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“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.