Power Play

by Anna DePalo

  Jordan knew this show was his mother’s baby. And his father had made a guest appearance—finally coming out of the funk into which he’d sunk after his stroke.

  “Mom, they’re not going to cancel you. They’d be crazy to.”

  “Not even if they want to bring the television station in a new direzione?”

  “You mean take the station in a new direction.” He was so used to correcting his mother’s English, it was second nature. She’d been doing a mash-up on her adopted language as long as he could remember.

  “Take, bring, whatever. Open the light means turn on. You understand me, sì?”

  Jordan smiled. “More importantly, your viewers understand and love you. You speak the international language of food.”

  A look of relief passed over his mother’s face. “Years of trying recipes on my family paid off. And you ate my pastina con brodo. Always. Good kids make great cooking skills.”

  He loved his mother’s pasta in broth. He’d grown up on it. Even today, the aroma of it brought him back to childhood. He’d been served the dish every time he’d been ill or injured—anything from the common cold to the more serious episodes that had landed him in Welsdale Children’s Hospital.

  He also knew how much the show meant to his mother as far as giving her a late-life second act. Jordan schooled his expression. “How’s Dad? Besides drowning in pastina con brodo, I mean.”

  His mother served the same dish to every ill family member. And because his father had never fully recovered from his stroke, his mother could continue with her culinary cure-all indefinitely. In fact, Jordan was surprised she hadn’t brought more of her signature dish with her today on her visit to his apartment.

  “Giordano, don’t be fresh. Your father is okay with his health. The show, not so good.”

  Jordan relaxed a little at news of his father. Serg Serenghetti’s health had been a cause for concern for his family ever since his stroke a few years ago. For his mother’s benefit, however, Jordan teased, “Next you’ll be telling me that you’re vlogging to build up your audience.”

  “No, mia assistente on the show already does it for me.”

  “And a star is born.” He was surprised his mother even knew what vlogging was, but he supposed he shouldn’t be astonished that a cooking show would have already been posting videos online.

  “Hmm. Tell that to your father.”

  Jordan crinkled his eyes. “What does that mean? You just said Dad was fine.”

  “Yes, with his health.”

  “Wait, don’t tell me... He’s having a hard time with the fact that you’re the breadwinner now?”

  “You know we don’t need the money.”

  “So what is it?” Jordan kept the smile on his face.

  For once his mother looked hesitant. “I think—”

  “Your star is outshining his?”

  Camilla nodded. “He suggested a regular segment about wine on my show. Starring him.”

  Jordan bit back a laugh. “Delusions of grandeur.”

  “He built Serenghetti Construction,” his mother pointed out.

  “Right.” Frankly, the wine-segment scheme seemed right in line with his father’s outsize personality. “Rope him in, Mom, before he can get away and strike a deal with bigger fish. Cole can get you a lawyer. Tie him up with an exclusive arrangement.” He was joking—sort of.

  Camilla looked heavenward as if asking for divine intervention. “We already have a long deal. We’re married.”

  Jordan shifted on the sofa, masking a grin.

  When his mother’s gaze came back to him, she swept him with a sudden, appraising look. “You seem better. More robust. Sera is doing therapy for you.”

  It was a statement, not a question. His mother was more in the know than he’d realized.

  “Yes, what a coincidence,” he said cautiously as he straightened, slowly and deliberately.

  “Such a lovely woman.”

  Here we go. But he refused to rise to the bait. “Yup, Cole inherited a great set of in-laws.”

  “She could have provided rehabilitation for your father.”

  “Too late. Besides, Dad’s stroke happened before Marisa reconnected with Cole.” Grimacing, he started to rise, and as he expected, his mother transitioned from hovering in front of him to moving forward, filled with concern.

  “Careful, don’t hurt yourself. You still need to finish healing.”

  He waited while she placed a helping hand under his elbow before he stood fully. “Thanks, Mom.”

  Rick might be the Hollywood stuntman and his new sister-in-law Chiara an actress, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t call upon his own acting powers when necessary—like diverting his mother from a topic full of pitfalls.

  Stepping back, his mother said, “Come and eat.”

  Mission accomplished.

  * * *

  Why was she here tonight? Her days moonlighting at the Puck & Shoot were supposed to have ended long ago when she’d become a physical therapist. But she was still being roped into helping out from time to time when the bar was short-staffed. She just couldn’t say no to the extra cash.

  Balancing a tray of beers, she kept sight of Jordan out of the corner of her eye.

  Angus, the bar’s owner, had called in desperation because they were down two waitresses, and it was going to be a busy Saturday night. The Puck & Shoot was the type of place where the saltshaker was either nearly empty or ready to shower your fries in an unexpected deluge. Still, the regulars loved it.

  The part-time gig had helped pay for her education, but at some point, the tables had flipped so that the job was what was holding her back from starting her new life—one which she’d thought involved not seeing certain regulars. But she felt she owed Angus.

  Jordan sat at the bar, as usual, and held court with a couple of Razors teammates who happened to be around even though hockey season had ended. Sera recognized Marc Bellitti and Vince Tedeschi.

