Читать книгу Second Chance With The Ceo - Anna DePalo - Страница 9

One

“Cole Serenghetti,” she muttered, “come out, come out, wherever you are.”

She knew she sounded like a corny fairy-tale character, but she’d been short on happy endings lately, and the words couldn’t hurt, could they?

Then again, there was always be careful what you wish for...

As if she’d conjured him, a tall man appeared under a crossbeam at the construction site.

A feeling of dread curled in her stomach. How many times had she started out thinking she could do this and then her courage had flagged? Three? Four?

Still, the students at Pershing School depended on her bringing Cole Serenghetti to heel—her job could hinge on it, as well.

Marisa lifted her hand from the steering wheel and squeezed it to stop a sudden tremor. Then she raised her field glasses.

Features obscured under his yellow hard hat, the man strode down the dirt path leading to the opening in the chain-link fence surrounding the construction site, which would soon be a four-story medical office complex. Clad in jeans, a plaid shirt and vest and work boots, he could have been just any other construction worker. But he had an air of command...and his physique showed potential for inclusion in a beefcake calendar.

Marisa’s heart pounded hard in her chest.

Cole Serenghetti. Former professional hockey player returned to the family fold as CEO of Serenghetti Construction, high school troublemaker and her disastrous teenage crush.

Could the package be worse?

Marisa slunk lower in the driver’s seat, letting the binoculars dangle against her chest from their cord. The last thing she needed was for a police officer to come around and ask why she was stalking a rich bad-boy real estate developer.

Blackmail? Pregnant with his child? Planning to steal his Range Rover, parked oh-so-tantalizingly close and unguarded at the curb of the office building under construction?

Would anyone believe that the truth was much more mundane? Everyone knew her as Miss Danieli, sweet-natured teacher at the Pershing School. Ironic if her new secret life as a millionaire stalker came at the cost of her job and reputation when all she was trying to do was help the high school-aged students at her college-preparatory school.

Tossing aside her field glasses, she popped out of her Ford Focus and darted down the street, her open coat flapping around her, as her quarry reached the sidewalk. There were no pedestrians on this side street at four in the afternoon, though it was nearing evening rush in the city of Springfield. She’d seen construction workers earlier, but there were none on the street now.

As she approached, the dank smells of the construction site hit her. It was dirty, and the air was heavy with particles that she could almost feel, even in the damp cold that clung to western Massachusetts in March.

She heard her stomach grumble. She’d been too nervous about this meeting to eat lunch.

“Cole Serenghetti?”

He turned his head while taking off his hard hat.

Marisa slowed her steps as she was jerked back in time by the sight of the dark, ruffled hair, the hazel eyes and the chiseled lips. A scar now bisected his left cheek, joining the small one on his chin that had been there in high school.

Marisa felt her heart squeeze. His newest scar looked as if it had hurt—bad.

But he was still the sexiest man she’d ever crossed.

She tried hard to hold on to her scattered thoughts even as she drank in the changes in him.

He was bigger and broader than he’d been at eighteen, and his face had more hard planes. But the charisma of being a former National Hockey League star—and sex symbol—turned millionaire developer was the biggest change of all. And while he sported the new scar, he showed no signs of the injury that had been serious enough to end his hockey career. He moved fine.

Even though Pershing was located on the outskirts of Welsdale, Massachusetts, the town that the Serenghettis called home, she hadn’t been anywhere near Cole since high school.

She didn’t miss the once-over he gave her, and then a slow smile lit his face.

Relief swept through her. She’d been dreading this reunion ever since high school, but he seemed willing to put the past behind them.

“Sweetness, even if I wasn’t Cole Serenghetti, I’d be saying yes to you.” The lazy smile stayed on his face but his gaze traveled downward again, lingering on the cleavage revealed by her long-sleeved dress, and then on her legs, shown off by her favorite wedge-heeled espadrilles.

Oh...crap.

Cole looked up and smiled into her eyes. “You’re a welcome ray of sunshine after a muddy construction site.”

He didn’t even recognize her. Crazy giddiness welled up inside. She’d never forgotten him in the past fifteen years, worrying over her betrayal—and his. And all that time, he’d been sleeping like a baby.

