stop!”

“—reputation. What did you think I was going to say?”

“You’re impossible.”

“So you give up?” He glanced around them. “Good match. We both got in some nice jabs. I accept your concession.”

“The way you accepted my apology?”

He jerked his head toward the interior of the gym. “Is that what it was?”

She nodded. “Take it or leave it.”

“And if I leave it?”

She twitched her lips, her eyes flashing. “Time to go for Plan B. Fortunately, Jordan’s already given me one. Now all I need to do is convince the school that he’d be a good substitute.”

She started to turn away, and Cole reached out and caught hold of her upper arm.

“Stay away from Jordan,” he said. “You’ve already messed up one Serenghetti. Don’t go for another.”

He’d gotten first dibs on Marisa more than a decade ago. And given their history, first dibs held even now, whether Jordan knew the details or not.

“I’m flattered you think so highly of my evil powers, but Jordan is a big boy who can take care of himself.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“Neither am I. I’m running out of time to find a headliner for the Pershing fund-raiser.”

“Not Jordan.”

She pulled out of his grasp. “We’ll see. Goodbye, Cole.”

Broodingly, Cole watched her exit the gym.

Their meeting hadn’t ended the way she’d wanted, but it wasn’t the way he’d envisioned it, either.

Damn it.

He had to keep her away from Jordan, and his script didn’t include admitting, I slept with her.

Three

Cole had to wait a week to corner his brother because Jordan had three away games. But he figured their parents’ house was as good a location as any for a showdown. As he exited his Range Rover, he looked up at the storm clouds. Yup. The weather fit his mood.

When he didn’t spot Jordan’s car on his parents’ circular drive, he quelled his impatience. His brother would be here soon enough. Jordan had replied to his text and agreed they would both stop by the house this evening to check on how their parents were doing. So Cole would soon have blessed relief from the irritation that had been dogging him for the past week. Marisa and his brother—over his cold dead body.

Cole made his way to the front doors. The Serenghetti house was a Mediterranean villa with a red-tile roof and white walls. In warmer months, a lush garden was his mother’s pride and joy, keeping both her and a landscaper busy. As Serg’s construction business had grown, Cole’s parents had traded up to bigger homes. The move to the Mediterranean villa had been completed when Cole was in middle school. Serg had built a house big enough to accommodate the Serenghetti brood as well as the occasional visiting relatives.

Cole’s jaw tightened. If Jordan had been contacted by Marisa, then his brother needed to be warned off. His brother had to understand that Marisa couldn’t be trusted. She may have changed since high school, but Cole wasn’t taking any chances. On the other hand, if Marisa had been bluffing about asking Jordan to be her second choice, so much the better. Either way, Cole was going to make damn sure there wasn’t anything going on.

Memories had snuck up on him ever since Marisa had traipsed back into his life. Yeah, he’d taken a lot for granted when he’d been at Pershing—his status as top jock, his popularity with girls and the financial security that allowed him a ride at a private school. Still, there’d been pressure. Pressure to perform. Pressure to outperform himself—on and off the ice. He’d set himself up for a fall by trying to outdo his biggest game, his latest prank, his most recent sexual experience...

Back in high school, Marisa had been outside his inner circle but had seemingly been able to look in without judging. At least that was what he’d thought. And then she’d betrayed him.

Sure, he hadn’t liked it one bit when Jordan had turned his charm on Marisa at the boxing gym. But it was because he hated to see his brother make the same mistake he’d made. It had nothing to do with being territorial about a teenage fling. He didn’t do jealousy. Marisa was an attractive woman, but he was old enough to know the pitfalls of acting on pure lust.

As a professional hockey player, he’d always had easy access to women. But after a while it had started to lose meaning. When Jordan had joined the NHL, he’d given his younger brother the talk about the temptations facing professional athletes from money and fame. Of course, Jordan was a seasoned pro these days—but Marisa presented a brand of secret and stealthy allure.

He should know.

Cole tensed as he recalled how ready Jordan had been to succumb to temptation last week. Because his brother had been on the road for away games since then, with any luck he’d been too busy for Marisa to reach him.

Cole opened the unlocked front door and let himself in. The sounds of “We Open in Venice” hit him, and he wondered if his mother was again playing all the songs from Cole Porter’s Kiss Me, Kate. She loved the musical so much, she had named her firstborn after its legendary composer.

