Power Play

by Anna DePalo

  “I’ve spent them all.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  All that remained unsaid hung between them.

  “Come on in,” he said.

  “I thought I was getting a car.”

  “In a sec.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “But first you look like you could use a shoulder to lean on.”

  “Not yours.” To her horror, however, her voice wasn’t as strong and steady as she would have liked. The hour was late, she was tired and she’d had one roller coaster of a day. Suddenly, it was all catching up to her and was just too much. Right now, she wanted to be in fluffy socks and battered sweats and holding a cup of herbal tea. Not dealing with the complexities of her relationship with Jordan. No, wait—they didn’t have a relationship.

  Jordan searched her face with an annoyingly penetrating gaze. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” Could that high-pitched voice possibly be hers? But fortunately, he hadn’t brought up their conversation at the Puck & Shoot.

  “Sera.”

  She felt as if she were drowning.

  “Aw, hell,” Jordan said.

  In the next instant, he’d folded her into his arms, smoothing his hands down her back as he tucked her head under his chin.

  She stiffened. “You’re the last person—”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t even like you. You are irritating and rude and—”

  “—ridiculous?”

  “This is a delayed reaction,” she sniffed, relaxing into his embrace.

  “Understandable.”

  “If you breathe a word about this to anyone, Serenghetti...”

  “Not likely. Your reputation is safe with me.”

  “Great.”

  She was more shaken up by her accident than she’d thought. More shaken up by everything.

  He stroked his hand up and down her back, lulling her. She leaned into him. They stayed that way as time ticked by for she couldn’t say how long.

  It was quiet, and the lights of Welsdale twinkled outside.

  Slowly, though, as she regained steadiness, comfort gave way to something else. She became aware of subtle changes. Jordan’s breathing deepened, and hers grew shallower and more rapid.

  He shifted, dipping his head, and his lips grazed her temple.

  She lifted her head and met his gaze. “So these are the famous Jordan Serenghetti moves these days? A hug?”

  Their faces were inches apart, and she remained pressed against him—his long, lean form imprinting her, making her feel.

  “How am I doing?”

  She lifted her shoulders. “Do you usually look for a rating?”

  “You still have a smart mouth, Perini,” he muttered.

  “Weaponized? And you’re going to disarm me, I bet,” she replied tartly.

  He bent toward her and muttered, “Worth risking serious injury for.”

  “I dare you.” She tossed out the words carelessly, but she was all taut awareness because she’d never seen Jordan this focused and intent.

  “You know that kiss...”

  Her brows drew together. “What about it?”

  “Since I don’t remember it, I’m curious.”

  She sucked in a breath and then warned, “Since there’s no audience to cheer you on this time, why bother?”

  He pressed the pad of his thumb against her bottom lip. “Such a loaded question. Let’s find out.”

  And just like that, he kissed her.

  She tried for nonchalance. Still, his mouth was lazy and sensual, coaxing hers into a slow dance.

  Eventually, the kiss took on a life of its own. In fact, Sera wasn’t sure what possessed her. The need to tangle with a player again—and this time be the one who came out ahead? Perhaps a desire to prove that she was older and wiser and not so green—and therefore wouldn’t be hurt? She couldn’t say—and maybe didn’t want to examine the issue too closely.

  Jordan cupped the sides of her face, his fingers tunneling into her hair, and held her steady. His mouth was warm, searching...confident.

  He swept his tongue around hers, and she met him, every part of her responding. She gripped his shirt, pulling him in, and he made a low sound in his throat.

  She’d wondered over the years whether her memory of their kiss had been dulled by time. Had it really been that good? Not that she’d been looking for a repeat lately, she told herself. It had just been idle curiosity sparked by seeing Jordan again. And since he’d been so annoying and able to bring out her snarky best, she’d assumed her recollection was off.

  Wrong, so wrong.

  Every part of her came to life, sensitized to his touch, his scent, his taste. And there was no lazy humor to Jordan now. Instead, everything about him said he wanted to strip off her waitress clothes so they could both find bliss...

  When the kiss broke off, he trailed his lips across her jaw, and she tilted her head so that he could continue the path down the side of her neck. His hand came up to cup her breast, and she strained against him, wanting more, a sound of pleasure escaping her lips.

  He brought his mouth to hers again, and his leg wedged between her thighs. She skimmed her hands along his back, feeling the ripped muscles move under her caress.

  Jordan’s scent enveloped her—the one she’d started to know so well and had fought against. But his casual devil-may-care persona was stripped away, and all he seemed to care about was getting closer to her, exploring the attraction that she’d often dismissed as just smooth moves on his part.

  He tugged her T-shirt from the waistband of her skirt as their kiss took on a new urgency. Pushing aside her bra, he found her breast with his hand and palmed it tenderly.

  She moved against him, feeling the friction of his jeans straining to hold back his arousal, and he broke off the kiss on a curse.

  Lifting her shirt, he looked down as he stroked her breast, his chest rising and falling with awareness.

  She glanced down, too, and watched him caress her, her excitement growing.

  “So beautiful,” he muttered. “Perfect.”

