by Anna DePalo
“Ever since you got hitched, you’ve become boring, old man,” Jordan grumbled good-naturedly. “And fatherhood has just added to your—” he strangled out the word “—domesticity.”
“Dahlia is brilliant,” Cole countered. “Did I tell you she rolled over the other day?”
“No, but she clearly takes after Marisa. Beauty and brains.”
Cole just smiled rather than giving as good as he got—and that was the problem. Jordan wished for the old days. It was as if his brother didn’t even miss hockey. What was the world coming to?
“The only reason I’m here at the Puck & Shoot is because of Marisa,” Cole said. “She’s the one who encouraged me to come keep your sorry butt company.”
“You owe me one. More than one. You might not be wallowing in wedded bliss if it weren’t for me.”
“Yeah, how can I forget.” Cole’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Lucky for you, it all ended well. Otherwise, you could have been sporting a broken nose.”
Jordan grinned because this was a spark of the old Cole he was used to. “Luck had nothing to do with it. You and Marisa were destined to be together. And for the record, a broken nose would have just added to my sex appeal.”
Jordan had seen how unhappy his older brother had been when his reconciliation with Marisa had headed south, so he’d fibbed and told Cole that Marisa was looking for him—sending his unsuspecting brother to her apartment. Jordan had hoped that once the two were alone, they’d have a chance to talk and patch things up. They’d realize they were made for each other. In fact, Cole and Marisa hadn’t made up then, but shortly afterward. And in the aftermath, they’d invited everyone to an engagement party that had turned out to be a surprise wedding.
Sera had been at the event, of course, looking sexy and tempting. He’d only discovered at a fund-raiser a short time before that she was Marisa’s relative; there he’d recognized the attractive waitress from the Puck & Shoot whom he’d never had a chance to speak with and who always seemed to avoid him. The physical resemblance when she was side by side with her cousin had been unmistakable.
He’d gone slack-jawed, however, at Sera’s transformation from waitress to temptress in a blue satin halter-top cocktail dress. Makeup had enhanced her unique and arresting features—full lips, bold eyes and fine cheekbones that any model would have wept for. And the halter top on her dress had emphasized her shoulders and toned arms before skimming down over testosterone-fueling curves to endless legs encased in strappy, high-heeled sandals. Seeing an opportunity to make his move, he’d approached the two women, but Sera had swatted him away like a pesky fly that night...
Cole slapped him on the back. “You look pensive. Buck up. It’s not all doom and gloom.”
Jordan didn’t think his thoughts were showing, but maybe he was wrong. “Since you got married and gave up the mantle to become nauseatingly cheery, someone has to take over the role. And now both you and Rick are fathers.”
Cole’s face broke into a grin. “Yup.”
“Someone has to uphold the family reputation.”
“What reputation are you referring to? Being depressed and down?”
“No. Sexy and single.” If he wasn’t a professional hockey player and all-around chick magnet, who was he? He gave an inward shudder. Best not contemplate the abyss.
“All right, but from the looks of you, I’ve got to ask. What’s throwing shade on sexy and single?”
Jordan waved his beer. “The obvious.”
His latest injury had kept him off the ice for the end of the season, and his corporate partners—with contracts for endorsement deals—were starting to get restless. Not to mention his injury didn’t put him in a great position to negotiate his next contract with the Razors. Everyone knew that one Serenghetti had already had a career-ending ACL injury.
“I’m proof there is life after the game,” Cole said quietly.
“Yeah, I know, but if I can get over this injury, I should have a few more good seasons left.” He was on the wrong side of thirty, but he was still at the top of his game. Or rather, he had been. In the last couple of years, he’d shifted position from right wing to center and had had some of his best seasons ever. The one that had recently ended might have been just as good, except it had ended abruptly for him with a knee injury. Still, at thirty-one, he figured he could squeeze out another half decade at the top—if he had better luck than in the past weeks.
“Speaking of injury,” Cole said, nodding to the crutches that Jordan had propped against the bar, “what’s your game plan for this one?”
Jordan took a swig of his beer. Fortunately, since it was his left knee that had needed surgery, he’d been able to start driving again this week. “I’m doing physical therapy.”
Cole took a swallow of his own beer without glancing at him. “Yup, I’ve heard. Sera. So you weren’t joking when you mentioned it might be her you’d see at Astra...”
“News travels fast,” Jordan murmured. “I was just in to see her yesterday.”
“And I’m supposed to be here to convince you not to see her.”
Jordan tossed his brother a quick look. “Wow, so this is what it feels like.”
“What?”
“The first time a woman has tried not to meet me.”
“Sera is special.”
“Tell me about it.”
“You don’t want to tangle with her. She’s Marisa’s cousin and not someone you can easily walk away from.”
“Hey—” Jordan held up his hands “—all I’m asking is that she cure my knee, not date me.” So what if Sera had already made a variation of Cole’s argument?
His brother’s tone was light, but there was also an undercurrent of warning. He wasn’t sure whether the note of caution was because Cole was thinking about Jordan’s best interests, or because he was naturally protective of his wife’s relative. Cole had always been the responsible one, relatively speaking, and Jordan had chalked it up to oldest-child syndrome.
