by Anna DePalo
Somehow, after that, they found their way to the bedroom, where they both stripped off the rest of their clothes.
She loved him with her mouth and hands until she could sense Jordan was on the brink of losing control.
“Ah, Sera,” he groaned.
“Too much?” she teased as she settled back on her bed.
“Just right.” He sheathed himself in protection and braced himself over her.
She quirked a brow at him. “Came prepared, did you?”
He flashed a quick grin. “Wishful thinking, but thank you. It’s because of your therapy that we’re even able to use this sexual position.”
“Sure, blame me,” she teased again.
He gave a strangled laugh. “No, I’m going to love you until we’re both mindless.”
In the next instant, he stroked inside her, and they both sighed.
She took up the tempo that he set. Sera had never felt so close to anyone before.
She’d rationalized away their first encounter on the night of the car accident as the product of adrenaline, annoyance and more.
But this time, there was no denying the truth. She came again, clinging to him as he sent her soaring on a wave of pleasure right before he found his own release.
In the aftermath, she lay in Jordan’s arms, content as she’d ever been, until sleep claimed them.
When she came awake, she was surprised to see sunlight streaming through her bedroom windows, but the bed beside her was empty.
Frowning, she looked around the room, but then heard sounds from the kitchen. She cleaned up in the bathroom, donned some sweats and pulled her hair into a messy ponytail before padding out to find Jordan.
He was in the kitchen—at the stove, no less. She let a mix of emotions pass over her—pleasure and, yes, worry. Had she never fully shucked her fears about being disappointed by a man after Neil?
“Hey, sexy.” Jordan held a spatula in his hand, and mouthwatering aromas filled the kitchen.
“Back at you.”
Sera eyed him; he was tousled and edible-looking. He’d donned last night’s suit pants but otherwise he was bare-chested—all rippling, lean muscle. Sera drank in the view of what was covered up during therapy.
Jordan smiled at her. “Hungry?”
How could he be so cheery so soon after sunrise? Okay, the sex had been spectacular. She felt like a well-sated cat. But still, mornings were mornings. She yawned and moved toward a cabinet to pull down a coffee mug.
“You know, I once asked if the clouds ever come out in Serenghetti Land,” she muttered. “I guess the answer is no.”
Jordan laughed. “Angel, I’m guessing I’ll always need to be the one in charge of breakfast for us.”
Retrieving her mug, she answered, “You got that right.”
And then she realized...always? She hadn’t blinked at his allusion to a next time—more than one, in fact—for them. She tested the idea and registered that it made her...happy. Butterflies-in-the-stomach happy, actually. Last night, her relationship with Jordan had taken a big step toward complicated, but right now, she wanted to shut out the world for a little bit longer and just experience the moment.
“Grumpy in the morning?”
“Yes.” Well, until seconds ago, anyway. She poured herself a cup of dark brew that he’d had ready for her.
“I’ll file that information away for future reference.”
“I bet you’ve always dated the kind of woman who sleeps in her makeup so she can wake up camera-ready,” she grumbled before savoring her first sip of coffee.
Jordan just smiled again. “Don’t worry. You’re cute in the morning—”
“Only in the morning?”
“—in a tussled-in-the-sheets kind of way.”
“Hmm.” Thanks to him. She looked at the stove. “What are you making?”
“The Serenghetti Brothers Frittata.”
“So you do cook.”
“Breakfast, sometimes. I think I mentioned it before. Since I often slept in, it was the one meal where Mom wasn’t ruling the kitchen.”
“Late-night carousing, I bet. I’m guessing you were having a lot of breakfasts later than everyone else. Closer to noon, maybe?”
He tossed her a meaningful look. “I’m not going to incriminate myself.”
“Of course.”
“When I started living on my own, making breakfast became a survival skill.”
“Along with getting the right meal partner?”
“Jealous?”
“Please.”
He looked boyishly charmed by her denial. “Something tells me you’re going to be my best...meal partner ever.”
“Oh?” She kept her tone casual. “Well, you’re about to find out.”
In fact, his frittata was delicious. And afterward, not least because it was her kitchen, she took charge of cleanup, while he headed to the shower. Wiping down the kitchen counter minutes later, she heard the water running and gave in to the urge she’d been resisting since she woke up.
She stripped off her clothes and headed in the direction of the running water.
Opening the bathroom door, she could see him in the shower stall. He held a disposable razor in one hand and one of her cosmetic mirrors with the other. As he shaved, she slipped up behind him and rested her hands on his hips and her cheek on his back.
When he reached for the shampoo, she stopped him and instead poured a dollop into the palm of her hand and went to work massaging his hair.
He tilted his head back in order to help her reach. And after several moments, he said, “Ah, Sera. Are we going for round two here?”
“Feels good?” she murmured.
“Feels great.”
“Mmm.” She could feel her body humming and vibrating to life.
“How about you go to work on the ache that’s flared up?”
Her brow puckered. “Your knee is bothering you?”
“Right now, I could use your hands on me, Angel.”
Concerned, she rinsed the suds from his hair and then bent down to place her hands on his knee.