  Since Jordan had a habit of not taking a table, she’d almost never had to serve him. It had been years since their brief encounter during spring break in college, and when she’d first started working at the Puck & Shoot, it had become clear that Jordan hadn’t recognized or remembered her. She’d been angry and annoyed and then somewhat relieved—especially after Neil had confirmed her opinion about certain types of men. They were players who moved from one woman on to the next, juggling them like so many balls in the air.

  Now that Jordan knew who she was, though—Marisa’s cousin and his new therapist—even the little bit of distance afforded by his customary seat at the bar seemed woefully small. As she served the beers to a table of patrons, she was aware of Jordan filling the room with his presence. He had that high-wattage magnetism that celebrities possessed. With his dark green gaze, square jaw and six-foot-plus muscled frame, he could make a woman feel as if she were the only one in the room. Damn it.

  And Sera knew she wasn’t imagining things. More than once, she caught his gaze following her back and forth across the crowded bar. It made her aware of her snug-fitting T-shirt and short skirt only partially hidden by an apron. Even though she wasn’t dressed up or showing much skin, she wasn’t in the shapeless light blue scrubs she wore at Astra Therapeutics, either. And her hair caught back in a ponytail for convenience just meant that she couldn’t hide her expression from Jordan.

  Already she was regretting her decision to stay on as Jordan’s therapist—news that she’d broken to Marisa in a brief text. Only sheer strength of nerves had gotten her through a total of four therapy sessions with Jordan so far—and counting. In the past two weeks, he’d shed his crutches—though he still wasn’t close to being completely recovered, of course. In therapy, he’d done the exercises that she’d shown him, including doing hamstring stretches, using a stationary bike and walking on a treadmill. They’d worked
on gaining balance, extension and strength in his knee—with a minimum of quips thrown in.

  She admired his powers of recuperation. She ought to be pleased. And yet...her only defense was that she was in charge during their sessions. He was all taut, lean muscle—in his prime and in great shape.

  After making sure that everyone at her table was satisfied with their order, she wound her way back across the bar with her now-empty tray. She again tried to shake off the prickly sensation of being watched in a sensual fashion. Jordan had done it in the past, before he’d known who she was, but now it was more pronounced—blatant, even. It should have been the opposite since they were in-laws. He knew she couldn’t be just a casual hookup, because they’d see each other again. Didn’t the guy ever obey a DANGER sign?

  She frowned. She ought to remind him about what had happened during spring break eight years ago. She’d been tempted to on several occasions, but her pride had stopped her. The last thing she wanted to do was tell Jordan that she’d been one in a long line of forgettable women.

  From the periphery of her vision, she noticed a young brunette sidle up to Jordan and strike up a conversation. After a moment, Jordan smiled and slid into flirtatious mode. Naturally.

  Sera belatedly recognized the other woman as Danica Carr, an occasional patron. Not too long ago, she’d been approached by Danica with questions about getting into a physical-therapy program. Angus had told Danica that Sera had worked her way through school by waitressing.

  Sera determinedly ignored Jordan and his new friend and kept busy as the bar got more crowded. The distraction of work was a relief, but almost an hour later, she had the beginnings of a low-grade headache. It was a lot of effort pretending Jordan didn’t exist. And he was still talking to Danica.

  As she paused at the corner of the bar at the end of her shift, Sera felt her temper spike, or at least lick the edges of her conscious. She untied her apron and stuffed it behind the counter. Once upon a time, she’d been Danica. Young, trusting and on the cusp of making a significant career choice.

  These days, she didn’t even go on dating apps. All that swiping left at the end of a long day was exhausting. If she couldn’t trust her instincts about a guy even after months of dating, how could she put her faith in a mere photo on her phone?

  Jordan was probably a dating-app star. The thought popped into her head, and she could feel her mouth stretch into a sour line. Whether Danica knew it or not, Jordan was a lion playing with a kitty, and Sera suddenly knew it was up to her to be the lion tamer. She couldn’t stand by and do nothing while another naive young woman got taken in by Jordan Serenghetti.

  Sera watched as Danica walked away and rejoined her party at their table. Straightening away from the bar, Sera moved toward Jordan, and at the last moment, he turned his head and noticed her—almost as if he’d known all along exactly where she was.

  He was dressed in jeans and a crewneck T-shirt that showed off his biceps—how did he manage to be a walking billboard even injured? His gaze flicked over her, quick but boldly assessing, missing nothing from her breasts to her hips. Still, she refused to be unnerved or to succumb, where most mortal women would be tongue-tied and giggly.

  When she stopped in front of him, Jordan remained silent, watchful, his expression for once indecipherable. Fortunately, Marc Bellitti and Vince Tedeschi were caught up in their own conversations at the bar and seemed too distracted to notice.

  “Danica is a naive kid,” she said without preamble. “Move on. She’s not in your league.”

  Jordan smiled. “You know my league?”

  Serafina pressed her lips together. Jordan Serenghetti really was beyond redemption—not that she was in the savior business. “I don’t do bad boys. My mother taught me right.”

  Jordan’s expression bloomed into a grin that shot straight through her. “Straitlaced. You need to loosen up.”

  Ha! Easy for him to say. He was the guy who was nothing but loose...and went over like smooth cocoa butter with most women.

