by Anna DePalo
Cole fought a smile. “Lightweight, are you?”
“Only in bars, not in the boxing ring.”
“Yeah, I know.” At the gym, she could pack a wallop in a simple dress that brought grown men to a standstill. But she wasn’t too shabby in bars, either. She could still make him stand up and take notice. Without the baggage of her seeming betrayal in high school, he could acknowledge without reservation what a beautiful woman she was.
He signaled the bartender and placed an order.
She glanced around, as if uncertain. “This is my first visit to the Puck & Shoot.”
“I thought you said this is where you got a tip about how to run me to ground at Jimmy’s Boxing Gym.”
“I wouldn’t call it running to ground,” she said pertly. “You were still standing when I left the boxing ring. Also, I didn’t say I got the tip personally. My cousin Serafina has been moonlighting as a waitress here. She overheard some of the Razors talking.”
“Like those at the other end of the bar?” Cole indicated with his chin. “The ones wondering what the status of our relationship is?”
Marisa tossed a glance over her shoulder. “Probably, but we don’t have a relationship with a status.”
He brought his finger to his lips. “Shh, don’t tell. I like having them wonder why a gorgeous woman passed them over and made a beeline in my direction instead.”
“You asked me to come here!”
He laughed at her with his eyes. “They don’t know that, sweet pea.” He reached out to smooth a strand of hair away from her face and remembered all over again how soft her skin was.
His body tightened another notch and she stilled, like a deer in headlights.
“I don’t think Serafina likes the Razors very much...”
He settled his gaze on her mouth. “They can be a randy bunch.”
“You included?”
“I’ll let you be the judge,” he responded lazily.
He wanted her. Right now. He’d dreamed about her again last night, and it had been his hottest fantasy ever.
“Jordan isn’t the only joker in the family.”
He handed her the beer that had just been set down on the bar and then watched as Marisa placed her lips on the bottle’s long neck and took a swill. The woman was killing him with her sexual tone deafness.
“So where’s Serafina?” he asked.
Marisa lowered the bottle. “She isn’t working tonight. Wednesday isn’t on her regular schedule, and she’s about to quit for a better position.”
“If this had been her shift, would you have met me here?”
“Maybe.”
He smiled. “Or maybe not.”
He took it as a good sign that Marisa wanted to keep their meetings on the down-low. It meant she cared what people thought about the two of them. Like maybe there was something going on. Which there was, whether Marisa would admit it or not. Still, she was skittish about the sexual attraction that still existed between them, and he needed to proceed carefully.
They were both adults, and he was itching to explore what had gotten cut short in high school. As long as he was indefinitely parked in Welsdale, there was no reason not to enjoy himself...
He let his gaze sweep over her. Besides the jeans and sweater, she wore black high-heeled Mary-Janes that showed off her shapely legs. She’d subverted the most schoolmarmish of shoes and made them sexy and hot...
Marisa raised her eyebrows as if she’d read his thoughts. “Why did you want to meet?”
Because he wasn’t ready to share his sexy thoughts, he leaned against the bar stool behind him and gestured to the empty one next to him. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you, but I’m fine.”
Definitely skittish. Even leaning back, he still had a height advantage on her, but he had to admire her unwillingness to give an additional inch. Time to show some of his cards. “I noticed some of the kids on the field trip were interested in hockey. I’d like to give them a few pointers.”
His offer, of course, was a pretext for getting her to meet with him again.
Marisa took her time answering, her face reflecting flitting emotions until it settled into an expression of determination. “I don’t just want you to give them a few pointers. I want you to run a hockey clinic.”
Right back at you. He’d underestimated her. “That’s a tall order. Giving a few pointers is one thing, and setting up a sports clinic is another. Let me clarify in case you don’t understand—”
“Never having been a jock.”
“—but training sessions involve drawing up practice plans and small area games—”
“So the kids will have others to play against.”
“—and it’s a big investment of time.”
“You’re up to the challenge,” she ended encouragingly.
What he was up for was getting her into bed. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll start with informal coaching for a small group.”
She nodded and smiled. “Now that that’s settled, let’s discuss the remarks you’ll be giving at the fund-raiser.”
The woman didn’t miss a beat. But now it was his turn to hit the puck back at her. “If you search online, you’ll come up with my past speeches. My talk to the sports group in Boston on working hard and realizing your dreams. My humorous anecdotes about my rookie year in the NHL—”
“You’ll want to say something flattering about the Pershing School.” She looked earnest as she said it.
“And my time there?” he queried. “How do I work in my suspension—” he leaned forward confidentially “—or the episode on the theater department’s casting couch?”
She shifted. “I thought we’d established I didn’t land you a suspension out of retaliation.”
“No, but I still think of it as a...highlight of my high school career. How do I discuss my time at Pershing without mentioning it?”
“Stick to sports and academics,” she sidestepped. “And it wasn’t a casting couch. You’re not a Hollywood starlet who had to put out for the sake of her career.”