She knew she looked different. Her hair was loose for a change and highlighted, the ends shorter and curling around her shoulders. Her figure was fuller, and her face was no longer hidden behind owlish glasses. But still...she plummeted to Earth like a hang glider that had lost the wind.

She had to get this over with, much as she hated to end the party.

She took a steadying breath. “Marisa Danieli. How are you, Cole?”

The moment hung between them, stretching out.

Then Cole’s face closed, his smile dimming.

She curved her lips tentatively. “I’m hoping to hold you to that yes.”

“Think again.”

Ouch. Well, this was more like the script that had been playing in her head. She forced herself to keep up the polite professionalism without, she hoped, tipping into desperation. “It’s been a long time.”

“Not long enough.” He assessed her. “And I’m guessing it’s no accident you’re here now—” he quirked a brow “—unless you’ve developed a weird compulsion to prowl construction sites?”

She’d always been bad at door-to-door solicitation jobs, and now, it seemed, was no exception. Breathe. Breathe. “The Pershing School needs your help. We’re reaching out to our most important alumni.”

“We?”

She nodded. “I teach tenth-grade English there.”

Cole twisted his lips. “They’re still putting their best foot forward.”

“Their only foot. I’m the head of fund-raising.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Congratulations and good luck.”

He stepped around her, and she turned with him.

“If you’ll just listen—”

“To your pitch?” He shot her a sideways look. “I’m not as big a sucker for the doe-eyed look as I was fifteen years ago.”

She filed away doe-eyed for later examination. “Pershing needs a new gym. I’m sure that as a professional hockey player, you can appreciate—”

“Former NHL player. Check the yearbook for athletics. You’ll come up with other names.”

“Yours was at the top of the list.” She picked her way over broken sidewalk, trying to keep up with his stride. Her espadrilles had seemed like a good choice for a school day. Now she wished she’d worn something else.

Cole stopped and swung toward her, causing her to nearly run into him. “Still at the top of your list?” He lifted his mouth in a sardonic smile. “I should be flattered.”

Marisa felt the heat sting her cheeks. He made it sound as if she was throwing herself at him all over again—and he was rejecting her.

She had an abysmal record with men—wasn’t her recent broken engagement further proof?—and her streak had started with Cole in high school. Humiliation burned like fire.

A long time ago she and Cole would have had their heads bent together over a book. She could have shifted in her seat and brushed his leg. In fact, she had brushed his leg, more than once, and he’d touched his lips to hers...

She plunged ahead. “Pershing needs your help. We need a headliner for our fund-raiser in a couple of months to raise money for the new gym.”

He looked implacable, except that twin flames danced in his eyes. “You mean you need a headliner. Try your pitch on someone else.”

“The fund-raiser would be good for Serenghetti Construction, too,” she tried, having rehearsed her bullet points. “It’s an excellent opportunity to further community relations.”

He turned away again, and she placed a staying hand on his arm.

Immediately, she realized her mistake.

They both looked down at his biceps, and she yanked her hand back.

She’d felt him, strong and vital, his arm flexing. Once, fifteen years ago, she’d run her hands over his arms and moaned his name, and he’d taken her breast in his mouth. Would she ever stop having a heated response to his every touch, every look and every word?

She stared into his eyes, which were now hard and indecipherable—as tough as the rocks he blasted for a living.

“You need something from me,” he stated flatly.

She nodded, her throat dry, feeling hot despite the weather.

“Too bad I don’t forgive or forget a deliberate betrayal easily. Consider it a character flaw that I can’t forget the facts.”

She flushed. She’d always wondered whether he’d known for certain who’d ratted out his prank to the school administration, earning him a suspension and likely costing Pershing the hockey championship that year. Now it seemed she had her answer.

She’d had her reasons for doing what she’d done, but she doubted they’d have satisfied him—then or now.

“High school was a long time ago, Cole,” she said, her voice thin.

“Right, and in the past is where the two of us are going to stay.”

His words hurt even though it had been fifteen years. Her chest felt tight, and it was difficult to breathe.

He nodded at the curb. “Yours?”

She hadn’t realized it, but they were near her car. “Yes.”