Cole thought his life didn’t need a soundtrack—least of all, that of the musical based on Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew. Still, was it a coincidence—or the universe sending him a message? He had about as much chance of taming Marisa as of returning to his professional hockey career right now. Not that he was going to try. He was only going to make sure that he and any other Serenghetti were outside Marisa’s ambit.

He made his way to the back of the house, where he found his mother in the oversize kitchen. As usual, the house smelled of flowers, mouthwatering food aromas...and familial obligation.

“Cole,” Camilla said, pronouncing the e at the end of his name like a short vowel. “A lovely surprise, caro.”

Although his mother had learned English at a young age, she still had an accent and sprinkled her English with Italian. She’d met and married Serg when he’d been vacationing in Tuscany, and she’d been a twenty-one-year-old hotel front-desk employee. Before Serg had checked out in order to visit extended family in the hockey-mad region north of Venice, the two had struck up a romance.

“Hi, Mom.” Cole snagged a fried zucchini from a bowl on the marble-topped kitchen island. “Where’s Dad?”

“Resting.” She waved a hand. “You know all these visitors make him tired. Today the home-care worker, the nurse and the physical therapy came.”

“You mean the physical therapist?”

“I say that, no?”

Cole let it slide. His mother had a late-blossoming career as the host of a local cooking show. Viewers who wrote in liked her accent, and television executives believed it added the spice of authenticity to her show. For Cole, it was just another colorful aspect of his lovable but quirky family.

“You beat me to the food. Did you taste the gnocchi yet?”

Cole turned to see Jordan saunter into the kitchen. Cole figured his brother must have driven up as soon as he’d entered the house. “How do you know she prepared gnocchi?”

Jordan shrugged. “I texted Mom earlier. She’s perfecting a recipe for next week’s show, and we’re the guinea pigs. Gnocchi with prosciutto, escarole and tomato.”

Camilla brightened. “I tell you? The name of the show is goin’ to change to Flavors of Italy with Camilla Serenghetti.”

“That’s great!” Jordan leaned in to give his mother a quick peck on the cheek.

Cole nodded. “Congratulations, Mom. You’ll be challenging Lidia Bastianich in no time.”

Camilla beamed. “My name in the titolo. Good, no?”

“Excellent,” Cole said.

Camilla frowned. “But I need to schedule more guests.”

“Isn’t that the job of the program booker at the station?”

“It’s my show.”

Jordan made a warding-off gesture with his hands. “Remember when you had me on last year, Mom? I made you burn the onions that you were sautéing. And Cole here wasn’t much better when he was a guest.”

From Cole’s perspective, he and Jordan had been worth something in the sex appeal department, but his mother’s show would never have mass crossover appeal to the beer-and-chips sports crowd.

Before he could offer to sacrifice himself again on the altar of his mother’s show-business career, Camilla started toward the fridge and said, “I need somebody new.”

“I’ll put in a word with the Razors,” Jordan offered. “Marc Bellitti likes to cook. And maybe a member of the team can suggest someone with better skills in the kitchen than on the ice.”

Cole turned to his brother. “Speaking of ice, great game for you last night. You would have scored another goal if Peltier hadn’t body-checked you at the last second.”

Jordan grumbled. “He’s been a pain in the rear all season.” Then keeping an eye on their mother, as if to make sure he wouldn’t be overheard, he added, “Guy needs to get laid.”

At the mention of sex, Cole locked his jaw. “Has Marisa Danieli contacted you?”

Jordan cast him an assessing look. “Why do you ask?”

“She still needs a guinea pig for her fund-raiser. As I understand it, you’re eager guinea pig material.”

Jordan’s lips quirked. “Being the test subject isn’t half bad sometimes. Anyway, she wanted you.”

“I told her no.”

“Admirable fortitude. The guys in the locker room would be impressed.”

“I’m asking you to tell her no.”

“It hasn’t come up.”

Cole relaxed his shoulders. “She hasn’t tried to reach you?”

“Nope. And quit focusing on the decoy. I’m a bad one. There’s something else you’ll find a lot more interesting.”

Camilla set a big bowl of gnocchi on the counter and announced, “I’m goin’ to check on your father and be right back.”

“Take your time, Mom.” Cole knew his mother was worried about his father’s rough road to recovery. It had been several months since the stroke, and Serg still had not made a complete recovery—if he ever would.

When their mother left, Cole turned to Jordan and wasted no time in getting to the point. “What is it?”

“Word is that the job for the new gym at the Pershing School is going to JM Construction.”