He grinned. “Yeah, but you were definitely auditioning me for the role of study buddy with benefits. How did I do?”
“Could have been better,” she harrumphed.
“I am now, sweet pea. Don’t you want to find out how much better?” He liked teasing her, and what’s more, he couldn’t help it.
Her gaze skittered away from his and then stopped in the distance, her eyes widening.
She looked back at him and flushed.
Before he could react, she leaned forward, cupped his face with both her hands and pressed her lips to his.
What the...? It was Cole’s last thought before he went motionless.
Her lips felt soft and full, and she tasted sweet. Her floral scent wafted to him. He was surprised by the fact that she’d made the first move, but he was more than happy to oblige...
He parted his lips and pulled her forward.
She slipped into the gap between his legs, her arms encircling his neck.
He caressed her lips with his and then deepened the kiss. He stroked her tongue, tangling with her and swallowing her moan.
The sounds of the bar receded, and he brought a laser focus to the woman in his arms. He silently urged Marisa even closer so that her breasts pressed into him.
Come on. More...
“Talk about a surprise.”
The words sounded from behind him, and Marisa pulled away.
Cole caught her startled, guilty look before he turned and straightened, and saw Sal Piazza’s too-jovial expression. Vicki clung to Sal’s arm, her face betraying shock.
Glancing at Marisa, Cole suddenly understood everything. He settled his face into a bland expression and forced himself back from their heated kiss.
Sal held out his hand. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Cole.”
“Piazza,” he acknowledged.
Vicki’s expression subsided from shock to surprise.
Sal dropped his hand as his ga
ze moved from Marisa to Cole. “You two are together.”
It was a simple statement, but there was a wealth of curiosity behind it.
Cole felt Marisa go tense beside him and knew there was only one thing to do. He slid an arm around her waist before responding, “Yup. Not many people know.”
Actually, it had been a party of two until seconds ago. And even then, he hadn’t been sure what was up. That kiss had come out of nowhere and packed a punch even bigger than the one in the storage room.
Sal cleared his throat. “Marisa and I haven’t been in touch since the break—”
“Lots of things can happen around a breakup.” Cole made it a flat statement—and deliberately left the implication that he and Marisa had started getting acquainted at the same time that she and Sal had broken up.
Sal looked affronted, and Cole tightened his arm around Marisa as she shifted.
Sal twisted his lips in a sardonic smile. “Well, I—”
“Congratulations, I suppose,” Vicki piped in with an edge to her voice.
Marisa smiled at the other woman. “Thanks, but we really haven’t told many people about our relationship yet.”
Cole kept his bland expression. Oh yeah, Marisa was with him. After this was over, though, he’d be quizzing her about their supposed liaison, including that kiss... Had she only planted one on him because she’d spotted Sal and Vicki?
Sal gave a forced laugh. “I guess a little partner swapping is going on.”
Cole fixed him with a hard look.
Glancing at Marisa, Vicki narrowed her eyes and thrust her chin forward. “Be careful, sweetie. He’s not one to commit.”
“Which one?” Marisa quipped.
As Vicki’s mouth dropped open, Cole found himself caught between laughing and wincing. They were a train wreck waiting to happen—or a hockey brawl.
“We’re here for a corner booth and some dinner,” Sal said grimly, his gaze moving between Marisa and Cole, “so we’ll cede the bar to you two. Nice running into you.”
Without a backward glance, Sal and Vicki headed toward the rear room of the crowded bar.
Cole figured that with any luck, he wouldn’t catch a glimpse of the other couple again, which left Marisa and him to their own private reckoning...
Marisa slipped away from the arm around her waist, and her gaze collided with his.
“I’d hate to meet you in the ring,” he remarked drily.
She sighed. “You already have.”
“Yeah,” he said with a touch of humor, “but that time Jordan was there to protect me.”
Marisa compressed her lips.
“Well, this is an interesting turn of events,” he drawled.
She seemed flustered and shrugged. “Who knew that Sal would show up with Vicki?”
“Since this is a sports bar, and he’s a sports agent, not so far-fetched. Besides, it’s not what I’m talking about, hot lips.”
“I like sweet pea better,” she responded distractedly. “Anyway, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“I doubt thinking entered into it. Reacting is more like it.”
“Well, making it seem as if we were involved was an easy shortcut answer to what we were doing in a bar together.”
“How about the truth, instead?”
“Not nearly as satisfying.”
“You got me there,” he conceded.
They continued to stare at each other. She was inches away, emanating a palpable feminine energy.
“You know they’re going to tell people,” he remarked. “The news is too good not to share.”
She looked worried. “I know.”
He tilted his head, contemplating her.
“We’ll have to let people wonder, and the gossip will fizzle out in time.”
He shook his head. “Not nearly as satisfying.”
She gazed at him quizzically. “As what?”
“As making it seem as if we really are a couple.”
“What?”
Her voice came out as a high-pitched squeak, and he had to smile.
“Now that the cat is out of the bag, we’ll need to keep up the ruse for a while in order to keep the fallout from hurting both our reputations.”