“Face it, Jordan. You can’t turn off the charm. You love to get a rise out of Sera.”
“I thought I was helping her career by asking for her.”
“Apparently she doesn’t want the boost.”
Jordan twisted his lips in wry amusement. If he didn’t have a healthy ego, he’d be feeling a twinge of wounded pride right now. “Look, when the Razors’ management discovered I’d need physical therapy, they wanted me to try out a new outfit for them. I remembered Sera worked at Astra Therapeutics, so I mentioned the only name I knew when it was time to set up an appointment.”
“Except Sera doesn’t want to work with you.”
Jordan put a hand to his chest. “Be still my heart,” he said mockingly. “A woman who doesn’t want me.”
“You’ll get over it. Trust me, you don’t want to get involved with Marisa’s cousin. I’ve seen her in the boxing ring. She throws a mean left jab.”
“Which one?” Jordan joked. “Marisa or Sera?”
“Sera, but take my word for it, it’s in the genes.”
“And you know this how?”
Cole gave a long-suffering sigh. “Marisa and I met Sera at her gym once before having lunch nearby. She was finishing up her workout.” His brother’s lips quirked. “The rest I know because I’m married to one of the parties involved. Marisa is no pushover herself.”
So Sera boxed. Like him. Interesting. She liked to take out her frustrations on a punching bag?
Still, Jordan quieted. He hadn’t expected Sera to go to the trouble of recruiting Marisa and Cole to make her case. He’d thought he was doing her a good turn by asking for her by name. He was surprised by her level of opposition, and not for the first time he wondered what was behind it. Maybe he should let her off the hook about this physical-therapy gig if she was that panicked about it. But possibly not before finding out why she was so dead-
set against him...
Three
“Guess what?”
Sera regarded her older brother, Dante, with a wary eye. There’d been many guess whats in their lives. Guess what? I brought your hamster in for show-and-tell... Guess what? I’m dating your volleyball teammate... Guess what? You’re getting your own car—my old wreck. She loved her brother, but sometimes it was hard to like him.
This time, they were at Dory’s Café in downtown Welsdale, and she had some major armor against an unwelcome surprise. Namely, she was sitting down, already fortified by morning coffee ahead of brunch. And Dante was lucky—there was a table between them, so she couldn’t kick him in the shins as she might have done when she was six—not that she was above trying if things got out of hand.
“Okay,” she mustered, “I give up. What is it? Winning lottery numbers? One-way ticket to Mars? What?” She stuck out her chin and waited.
“Nothing so dramatic, sport.” Dante chuckled. “New job.”
Sera breathed a sigh of relief. “Congrats. That makes two of us in less than three years. Mom will be doing the happy dance.” Frankly, her mother could use good news. Rosana Perini was still putting the pieces of her life back together—rearranging the puzzle that had broken and scattered when she’d become a young widow. The whole family had needed to regroup when Joseph Perini had died six years ago when Sera was twenty-three. It was one of the things that had made Sera decide to start a new chapter in her life by going back to school for her physical-therapy degree.
“You’re looking at the new VP of Marketing for the New England Razors.”
Sera’s stomach plummeted as she was jerked back to the present. No, no and no. Dante’s working for the New England Razors meant only one thing: another connection to Jordan Serenghetti. Still, she managed to cough up the critical word. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks, Sera. It’s my dream job.”
Her brother had always been a sports nut. His teenage bedroom had been decorated with soccer, football and hockey memorabilia. No wonder someone had thought he was perfect for the Razors marketing position.
A dream come true for Dante. A nightmare for her. She didn’t need her life further entangled with Jordan Serenghetti’s. Her brother would be offering up free game tickets and suggesting a family evening out. Or talking nonstop about Jordan Serenghetti’s prowess—on and off the ice.
Dante, though, appeared oblivious to her discomfort. “I wonder if Marisa can grease the wheels for me with Jordan Serenghetti. You know, maybe invite us both to a family barbecue at her house again soon.” Her brother shrugged. “Making sure that Jordan and the Razors are happy with each other is part of my new job description.”
“She doesn’t need to,” Sera managed to get out, volunteering the information because Dante would find out eventually anyway. “I’m seeing Jordan myself.”
Dante’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, yeah?”
“Jordan is my new client at Astra Therapeutics. The Razors are farming out some of their physical rehab, and Jordan is their guinea pig.”
A grin split her brother’s face. “You mean your guinea pig.”
Sera tossed her hair. “Hey, I’m a professional.”
“Then why do you eye him at family gatherings as if he’s the first case of the plague in five hundred years?”
“Professional distance.”
Dante snorted. “I’ll buy that as fast as a counterfeit trading card on an online auction site.”
“Whatever. I’m giving him the boot to another therapist in the office.”
“Why?”
“You just said it yourself. We don’t get along.”
“What about family loyalty?”
“To Jordan Serenghetti? He’s only a cousin-in-law.” As if she could forget.