Cole’s lips thinned. She’d done worse than get Jordan on board for her fund-raiser.

As far as jobs went for a midsize construction company like Serenghetti or JM, the new gym at the Pershing School was small-fry. However, JM would get the attendant publicity and goodwill.

Damn it. They’d been outbid twice in the past few months by JM Construction. Like Serenghetti, JM operated in the New England region, though both sometimes took jobs farther afield. Serenghetti’s main offices were in Welsdale—at Serg’s insistence—but they kept a business suite in Boston for convenience, as well as a small satellite staff in Portland, Maine.

“You know this how?” Cole demanded of his brother.

“Guys talking down at the Puck & Shoot. If you hung out there, you’d know, too. You should try it.”

“A lot happens at the Puck & Shoot.” Cole recalled that Marisa had found out how to run him to ground from a tip at the bar.

“The drinks aren’t bad, and the female clientele is even better.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t spotted Marisa there.”

Jordan snagged a cold gnocchi from the bowl and popped it into his mouth. “She doesn’t look like the type to be a sports bar regular.”

“A lot about her may surprise you.”

His brother swallowed and grinned. “I’m sure.”

“Jordan.”

“Anyway, I was killing time. Someone brought up my recent ad campaign, so I mentioned an opportunity to do a little local promo for the Pershing School. I asked if anyone was interested.”

“Putting in a good word for Marisa?” Cole asked sardonically.

There was laughter in Jordan’s eyes. “Well, I knew you didn’t want to volunteer. And you’d have my head on a platter if I did the fund-raiser.”

“Good call.”

“But I felt bad for her, to be honest. She was even willing to tangle with you in order to find a celebrity.”

“She knows what she’s doing.”

“She seems like a good sort these days. Or at least her cause is a good one.”

“Right.” Whose side was his brother on?

“Anyway, you remember Jenkins? He graduated a couple of years after you did and played in the minors for a while?”

“Yeah?”

“He said the rumor was that JM Construction had the inside track on building the gym. So he thought it was curious I was mentioning the school fund-raiser to the Razors. He indicated it was mighty magnanimous of me to try to find a recruit for JM’s cause.”

“Oh yeah, it was.” Cole resisted a snort. “Still feeling sorry for Marisa?”

The woman had more up her sleeve than a cardsharp.

Jordan shrugged. “She may know nothing about who’s getting the construction contract.”

“We’ll see. Either way, I’m about to find out.”

* * *

Life was full of firsts—some of them more welcome than others. Cole had been her earliest lover, and now he was giving her another first. Marisa stepped inside Serenghetti Construction’s offices, which she’d never done before.

The company occupied the uppermost floors of a redbrick building that had once been a factory, square in the middle of Welsdale’s downtown. The website stated that Serg Serenghetti had renovated the building twenty years ago and turned it into a modern office complex. For years she’d felt as if she would never be welcome inside, but now she’d gotten a personal invite from Cole Serenghetti himself. It showed how life could turn on a dime.

Of course the actual call had come from Cole’s assistant. But Marisa had taken it as a sign that Cole might be softening his stance. She was willing to hold on to any thread of hope, no matter how thin. Because as much as she’d bluffed, she had no Plan B. She hadn’t tried to contact Jordan Serenghetti because it would be preferable for Pershing to have someone who’d graduated from the school as a headliner. Besides, she was sure Cole would block any attempt to recruit his brother.

In the lobby, Marisa tried not to be intimidated by the sleek glass-and-chrome design—a testament to money and power. And when she reached the top floor, she took a deep breath as she entered Serenghetti’s spacious and airy offices. The decor was muted beiges and grays—cool and professional. The receptionist announced her, took her coat and then directed her down the hall to a corner office.

Her heart beat in a staccato rhythm as she reached an open doorway. And then her gaze connected with Cole’s. He was standing beside an imposing L-shaped desk.

The air hummed between them, and Marisa steadied herself as she walked forward into his office. She’d dressed professionally in a beige pantsuit, but she was suddenly very aware of her femininity. That was because Cole exuded power in a navy suit and patterned tie. This was a different incarnation than his hockey uniform, or his hardhat and jeans, but no less potent.

“You look wary,” Cole said. “Afraid you’re in for a third strike?”

“You don’t play baseball.”

“Lucky you.”

“You wouldn’t have summoned me if you’d meant to turn me down again.”

“Or maybe I’m a sadistic bastard who enjoys making you pay for past transgressions again and again.”