  He rested his forehead against hers—and their breath mingled, short and deep and fast. “Let me touch you.”

  Her brain foggy with desire, she didn’t understand for a moment, until she felt his hand slide under her skirt. Pushing aside her panties, he began gently exploring her.

  Sera’s head fell back, her eyes closing.

  “So good,” Jordan murmured in a voice she didn’t recognize. “Ah, Angel, let me in.”

  She let him stroke her, building the heat inside her. She shifted to give him better access, and he built a rhythm that she enjoyed...until he pressed his thumb against her and she splintered, her world fracturing, filling with their labored breaths and the scent of Jordan all around her.

  They stood that way for moments, and Sera slowly came down to earth, her breath slowing.

  What was she doing?

  With a remaining bit of sanity, she pulled back, and he loosened his hold. Then she laid her hand on his chest as if to underscore the distance she needed. She felt the strong, steady beat of his heart, reminding her of the sexual thrum between them.

  He didn’t move. His jaw firm, he seemed carved out of stone, his face stamped with unfulfilled sexual desire in the dim illumination.

  She felt like a heel—an uncomfortable and new feeling where Jordan was considered. Still, they couldn’t, they shouldn’t. “This is so wrong. We—”

  “Angel—”

  “We shouldn’t have done that.”

  And then she ran. Grabbing the purse that she’d come in with, she turned and stabbed the button for the elevator.

  “Sera—”

  She nearly gasped with relief when the door slid right open and Jordan made no move to stop her.

  As t
he elevator door closed, she called hurriedly over her shoulder, “I’ll summon a cab downstairs with my phone.”

  Six

  Jordan came awake. The bedsheets were a tangled mess around him because he’d had a restless night.

  Sera. The one-word answer for why he’d been edgy.

  He’d dreamed about her after she’d left in a hurry. At least in sleep, he’d gotten a chance to indulge many of his fantasies from the past couple months. He’d guided her and learned her pleasure points with his hands and mouth. He’d whispered all the indecent things he wanted to do with her, and she hadn’t blinked. But unfortunately, none of it had been real. In real life, Sera had hurried out of his apartment.

  He was still wrapping his mind around all the revelations from last night. Their kiss had been fantastic enough to fuel fantasies all night long. He’d had a hunch they’d be combustible together, and he’d been proven right. More than right. Things had escalated, and if Sera hadn’t broken things off, he had his doubts they would have bothered making it from the entry to his bed. She’d been soft and curvy and responsive, just like he’d imagined. Better than he’d imagined. She had the softest skin he’d ever caressed.

  Sera was soft despite her seemingly hard shell. Who knew?

  And how the hell could he have forgotten someone as hot and memorable as Serafina Perini? He racked his brain for memories from eight years ago. Could he really have been as much of a jerk as she’d made him out to be?

  Sera had been pissed off at being so easily consigned to oblivion. No question about it.

  The only answer was that he’d been young and stupid and immature. Flush with the first victories of a burgeoning hockey career that had put his sickly childhood behind him, and intent on enjoying his new status and image as a chick magnet and sports stud.

  Yup. That explanation would go over well with Sera.

  She’d have to deal with him, though, at their next therapy session—and to make matters more complicated, she was now driving his car. After Sera had departed in a rush last night, he’d called downstairs and told Donnie at the security desk to offer her the second set of keys to his sedan. She’d need a car until her beaten-up wreck got fixed, and Jordan would be fine driving his pickup in the meantime. Fortunately, Donnie had later reported that Sera had reluctantly taken up the offer.

  Jordan smiled over the irony as he stared at the ceiling. His car had been the fastest and easiest way for her to escape from him.

  After a moment, he tossed the covers off and headed to the shower. He needed to clear his head and brainstorm a way out of this bind. What the hell was he supposed to say to her at their next physical therapy session?

  And then there was the other problem he’d been meaning to get to ever since his last conversation with his mother. He bit back a grimace and figured he was overdue for trying to sort out a different Serenghetti family tangle. Plus, it would take his mind off Sera.

  An hour later, after downing a quick breakfast, he headed to his parents’ house on the outskirts of Welsdale.

  He found his father in an armchair, remote in hand, in the large living room that ran most of the width of the back of the house.

  “Hi, Dad. Where’s Mom?”

  Serg Serenghetti looked up grumpily. “At work. The cleaning service just left.”

  “Yeah, I know. Conveniently, they let me in as they headed out.” Jordan smiled gamely. “So it’s just us guys, then.”

  His father glanced at him from under bushy brows. Then he clicked the remote to change the channel from golf to a commercial.

  “What are you going to watch?”

  “One of those home-improvement shows your generation loves.” He guffawed. “As if any of these TV performers really knows the biz.”

  “Right.” Jordan settled onto the sofa next to his father’s armchair.

  Serg waved the remote. “If any of my children was interested, you’d be helping Serenghetti Construction with a television show.”

  “Try Rick. He’s got the Hollywood ties these days.” Jordan looked around. “Quiet here.”

  “If your mother was home, she’d just be fussing.” Serg turned off the TV. “Now it’s quiet.”