“But I just explained it’ll fizz—”
“Not fast enough. People are going to conclude we were trying to get back at our exes.”
She looked stung, but then her expression became resolute. “All right, but we keep up the charade only until the fund-raiser. That should be enough time for this to pass out of public conversation.”
He thought she was deluding herself about that last part, but he let it go. “Sal must really mean something for you to have pulled that stunt.”
He wasn’t jealous, just curious, he told himself.
She shook her head. “No, it’s more about being dumped for someone who looked like a better bet.”
“Vicki?”
“I can’t believe you dated her,” she huffed.
“Hey, you’re the one who went so far as to get engaged—” he jerked his thumb to indicate the back of the bar “—to that.”
“The correct pronoun is him. To him,” she responded.
“Maybe for school, but not in hockey.”
“Why do men—athletes—date women like Vicki?”
He flashed his teeth. “Because we can.”
“Sal thinks he can, too.”
He picked up his beer bottle and saluted her with it before taking a swig. “After that kiss, I’d say our relationship now qualifies as having a status.”
Her eyes widened as the truth of his words sank in.
She was an intriguing mix, with the power to blindside him more than any offensive player on the ice. Back in high school and now.
And things were only going to get more interesting since she’d just handed him a plum excuse for continuing to see her...
Seven
He was in heaven.
A beautiful woman had just opened the door to her apartment. And delicious aromas wafted toward him.
Marisa, however, looked shocked to see him.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
She was wearing a white tee and a red-and-black apron with an abundance of frills. She had bare legs, and a ridiculous pair of mule slippers with feathers on them showed off her red pedicure.
His body tightened.
Hey, if she wanted to role-play, he was all for it. She could be a sexy domestic goddess, and he could be the guy who knocked on the door and...obliged her.
She was still staring at him. Devoid of any makeup, she looked fresh-faced and casual.
“What are you doing here?” she asked again.
He thought fast. “Is that any way to greet your newest—” What was the status of their relationship anyway? “Love interest?”
“We both know it isn’t real!”
“It’s real,” he countered, “but temporary.”
She looked unconvinced.
Ever since their encounter at the Puck & Shoot late last week, he’d been searching for another way to see her again. He’d decided the direct approach was the only and best option this time.
“People will expect me to drop in on my girlfriend.” He arched an eyebrow and added pointedly, “And at least know what her place looks like.”
She leaned against the door. “Our relationship isn’t genuine.”
“Everyone seems to think it is.”
“We’re the only two people that matter.”
“How real did that kiss in the bar feel to you?” He wasn’t sure how far the news had traveled—he hadn’t gotten any inquisitive phone calls from his family yet—but sooner or later there was bound to be gossip. Sal and Vicki weren’t the only witnesses to the kiss at the Puck & Shoot.
Marisa’s brows drew together. “Shouldn’t you be insulted that I used you for an ulterior motive?”
He shrugged. “I don’t feel objectified. If a beautiful woman wants to jump my bones,
she’ll get no argument from me.”
She tilted her head. “Why am I not surprised you wouldn’t put up a fight?”
He gave a lazy smile, but he didn’t miss the quick once-over she gave him from under lowered lashes. Her gaze lingered on the faded jeans he wore under a rust-colored tee and light jacket. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one fascinated by clothing’s ability to hide—and reveal.
“You’re persistent.”
“Is it working?”
Sighing, she stepped aside, and he made it over the threshold.
She locked the door behind him, and then touched her hair, which was pulled willy-nilly into a messy knot at the back of her head. Strands escaped, including one that trailed along her nape.
He wanted to loosen the band that prevented her riotous curls from cascading down. There was a large mirror in a yellow scroll frame behind Marisa, so he got a great 360-degree view of her. Underneath the apron, she was wearing a pair of black exercise shorts that hugged a well-rounded rear end.
He needed divine assistance. “You look like you worked out or are about to.”
He’d gone out on an early-morning run, but Marisa seemed to prefer to exercise after her school day was finished.
She looked uncomfortable. “I’m trying to get in shape.”
She had a fabulous body as far as he was concerned. Her shape was more than fine. Still, if she wanted to exercise, he knew how they could get a workout in bed...
She wet her lips and turned. “Come on in.”
He followed her from the foyer and down the hallway, deeper into the apartment.
“It’s a prewar building, so this condo has a traditional layout. No open floor plan, like those renovated old factory buildings that you might be used to.”
“Something smells delicious.” And someone looked delectable, too. It was only four-thirty, but maybe Marisa liked to eat early. There was a living room off the hall, done in a flower motif—from plum-colored drapes to a damask armchair covered by a rose throw.
“Parent-teacher conferences are tomorrow night. The school usually has catered fare for the staff, but I got a request to bring my eggplant parmigiana.”
They passed two bedrooms, but only the second looked occupied. It had aqua walls offset by white wicker furniture and a white counterpane. There was a mirrored dresser, and a vanity framed by floor-length window treatments.