“Jordan could end up owing you a debt of gratitude for getting him back on his feet.”
Just then, the waitress arrived with their food—a lumberjack breakfast of eggs, sausage and toast for Dante, and an egg-white omelet for her. Sera liked to practice what she preached to her clients—healthy eating and clean living. She also made sure to thank the waitress because she knew what it meant to be on your feet for hours.
Her brother took his first bite and then tilted his head and studied her. “You don’t like him because women fawn over him.”
“I hadn’t noticed, and anyway it’s none of my business.” She gave all her concentration to seasoning her food with the pepper mill.
“You shouldn’t let one bad experience with what’s-his-name Neil sour you.”
True...if she could trust her instincts. But she still wasn’t sure her radar was working right. And Dante had no clue that she and Jordan had shared more than casual conversation in the past. Not that she wanted her brother to ever find out. It was bad enough he knew the basics of her drama with Neil.
Dante waved his fork as he swallowed his food. “You should at least tell Jordan that your attitude isn’t personal.”
“Never...and you’re not going to, either.” Because it was personal—and wasn’t just about her unsavory experience with Neil.
“Okay, play it your way, but I think you’re making a mistake.”
She shrugged. “Mine to make.”
“Ser,” Dante said, suddenly looking earnest, “I could use your help.”
“Wow, this is a change.”
“I’m serious. I need Jordan back on the ice, and the sooner the better. It would make a great start to my new job if I could claim some credit. Or at least if I could say my sister—the physical therapist with the golden touch—helped get him back in shape.”
Sera made a face. “Ugh, Dante. That’s asking a lot.”
Dante cleared his throat. “I got the position with the Razors...but there’s already a higher-up who is gunning for me.” He shrugged. “We have some bad history together at a prior employer, and I’m sure he’d be happy if I screwed up.”
Sera sighed. “What kind of bad history?”
Her brother looked sheepish. “We were in competition at a sports agency...and there might have been a woman involved, too.”
Great. She took a bite of her omelet. She could just imagine her brother involved in a love triangle. Almost. She didn’t want any more details.
“Fans come to see Jordan in action,” Dante cajoled.
“Whatever.” From what she could tell, Jordan was still in fantastic shape despite his injury, and she didn’t care how much money he had on the table. The guy had major bank already—what was a few million, more or less, to him?
“Sera, I’m asking.”
Sera shifted in her seat. Because, for once, the tables were turned. Her brother needed her help—unlike when he’d stepped in to bail her out when they were younger. Sure, he’d been a thorn in her side with his antics—keeping her on edge—but he’d also cast a protective mantle. Unlike her, Dante remembered the child their parents had lost at birth, and it was almost like he’d absorbed their unspoken worries about losing another loved one. So, he’d issued warnings about situations to avoid at school, stood up for her when she’d been picked on as a kid and, yes, kept some of her secrets from their parents.
On the other hand, Jordan threatened the safe and tidy world that she’d worked hard to build for herself. She knew just how potent his kisses could be, and she was nobody’s fool. Not anymore. If she stepped up for Dante, she’d be walking a fine line...
* * *
Sera folded her arms as she stepped into the examining room. “So you’re stuck with me.”
Jordan was leaning against the treatment table, crutches propped up next to him. He was billboard-ready good-looking even under the fluorescent lights of the room. She, on the other hand, was in her usual shapeless scrubs. Clearly, if he didn’t enjoy toying with her, she’d be beneath his notice—which ran to models, actresses and reality
stars these days, if his press was to be believed.
Jordan’s expression turned to one of surprise, and then he gave his trademark insouciant grin. “I’m stuck with you? And here I thought the best part of the day was getting to sample your cannoli bruschetta mash-up recipe along with the rest of the staff. It was delicious, by the way.”
“Well, you were wrong,” she deadpanned. Why did she feel a thrill at his compliment?
“What prompted the change of heart? Don’t keep me waiting. This is the most suspense I’ve had in ages.”
“I’m sure it’s a rare occurrence for a woman to keep you cooling your heels.”
Jordan’s smile widened. “What do you think?”
She ignored the question and gritted her teeth instead. Best to get this over with. “My brother, Dante, just got a job with the Razors. Marketing VP, to be exact.”
Jordan raised his eyebrows and then his lips quirked. “You Perinis can’t seem to stay away from professional hockey players.”
She gave him a frosty smile. “Let me remind you that I was initially recruited for this job. I didn’t volunteer.”
“The end result is the same.”
“Now I’m helping out Dante by getting you back on your feet.”
“Of course.”
Well, that was easy.
“Do I get anything in return for helping you out?”
Sera narrowed her eyes. She’d spoken too soon. This was more like the Jordan Serenghetti she expected. “Don’t be evil. The chance to spread some beneficence should be good enough for you.”
Jordan laughed, looking not the least bit insulted. “Now I understand why you showed up for my appointment today as scheduled—instead of, you know, feigning typhoid or something.”
“Count your blessings.”
“So you’re going to agree to be my physical therapist, and here I was about to let you off the hook.”
“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
“The silver lining is that I get to make you sweat.”