  Jordan shook his head bemusedly. His parents’ marriage had lasted decades, producing four kids and now grandkids, while riding the ups and downs of Serenghetti Construction. His parents had met when his mother had been a front-desk clerk at a hotel in Tuscany, and Serg had been on his way to visit extended family north of Venice. So the whole feed-and-shelter hospitality biz was in his mother’s blood, and the latest incarnation of that was her cooking show. Until recently, his father had handled the sheltering part with his construction business, while his mother was all about sustenance.

  Except that had all gotten upended lately. “So what’s got you down?”

  “If you spent your days out of a job, sitting here watching TV, you’d be surly, too.”

  “Right.”

  Serg lowered his brows. “Come to think of it, that’s not too far off from where you are.”

  Jordan shifted in his seat, because it hadn’t occurred to him before now that he and his father might have something more in common these days than sharing a passing family resemblance. An extended convalescence had prevented them both from returning to their old lives. In his father’s case, permanently. And in his... Chills ran up Jordan’s arms.

  He’d thought that his days being sick and bedridden were well past him. But being sidelined with his injury brought back the old feelings of helplessness.

  His father was nearing seventy. Not young, but not really old, either. Jordan wondered where he’d be at that age. Certainly not playing hockey, but what would his second act be? At least, he had some plans for what to do with his earnings as long as his injury didn’t get in the way.

  “You need a second act,” he said into the void.

  Serg grumbled and shifted. “Your mother doesn’t like to share the limelight.”

  Jordan smiled slightly. “Yeah, I heard. You’d like a segment on Mom’s show.”

  “The audience loved me when I did a special guest spot suggesting wine pairings.”

  “You should revel in Mom’s success,” Jordan went on. “But I get it. She’s at the top of her game, and you’re at a crossroads.”

  “Since when are you the family psychologist?”

  Jordan chuckled. “Yeah, I know. It’s a dirty job, but someone in this family has to do it, and I did well running interference for Cole and Marisa.”

  Serg lowered his chin and peered over at him. “Jordan, your sport is hockey, not football.”

  “Okay, fair enough. So...back to you and Mom.”

  “We’re out of your league. Don’t try to run interference.”

  “Right.” The message was clear, but he had one of his own. “But maybe instead of wanting a piece of Mom’s success, you should develop your own game.”

  * * *

  Every once in a while, Sera thought it was a good idea to have Sunday dinner at her mother’s house. Today was not one of those days.

  The simple three-bedroom shingle house with a postage-stamp lawn stood on a tidy side street in East Gannon. Its no-frills white appliances were a world away from the high-end stainless steel in Jordan’s sleek, modern penthouse. Here, it was all open bookshelves displaying books, mementos and family photos—not unobtrusive panels concealing high-end electronics, as well as its owner’s secrets.

  And the contrasts didn’t end there. Jordan’s place was forward-looking, with very little evidence of the past, as far as she could tell. Her mother’s place held a hint of nostalgia—now that the kids had grown and flown the coop—and sadness since Sera’s father’s death from a heart attack a few years ago. His passing had been the wake-up call that Sera had needed to get on with her life and go back to school for a physical-therapy degree.


  At the dinner table, Sera twirled some spaghetti onto her fork. Her mother was an excellent cook, and tonight’s chicken parmigiana and spaghetti with tomato sauce was no exception. Ever since her mother had been widowed, Sera and Dante had made it a point to visit regularly. They knew their mother appreciated the companionship.

  “I heard you had a car accident.” Her mother’s brow was furrowed with worry.

  Sera cleared her fork and started twirling it again because she’d accidentally put on too much spaghetti. Good thing she hadn’t had a mouthful already. On the other hand, maybe she should have welcomed an excuse not to talk... “How did you find out?”

  “Dante’s friend Jeff happened to be at the auto shop earlier today. He overheard the employee there on the phone with you, taking down your personal information to fix your car.” Her mother tossed her an arch look across the dining-room table. “There aren’t many women running around with the name Serafina Perini.”

  For the umpteenth time, Sera rued having a unique name. And she sometimes forgot what a small town Welsdale could be. Still, she was lucky that the most popular local auto body shop had Sunday hours because she’d been able to call and get a status report about when she might get her car back. Unfortunately, the news hadn’t been encouraging, and it looked like she was stuck driving Jordan’s wheels for a while. Too bad every time she climbed into the car, she was unable to shake his scent.

  She’d been surprised when the guy at the security desk in Jordan’s building had offered her car keys on Jordan’s instructions, but after hesitating a moment, she’d chosen the path of least resistance—one that would solve her immediate problems, whatever the longer-term consequences. She now owed Jordan a favor when she should have been mad at him—and then there was the little complication about what else had happened that evening at his place...

  “I assume you got a rental car until yours is fixed,” her mother observed, “and that’s how you got here today.”

  “Yes, I have temporary wheels.” Jordan Serenghetti’s.

  “Are you okay?” her mother asked.

  She schooled her expression with the help of her reflection in the china closet’s glass door. “Fine, Mom.”