He pulled open her door, and she stepped off the curb.

A swimming sensation came over her, and she swayed.

Still, she tried for a dignified exit. A few more steps and she’d put an end to this uncomfortable reunion...

As the edges of her vision faded to black, she had one last thought. I should have eaten lunch.

She heard Cole curse and his hard hat hit the ground. He caught her in his arms as she slumped against him.

When she floated to consciousness again, Cole was saying her name.

For a moment she thought she was fantasizing about their sexual encounter in high school...until the smells of the construction site penetrated her brain, and she realized what had happened.

She was cradled against a warm, solid body. Her trench coat was bunched around her like a cocoon.

She opened her eyes, and her gaze connected with Cole’s. His golden-green eyes were intense.

She was also up close and personal with the new scar traversing his cheek. It looked painful but not jagged. Had he taken a skate blade to the face? She wanted to reach up and trace it.

He frowned. “Are you okay?”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “Yes, let me down.”

“May be a bad idea. Are you sure you can stand?”

Whatever the effects were of his career-ending injury, he seemed to have no problem holding a curvy woman of medium height in his arms. He was all hard muscle and restrained power.

“I’m fine! Really.”

Looking as if he still had misgivings, Cole lowered his arm. When her feet hit the ground, he stepped back.

Her humiliation was complete. So total, she couldn’t bear to face it right now.

“Just like old times,” Cole remarked, his tone tinged with irony.

As if she needed the reminder. She’d fainted during one of their study sessions in high school. It was how she’d first wound up in his arms...

“How long was I out?” she asked, not meeting his eyes.

“Less than a minute.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Are you all right?”

“Perfectly fine. I haven’t been to an emergency room since I was a kid.”

“You still have a tendency to faint.”

She shook her head, looking anywhere but at him. Talk about being overwhelmed by seeing him again. Anticipating and yet dreading this meeting, she’d been too nervous to eat. “No, I haven’t fainted in years. The medical term is vasovagal syncope, but my episodes are very infrequent.”

Except she had a terrible habit of fainting around him. It was their first meeting in fifteen years, and she’d already managed a replay of high school. She didn’t even want to consider what he was thinking right now. Probably that she was a consummate schemer with great acting skills.

He suddenly looked bland and aloof. “You couldn’t have planned a better Hail Mary pass.”

She cringed inwardly. He was suggesting that fainting had allowed her to buy time and get his sympathy. She was too embarrassed to get angry, however. “You play hockey, not football. Hail Mary is football. And why would I want to make a desperate last move with little chance of success?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Confuse the other side.”

“And did I?”

He looked as if he wished he were wearing all the protective gear of a hockey uniform. She was throwing him off balance. She was dizzy with momentary power, though her arms and legs still felt rubbery.

“I haven’t changed my mind.”

She lowered her shoulders and stepped toward her car.

“Are you okay to drive?” he asked, hands still shoved into his pockets.

“Yes. I feel fine now.” Tired, defeated and mortified, but fine.

“Goodbye, Marisa.”

He’d closed the door on her years ago, and now he was doing it again, with a note of finality in his voice.

She pushed aside the unexpectedly forceful emotional pain. As she stepped into her car, she was aware of Cole’s brooding gaze on her. And when she pulled away, she glanced in her rearview mirror and saw that he was still watching her from the curb.

She should never have come. And yet, she had to get him to say yes. She hadn’t come this far to accept defeat like this.

* * *

“You look like a man in need of a punching bag,” Jordan Serenghetti remarked, hitting his boxing gloves together. “I’ll spring for this round.”

“Lucky bastard,” Cole responded, moving his head from side to side, loosening up. “You get to work out the kinks by slamming someone on the ice rink.”

Jordan still had a high-velocity NHL career with the New England Razors, whereas Cole’s own had finished with a career-ending injury.

Still, whenever Jordan was in town, the two of them had a standing appointment in the boxing ring. For Cole, it beat the monotony of working out at the gym. Even as a construction executive, it paid to lead by example and stay in shape.

“Next hockey game isn’t for another three days,” Jordan responded, approaching with gloves raised. “That’s a long time to be holding punches. Anyway, don’t you have a babe to work out the kinks with?”