Laughing, Jordan grasped her arm and pulled her up and around to face him.
Immediately, she realized he was aroused. “I thought you said your knee injury was bothering you.”
He gave her a quick peck on the lips. “I didn’t mention my knee, but I’m aching in other ways.”
She realized she felt the same.
When had she started agreeing with him?
Eleven
Jordan couldn’t stop thinking about her. He’d always stuck to casual relationships. What was the saying about best-laid plans?
The sex...it had been fantastic. Mind-blowing, even though that sounded trite. She’d been so responsive, and he’d been able to relieve a sexual frustration that had gone on forever—building up to the breaking point at his cousin’s wedding, of all places. Not that he felt relief—now he itched to spend every moment with her.
He’d fantasized about her last night, reliving their evening together, except he’d woken aroused...and to an empty bed. Still, the memories had been vivid. The way she’d looked at the moment of her release—her back arched, her breath coming audibly between parted lips, her eyes half-closed.
Jordan almost groaned aloud, shifted on the bar stool and tightened his grip on his beer. He took a deep breath. If he wasn’t careful, he’d embarrass himself or race to find Sera.
Usually weddings like the one the other day were a reminder that he wasn’t looking to make a serious commitment himself. He liked his life just fine. At his cousin’s ceremony, though, every thought had fallen by the wayside except getting closer to the woman he’d wanted to seduce.
He was pensive this evening even though he’d come to the Puck & Shoot to relax. He couldn’t even manage more than dist
racted conversation with Vince, who occupied the next stool.
On days like today, he had to wonder whether the whole sports celebrity gig was worth it. Because, on top of it, while he’d gotten a reprieve from the press during the off-season and because he was out of commission with a bad knee, lately they’d acted up again.
“Serenghetti.” Marc Bellitti slapped him on the back as he walked up. “It’s good to see you nearly looking like your old self.”
“Yup.” Jordan took a swig of his beer.
“Sera must be miracle worker.” Marc flashed a grin. “She almost makes me want to have a bum knee.”
Jordan’s hand tightened on his drink again—because he had a sudden inexplicable urge to get in Marc’s face. Once, not so long ago, he’d been like his teammate—unable to remember names, but always able to recall a pretty face and a body to match. But things had changed. He’d changed. Maybe it was the injury, maybe it was Sera, maybe it was the two together. After all, he had her to thank for his amazing recovery.
Marc propped his forearm against the bar. “You haven’t even glanced at the blonde at table six throwing hot-and-heavy looks your way. So I have to say you’re only nearly back to normal.”
Jordan glanced over his shoulder. “She’s not my type.”
“Serenghetti, they’re all your type. What’s wrong with her?”
“Too young.”
Marc gave a mock gasp and clutched his chest. “Be still my heart. You cruised past thirty, and suddenly twenty-five is too young?”
“How do you know how old she is?”
Marc gave a sly smile. “On my way over here to keep company with your sorry cooking-competition-losing self, I happened to find out she’s already got her degree and is going for another in marine biology.”
“As I said, not my type.”
“Well, well,” Marc drawled, “look which kitty cat has changed his stripes.”
Vince laughed.
“Maybe you’re still thinking about that physical therapist,” Marc commented.
“Appearances can be deceiving,” Jordan responded, refusing to be drawn in.
He’d rather eat a hockey puck or two than admit to...feelings. He’d never hear the end of it from his teammates.
“Meaning?” Marc prompted.
Jordan raised his eyebrows but made sure to keep his tone nonchalant. “Maybe Sera’s just my biggest challenge yet.”
Or he was hers. Damn. He and Sera had never discussed the future, and he’d been content to live in the moment. And what moments they’d been... Still, the last thing he needed was for his teammates to latch onto the idea that his relationship with Sera was anything more than casual. Although, how he and Sera were going to continue to keep things on the down low after shattering the final barrier in their relationship on the night of his cousin’s wedding, he had no idea. Sera hadn’t said anything, but they were already skating on thin ice with Mia in the know.
“What about our bet that you could make her melt?” Marc asked. “Are you conceding defeat?” His teammate tut-tutted. “You’re on a losing streak, Serenghetti. First, the cooking show, now—”
“I’m not conceding anything.” Jordan made a motion indicating he was zipping his lips and throwing away the key. Let Marc speculate all he wanted. He wasn’t going to admit anything—or divulge intimate details.
When Marc just laughed, Jordan glanced over his shoulder and then sobered. “Hi, Dante.”
He wondered how long Sera’s brother had been standing there and what he’d heard and then shrugged off the thought. His words could be read in many ways.
* * *
She’d never felt this way about a guy. There, she’d admitted it. He’d been a laundry list of her nevers, but Jordan had somehow become her must-have. She couldn’t wait to see him again, jump his bones and float in a happy bubble of coupledom.
Her former self would have found it all ridiculously saccharine instead of cause for a goofy smile. Few would be able to tolerate her right now—even her own past selves.
Take Marisa, for example.
She’d just run into her cousin in the produce aisle of the local supermarket, Bellerose. Pushing her cart and daydreaming, she’d almost jumped when Marisa had called out her name.
