Second Chance with the CEO

by Anna DePalo

  Camilla perked up. “Cole knows Italian. We did vacanze in Italia when he was young.”

  Marisa figured that explained why Cole hadn’t been in her Italian classes at Pershing.

  “You speak italiano, Marisa?”

  “Abbastanza.”

  Camilla clasped her hands together, and shot a glance at her eldest son. “Enough. Wonderful.”

  Marisa could swear her expression said she’s perfetto, but Cole just looked droll.

  Fortunately for her, the show’s producers interrupted at that point, and the conversation veered in another direction. But once the details of their guest appearance had been hammered out—and the appropriate forms and releases signed for the show’s producers—Marisa moved toward the exit.

  Unfortunately, Cole stood between her and the door.

  “What are you doing this weekend?” he asked without preamble.

  “Why do you ask?” she hedged, even though they weren’t within earshot of Jordan or their mothers, who remained engrossed in conversation on the studio’s stage.

  “This weekend I’m having the first meeting of that hockey clinic that we talked about,” he said. “But I prefer the rest of my time not be spent with a bunch of teenagers.”

  “You’d never make it as a teacher.”

  “I think we’ve established that,” he responded drily. “But I pegged you for one who’d be teaching economics.”

  “After high school, I knew I’d never really understand economics.”

  “You seemed to be doing okay to me.”

  “Right. As if you were in a good position to judge.”

  He smiled. “We were both distracted back then, but I’m not going to apologize for being a major diversion for you. Speaking of which, how about dinner at Agosto at seven this Saturday?”

  “I’m painting my kitchen cabinets.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  She shook her head.

  “I’ve been turned down for dates before—”

  She feigned astonishment.

  “—but never because someone needed to paint the kitchen cabinets.”

  “This relationship has been a land of firsts.” She could have bitten her tongue. Of all the firsts, him being her first lover was at the top of the list. And from his expression, the thought had hit him, too.

  “You, me, a can of paint. I can’t think of a kinkier combination.”

  She rolled her eyes even as she tingled at his words. He’d switched gears smoothly from suggesting dinner at a fine restaurant...to making painting seem adventurous.

  “I hope you chose a red-hot shade. Make Me Magenta. Or Kiss & Cuddle Coral.”

  “You know, I’d never thought of the building business as sexy, but now I see how wrong I’ve been. Just buying paint must leave you breathless!”

  A slow smile spread across his face. “If you invite me over, you can find out what else leaves me breathless.”

  “I was planning on painting the cabinets by myself.”

  He looked her over. “Why bother when you have a sexy construction guy to do it with?”

  She was starting to feel hot again—and very, very breathless. Damn him. He knew what he was doing, but he was also keeping a straight face. “I don’t have the money to hire someone. That’s why I was planning to do it alone.”

  “For you, sweet pea, I come free.”

  “The kitchen cabinets are a little dreary,” she said unnecessarily, trying to cool things down.

  “Add color to your life.”

  She’d paint him red—he was definitely a red. “The cabinets are going to be yellow. Unblemished Sapphire Yellow.”

  He cut off a laugh. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “I’ve already bought the paint supplies.”

  “Great. When do we start?”

  “I start on Saturday morning.” She hoped she sounded repressive enough.

  “I’ll be there at eight.”

  * * *

  When Marisa opened the door to her apartment on Saturday morning, Cole was holding a container with coffee cups and assorted add-ins. He grasped a brown paper bag with his other hand.

  “Doughnuts,” he announced. “A construction industry morning tradition.”

  “Thank you,” she said, taking the bag from him.

  She stepped back so he could enter the apartment, and her heartbeat picked up. He was strong, solid and masculine. And yummy. Forbidden, but yummy. He looked great in paint-stained jeans, work boots and an open flannel shirt over a white tee.

  By contrast, she’d dressed in a green tee and an old pair of gray sweats. She’d used a scrunchie to pull her hair back in a ponytail. With no makeup or jewelry, she hardly felt sexy—though she still itched with need at the sight of him.

  “I’d show you to the kitchen, but we’ll be working in there, not...eating.” A sudden image flashed through her mind of Cole slipping his hands under her tee and up her midriff, moving ever closer to her breasts...

  Wow, it was hot in here.

  She led the way into the living room and then turned back toward him.

  “Let me take the coffee from you,” she said, intending to set the coffee carrier down on the wood tray that covered a rectangular ottoman.

  Their fingers brushed, and her eyes flew up to meet his. They both stilled, and then he leaned in and touched her lips with his.

  “You’re welcome,” he said in a low voice as he straightened.

  “I thought we’d keep up the pretense about painting at least until nine.” She set down the coffee and faced him again.