Marisa Danieli was a babe, all right, but Cole would be damned if he worked out anything with her. Unfortunately, she’d intruded on his thoughts too often since she’d dropped back into his arms last Friday.

Jordan touched a glove to his boxing helmet and then grinned. “Oh yeah, I forgot. Vicki dumped you for the sports agent—what’s his name, again?”

“Sal Piazza,” Cole said and sidestepped Jordan’s first jab.

“Right, Salami Pizza.”

Cole grunted. “Vicki didn’t dump me. She—”

“Got tired of your inability to commit.”

Cole hit Jordan with his right. “She wasn’t looking for commitment. It was the perfect fling that way.”

“Only because she’d heard of your reputation, so she knew she had to move on.”

“As I said, everyone was happy.” They danced around the ring, oblivious to the gym noises around them.

Even on a Wednesday evening, Jimmy’s Boxing Gym was humming with activity. The facility was kept cold but even the cool air couldn’t diminish the smell of sweat and sounds of exertion under the fluorescent lights.

Jordan rolled his neck. “You know, Mom wants you to settle down.”

Cole bared his teeth. “She’d also be happy if you quit risking thousands of dollars in orthodontia on the ice rink, but that’s not going to happen, either.”

“She can pin her hopes on Rick, then,” Jordan said, referring to their middle brother, “if anyone knew where he was.”

“On a movie set on the Italian Riviera, I’ve heard.”

Their brother was a stuntman, the risk taker among them, which was saying a lot. Their long-suffering mother claimed she’d lived at the emergency room while raising three boys and a girl. It was true they’d all broken bones, at one time or another, but Camilla Serenghetti still wasn’t aware of her sons’ most hair-raising thrills.

“It figures he’s on a paparazzi-riddled set,” Jordan grumbled. “No doubt there’s at least one hot actress in the picture.”

“Mom has Mia to fall back on, even if she is in New York.” Their youngest sibling was off pursuing a career as a fashion designer, which meant Cole was the only one based in Welsdale full-time.

“It sucks being the oldest, Cole,” Jordan said, as if reading his thoughts, “but you’ve got to admit you’re more suited to run Serenghetti Construction than any of the rest of us.”

In the aftermath of Cole’s career-ending hockey injury, their father, Serg, had suffered a debilitating stroke. Cole had grasped the reins of Serenghetti Construction eight months ago and never let go.

“It doesn’t suck,” Cole said. “It just needs to be done.”

He took the opportunity to hit Jordan with a surprise right. Damn, it felt good to rid himself of some frustration in the ring. He loved his brother, so it stunk to be even a little envious of Jordan’s life. It wasn’t just that Jordan was still a star with the Razors, because Cole had had a good run with the team himself. His younger brother also enjoyed a freedom missing from Cole’s own life these days.

Their father had always hoped one or more of his sons would carry on the family business. And in the casino of life, Cole had drawn the winning card.

Cole had been familiar with the construction business ever since he’d spent summers working on sites as a teenager. He just hadn’t anticipated having his hockey dream cut short and needing to pull his family together at the same time. Business had been tight until recently, and with Serg nearly flat on his back, Cole had been doing some scrambling with the hand he’d been dealt.

With any luck, one way or another, Cole could get on with his life again soon. Even if his future wasn’t on the ice, he had his own business and investment opportunities to pursue, particularly in the sports field. Coaching, for one thing, was beckoning...

“So why don’t you tell me what’s got you in a bad mood?” Jordan asked, as if they weren’t in a ring trying to knock each other off their feet.

Cole’s mind went to his more immediate problem—if she could even be called that instead of...oh yeah, a wrecking ball in heels. He built things, and she destroyed them—dreams being at the top of her list. Best remember her evil powers. “Marisa Danieli stopped by the construction site today.”

Jordan looked puzzled.

“High school,” Cole elaborated and then watched his brother’s frown disappear.

He and his brothers had graduated from different high schools, but Jordan knew of Marisa. After her pivotal role in Cole’s suspension during senior year, she had for a time become infamous among the Serenghetti brothers and their crowd.

“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.