  Though not with me, she reminded herself. Not anymore. “And for the record, you’re my patient. It’s all business between us.”

  He glanced around him. “We’re in a bar, not at Astra.”

  “But I’m still working.”

  He rubbed his chin and then teased, “You’re not a woman who’s bowled over by my charm?”

  “Of course not. Far too levelheaded.” These days. It was hard to explain how she’d fallen prey to Neil not so long ago, but maybe she’d been overdue for a lightning strike... Then again, the more she thought about it, the more she wondered whether she’d fallen for Neil precisely because he’d been smooth and worldly and sophisticated. Maybe she’d been determined to prove that she could play in the big leagues and wasn’t helpless little Sera who needed protecting.

  “And yet, I sense fire and passion in you,” Jordan murmured.

  “That’s because I put you in the hot seat, Serenghetti. I see right through your game.”

  He made a show of glancing around him. “You’ve stolen the Razors’ playbook?”

  Sera placed her hands on her hips. It wouldn’t be good if Angus noticed her in an argument with a customer—particularly a famous hometown favorite—but fortunately the bar was packed. “You know what I mean. I know your type, and I can read your plays off the ice.”

  “Jealous of Danica?”

  “Please.”

  He swept her a look that she felt everywhere. “You shouldn’t be, you know. At the moment, prickly waitresses seem to be my type.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “Particularly those that might have had a prior bad experience.”

  Sera sucked in a breath and clamped her lips together. He didn’t know the half of it. “I’m not naive, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

  “I didn’t claim you were. But you are...wary.”

  Yup. Once bitten, twice shy.

  Jordan searched her expression and then relaxed his. “Danica isn’t my type, but I make it a policy to be nice to fans.”

  As if on cue, Danica suddenly reappeared. “Jordan, I’m leaving—” she looked eager as a puppy “—and I was wondering, do you need a lift home?”

  Jordan gave a killer smile that made Sera want to reach for a pair of sunglasses. “I’m good.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment was etched on Danica’s face. “I thought with you being injured and all...”

  “I’m off crutches and can drive.” Jordan waved his hand at Sera, and the other woman noticed her for the first time. “It’s what Sera and I were discussing.”

  Sera tossed him a speaking look. Oh, really?

  Danica pushed her dark straight hair off her shoulder. “Hi, Serafina.”

  “How are those physical-therapy program applications coming along?” Sera asked, dropping her hands from her hips.

  Danica’s face fell. “I still need a prerequisite or two. I’m never going to pass Chemistry 102.”

  “Sure, you will. With lots of studying. Then you can spend your days bending players—” she gestured at Jordan “—into shape.”

  Jordan looked amused. “I need to be straightened out apparently.”

  “More like set straight,” Sera muttered, her gaze clashing with his.

  “Oh.” Danica looked between them. “Sorry, I didn’t know.”

  Sera blinked. “Know what?”

  A small frown appeared on the other woman’s brow. “Um...”

  Jordan got off the stool, and in the next moment, Sera felt his arm slide around her shoulders.

  Danica took a step back and then another. “Well, I think I’ll be going.” Turning back in the direction where her friends were still waiting, she added quickly, “Nice talking to you.”

  Sera twisted toward Jordan. What had just happened? “You let her think—”

  “Yeah, but you gave me the opening.”
<
br />   Sera pressed her lips together.

  “Thanks for allowing me to let her down easy.”

  “I didn’t—”

  Jordan slanted his head. “You warned her off me. Goal accomplished.”

  “Not like that!” She didn’t want Danica to think that she and Jordan were... Oh, no...no, no, no. Never. No.

  Jordan leaned in, his face all innocent. “Like what?”

  She spluttered. “You know what.”

  He lowered his gaze to her mouth. “It’s what you said.”

  She bit back a gasp. “You’re blaming me?”

  He gave a slow, sexy grin. “Thanking you. Let me know when you’re ready to...explore what’s between us.”

  Sera had never been in a more frustrating conversation in her life. “Nothing more ego-stroking than the idea of two women competing for your attention, huh?”

  “If you say so.”

  Suddenly, she’d had enough. Enough of a guy who could juggle women with dexterity—even injured.

  “You don’t remember,” she snapped.

  “Remember what?”

  “Spring break in Florida eight years ago.”

  Jordan’s lips curved. “Am I supposed to?”

  “It depends,” Sera said sarcastically. “Do you keep a running tally of the women you dally with, or do they just run together in one seamless and nameless highlight video in your mind?”

  Jordan tilted his head, looking more intent. “Dally with?”

  She gestured with her hands. “Flirt with. Come on to... Kiss.”

  “I’m supposed to remember every woman I ever flirted with?”

  “Granted, it must be a long list. How about kissed?”

  “Including the fans who’ve thrown their arms around me?”

  She drew her brows together. “Including the ones you’ve chatted up on spring break and engaged in some lip-to-lip action with after a couple of beers.”

  Jordan regarded her thoughtfully. “Are you saying we’ve kissed...and I don’t remember it?”

  Sera smacked her forehead. “Give the man a prize for a light-bulb moment.”