Her cousin knit her brow. “Are you okay?”
“Just peachy,” Sera managed, even though all she wanted to do was throw her arms wide and twirl. In the middle of the produce aisle. “It’s been ages since I’ve run into you here.”
“That’s because I’m normally trapped in the baby aisle comparing package labels and feeling guilty about not pureeing everything myself,” Marisa quipped and then tucked a stray strand behind her ear. “These days, if I manage to get out of the house without spit-up on my shirt, I’m good.”
Sera smiled. “And where is the marvelous Dahlia?”
“At home with Daddy and, with any luck, napping. Cole had the day off.”
As they continued to chat, lingering in the aisle, Sera shifted from one foot to another.
She knew her cousin had to be full of speculation about her appearance on Jordan’s arm at the wedding. Plus, this was no longer simply one amorous encounter with Jordan that she’d told him to swear to take to the grave. Any last shred of professional distance was gone. She and Jordan had done the deed, and short of amnesia, she was never likely to forget that night—in all its pyrotechnic glory.
As if on cue, Marisa said, “So how is Jordan these days?”
Sera made herself shrug nonchalantly. “He’s been recovering nicely.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Her cousin looked amused. “He seems to be in great shape. Enough to attend a wedding.”
With you as his date. The unspoken words hung in the air.
“I went with him because it got me out of giving Jordan the cooking lesson that his mom suggested,” Sera blurted and then could have bitten off her tongue. There was no need to clarify why she’d been with Jordan, and being defensive definitely made it seem like a date. Her face heated.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Will you stop saying that?”
Marisa smiled. “Please. The guy’s been tracking you with his eyes.”
Sera felt a hot wave of embarrassment. “I didn’t even want to be his physical therapist. I tried to get myself out of it.”
“Yeah, but the attraction was so strong, maybe you were just afraid to go there.”
Sera bit her lip. Afraid. She hadn’t given more than a passing thought to Neil in...it was probably a new record. Instead, her mind—and heart—had been consumed by Jordan. She supposed it was all a sign of how far she’d come since her bad breakup. Sure, she’d had boyfriends before, but nothing serious until Neil—or so she’d thought. But her relationship with Neil had been skating on the surface in comparison to the depths she’d plunged into with Jordan.
Jordan had wrung every emotion out of her—annoyance, exasperation, nervousness, need, hunger, joy, pleasure. It was like living life in an explosion of color, especially in bed.
Just then, another shopper came by, and Sera and Marisa separated in order to let the older woman through with her cart. Sera took the opportunity to glance at her watch to try to extricate herself from this tricky conversation. If she lingered, she expected more gentle probing and teasing.
But her cousin just winked at her. “Keep me posted.”
Sera rolled her eyes. “Right.”
Saying goodbye to Marisa with a promise to catch up another time, she headed to the checkout line.
Minutes later, after she’d loaded the groceries into her car and had gotten behind the wheel, her cell phone rang. Noticing it was from Dante, she turned off the ignition and took the call.
After a brief exchange, during which Sera wondered why Dante was calling, her brother asked, “How are things going with you and Jordan?”
“Great.” The trending topic of the day: #JordanandSera.
Dante cleared his throat. “Just be careful.”
“Don’t worry,” she replied, hoping to keep this conversation light, “I promise not to let him break a bone on all that physical-therapy equipment.” She hadn’t confided in her brother about her true relationship status with Jordan these days, so she wondered what her brother was getting at. Unless Mia had been loose-lipped, despite her promise to button it? Sera tightened her hold on her cell. “Is there anything you’re not telling me?”
“No. Yes. I heard you went as his date to a family wedding.”
“I did. He needed one. He’s injured...and not getting around much.” It wasn’t a total lie, but she added quickly, “I didn’t mention it to you or Mom because it was casual.” And I didn’t want you to make too much of it.
There was a pause. “I know I’m going to regret this, but my loyalty to my little sister is bigger—”
“Than what?”
“I ran into Jordan at the Puck & Shoot.”
Sera forced nonchalance. “And so? He was flirting with Angus?”
“You know Angus has been married fifty years.”
“Thirty-five.”
“Who’s counting?”
“He is. When he skipped over his wedding anniversary two years ago, his wife never let him forget it.”
“No, Angus is out of the picture. But listen, I overheard Jordan joking with some Razors about you being his biggest challenge yet.”
Well, she was. Or did Jordan mean she was just another conquest? It was an ambiguous statement, but the fact that he’d been joking with his teammates when he’d said it wasn’t a good sign.
“Right before that, I heard Jordan tell Marc Bellitti that appearances can be deceiving.”
Hadn’t she thought the same thing about Jordan recently? She’d discovered he volunteered with a children’s charity. And she’d been basking in the realization that he wasn’t quite the player she’d thought he was. “In what context did he say this?”
“To be honest, Marc was ragging Jordan about being hung up on you.”
Even Jordan’s teammates were onto them? She strove to keep her voice neutral—bored even. “I’ve been a waitress at the Puck & Shoot. I’ve heard it all. They were probably just shooting the breeze.”