Marisa compressed her lips to keep from giving her opinion. His office was devoid of personal items like family photos and as inscrutable as the man himself. She wondered if this room had been Serg’s office until recently, or whether Cole had just avoided settling in by bringing mementos.

Cole smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “So here’s the deal, sweet pea. Serenghetti Construction builds the new gym at Pershing, no questions asked. I don’t want to hear any garbage about handing off the job to a friend of a board member.”

“What?”

“Yeah, surprised?” he asked as he prowled toward her. “So am I. I’ve been almost dancing with shock ever since I discovered you wanted me to be a poster boy for someone else’s construction job. And not just anyone else, but our main competitor. They’ve underbid us on the last two jobs. But that’s quality for you.”

“I’m sure the construction would be up to code. We’d have an inspection,” she said crossly.

“Being up to code is the least of your worries.”

Marisa felt as if she’d shown up in the middle of the second act of a play. There was a context that she was missing here. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. What friend of a board member?”

Cole scanned her face for a moment, then two. “It would figure they didn’t let the teacher in on the discussion. Have you ever sat on a board of directors?”

She shook her head.

“The meetings might be public, but there’s plenty of wheeling and dealing behind the scenes. It’s you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. We’ll go with the headliner you want for the fund-raiser, but you’ll back my guy for the construction job.”

Marisa felt the heat of embarrassment flood her face. She’d thought she’d been so clever in her approach for Pershing Shines Bright. She hadn’t even let Mr. Dobson know she’d talked to Cole because she’d thought her chances of success were uncertain at best. She’d wanted the option of persuading Mr. Dobson to go with someone else without the appearance that she’d failed.

Now she felt like a nitwit—one who didn’t know what the other hand was doing. Or at least, didn’t know what the school board was up to. She wanted to slump into a chair, but it would give Cole an even bigger advantage than he had.

“That kind of horse-trading is corrupt,” she managed.

“That’s life.”

“I didn’t have any idea.”

“Right.”

“You believe me?”

He made an impatient sound. “You’re a walking, breathing cliché. In this case, for one, you’re a naive and idealistic schoolteacher who’s been kept out of the loop.”

“Well, at least I’ve improved in your estimation in the last fifteen years.” She dropped her handbag onto a chair. If she couldn’t sit, at least she could get rid of some dead weight while she faced Cole. “That’s more than you would have said about me in high school.”

“At this point I have a good sense of when you’re to blame,” he shot back, not answering directly.

“Meaning you have plenty of experience?”

Cole gave her a penetrating look and then said, “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to tell the principal—”

“Mr. Dobson.”

“—that you’ve got me on board for the fund-raiser, but there’s one condition attached.”

“Serenghetti Construction gets the job.”

Marisa had been on a roller coaster of emotions since walking into Cole’s office. And right now elation that Cole was agreeing to be her headliner threatened to overwhelm everything else. She tried to appear calm but a part of her wanted to jump up and down with relief.

Cole nodded, seemingly oblivious to her emotional state. “Let Dobson deal with the board of directors. My guess is that the member with ties to JM Construction will have to back down. If Dobson plays his cards right, he’ll marshal support even before the next board meeting.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“He will, especially if I say Jordan will show up, too, even though he’s not a graduate of the school. Pershing isn’t a public school that’s legally bound to accept the lowest bid on a contract. And giving the contract to Serenghetti Construction makes sense. The money that the school would save not having to pay a big name to appear at their fund-raiser tips the balance on the bottom line.”

She sighed. “You’ve thought of everything.”

“Not everything. I still have to deal with you, sweet pea.”

His words hurt, but she managed to keep her expression even. “Bad luck.”

“Bad luck comes in threes. Getting injured, needing to take over a construction firm, you showing up...”

“We’re even,” she parried. “I’ve been cheated on, gotten dumped by my fiancé and had to recruit you for the fund-raiser.”

He smiled, and she thought she detected a spark of admiration for her willingness to meet him head-on. “Not so diplomatic now that you know you have me hooked.”

“Only because you’re willing to be ruthless with your competitors.”

“Just like your douche bag fiancé?” he asked. “How did you wind up engaged to Sal? Are you hanging out in sports bars these days?”

“You know from personal experience that I visit boxing gyms.” She shrugged. “Why not a sports bar?”

His eyes crinkled. “You showed up at Jimmy’s only because you were tracking me. You’d probably claim your appearance was under duress.”

“I’m not going to argue.”

“You’re not?” he quipped. “What a change.”

“You’re welcome.”

His expression sobered. “For the record, you don’t know what to wear to a gym.”

“I came from school dressed like a teacher,” she protested.

His eyes swept over her. “Exactly. As I said, you’re a walking cliché.”

“And you are frustrating and irritating.” She spoke lightly, but she sort of meant it, too.

“Talk to my opponents on the ice. They’ll tell you all about it.”

“I’m sure they would.”

“It’s nice to know I bother you, sweet pea.”

Their gazes caught and held, and awareness coiled through her, threatening to break free. She wet her lips, and Cole’s eyes moved to her mouth.

“Are you still pining and crying your eyes out for him?” he asked abruptly.

She blinked, caught off guard. She wasn’t going to admit as much to Cole of all people, but she’d done enough pining and crying in high school to last a lifetime. Still, it would be pathetic if she’d met and lost the love of her life at eighteen. Her life couldn’t have ended that early.

“For whom?” she asked carefully.

“Piazza.”

“Not really.”

She’d dated since graduating from Pershing, but nothing had panned out past a few dates until Sal. It was as if she’d needed to lick her wounds for a long time after high school—after Cole.

There’d been initial shock over Sal’s betrayal, of course. But then she’d gotten on with her life. She had a low opinion of Sal, and she was still angry about being cheated on. But she wasn’t lying in bed wondering how she was going to go on—or wishing Sal would see the light and come back to her.

She’d been prepared to be hit by the despair that had assailed her after her teenage fling with Cole. So either she’d matured, or her relationship with Sal hadn’t been as significant as she’d told herself. She refused to analyze which was the case.

Cole shrugged. “Piazza isn’t worth it. He’s a cheating a—”

“You’ve never cheated on a woman?” They were getting into personal territory, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking the question.

Cole assumed a set expression. “I’ve dated plenty, but it’s always been serial. And you never answered my question about how you met Piazza.”

“Why are you interested?” she shot back before sighing in resignation. “We did meet in a bar, actually. Some teachers met for Friday night drinks, and I was persuaded to go along. He was an acquaintance of an acquaintance...”

Cole arched an eyebrow, as if prompting her for more.

“He was steady, reliable...”

“A bedrock to build a marriage on. But he turned out to be so reliable, he cheated on you.”

“What do you suggest constructing a lasting relationship on?” she lobbed back. “A hormone-fueled hookup with a woman as deep as a puddle after a light rain?”

She didn’t pose the question as if it was about him in particular, but he could read between the lines.

“I haven’t even tried for more. That’s the difference.”

“As I said, Sal appeared steady and reliable...” And she’d been desperate for the respectably ordinary. All she’d wanted as an adult was to be middle class, with a Cape Cod or a split level in the suburbs and a couple of kids...and no money worries.

Sal had grown up in Welsdale, too, but unlike her, he’d attended Welsdale High School, so they hadn’t known each other as teenagers. When they’d met, he’d been working for a Springfield-based sports management company, but was often back in his hometown, which was where they had gotten acquainted one night at The Obelisk Lounge. Sal traveled to Boston regularly for business, but he and his firm mainly focused on trolling the waters of professional hockey at the Springfield arena where the New England Razors played.

Cole looked irritated. “Sal is the sports version of a used car salesman—always preparing to pitch you the next deal as if it’s the best thing since sliced bread.”

“As far as I can tell, a lot of you sports pros believe you are the best thing since sliced bread.”

They were skimming the surface of the deep lake of emotion and past history between them. Every encounter with Cole was an emotional wringer. You’d think she’d be used to it by now or at least expecting it.

Cole shrugged. “Hockey is a job.”

“So is teaching.”

“It’s the reason you made your way back to Pershing.”

“The school was good to me.” She shifted and then picked up her handbag.

Cole didn’t move. “I’ll bet. How long have you been teaching there?”

“I started right after college, so not quite ten years.” She took a step toward the door and then paused. “It took me more than five years and several part-time jobs to get my degree and provisional teaching certificate at U. Mass. Amherst.”

She could see she’d surprised him. She’d gone to a state school, where the tuition had been lower and she’d qualified for a scholarship. Even then, though, because she’d been more or less self-supporting, it had taken a while to get her degree. She’d worked an odd and endless assortment of jobs: telemarketer, door-to-door sales rep, supermarket checkout clerk and receptionist.

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