  “Sex first thing in the morning is great,” he responded, “and I’ve been saving it all for you.”

  “I thought sports guys abstained from sex before a big game in order to keep their edge.” If he was going to expend a lot of effort today on painting, wasn’t it a similar situation?

  “Sweet pea, I don’t play professionally anymore, and you’ll never see a better painter after this,” he responded with heartfelt enthusiasm.

  She gave a nervous laugh—because he did make her tense. And aroused. And crazy. It was hard not to be thrilled with a guy who lusted after her even when she looked as if she was going to haul out the garbage. Even if her mind told her she shouldn’t.

  He stepped forward and cupped her face, his fingers threading into her hair and loosening her ponytail. Gazing at her mouth, he muttered, “You know, I used to steal glances at you when we were working on that presentation for economics class. Just for the sheer pleasure of looking at you.”

  “Really?” she breathed.

  He nodded, and then gave her another light kiss.

  When he straightened, she swallowed. “I could tell you were staring at me sometimes... I thought I had a food smudge or a blemish, or you were wondering why my face wasn’t completely symmetrical—”

  His eyes crinkled. “Marisa?”

  “Yes?”

  “Adolescent boys think about one thing, and it’s not about looking in the bathroom mirror for hours and searching for flaws.”

  “Oh, and what do you think about?” she asked, even though she had a good idea.

  “This.”

  He claimed her lips for a deeper kiss. He traced the seam of her mouth and then slipped inside. She breathed in his warm, male scent and then met his tongue, leaning into him. The power of the kiss seeped into her.

  She followed his lead, meeting him again and again, until she was in a pleasant languor, her head swimming. When they broke apart, she bent her head, her forehead coming to rest against his lips.

  He settled his hands on her waist and then slipped them under the bottom of her sweatshirt. He kneaded her flesh, caressing her back and rubbing up to her shoulder blades. With a deft move, he unclasped her bra and she spilled against him.

  Raising his mouth a fraction from her forehead, he muttered, “Marisa.”

  “What?” she asked dreamily.

  “I’ve fantasized about your breasts.”

&nb
sp; “Now?”

  “Now. High school. Forever.”

  “Mmm.”

  He pulled the sweatshirt over her head, and she took out the scrunchie holding her hair, shaking her head to loosen the strands.

  Gazing down at her, he said, “You still have the prettiest breasts I’ve ever seen.”

  “And on a schoolteacher, no less. Go figure,” she joked.

  “Luscious Lola. You live up to your nickname.”

  “What?”

  He raised his eyes. “You didn’t know? It’s what the guys in the locker room called you. But we couldn’t agree on how big your breasts were because you had a habit of hugging books to your chest.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”

  He gave her a teasing smile. “Nope. The nickname Luscious Lola was sort of tongue-in-cheek. The imaginations of teenage boys can outstrip reality.” His look turned appreciative. “Not in this case, however.”

  “I didn’t even know I existed in the jocks’ locker room!”

  “Oh, you existed, all right.”

  “You gave out nicknames?” She still couldn’t believe it. She’d thought she’d been invisible in high school—well, at least until the end.

  Cole shrugged.

  “Well, you eventually found out how big my breasts were. But I couldn’t figure out why you didn’t broadcast the news...”

  He sobered. “By that point, it was too heavy to share. I’d started thinking of you as my personal Lolita. The girl who slew me and led to my destruction.”

  “And now?” she asked, curious and a little wary, even as she adopted a tone of mock reproach. “Am I still just a sex object with big breasts?”

  He looked into her eyes. “And now you’re the woman I’ve been fantasizing about. Ti voglio. I want to make love to you, Marisa.”

  When he held out his hand, she went weak and then put her hand in his. If she was honest with herself, she’d admit this moment had been inevitable ever since Cole had announced he’d help her paint. The last time he’d been in her apartment, they’d ended up tangled together on her living room couch until Sera’s unexpected arrival. She could have done more to avert this moment if she’d wanted to, but in the secret recesses of her heart, she knew she’d always wanted to deal with the unfinished business between her and Cole.

  Cole threw some pillows on the floor and tugged her down to their makeshift bed, where they both kneeled and faced each other. He gently pulled her into his embrace, and then he kissed her, one arm anchored around her waist, the other caressing her breast.

  Marisa moaned, her scruples evaporating. Cole’s thumb toyed with her nipple, causing sensation to shoot through her and pool between her legs.

  “Cole,” she gasped, her fingers threading through his hair, “please.”

  “Please, what?” he asked gutturally.

  “Now, more...”

  “Yes.”

  She lay back against the pillows, and he pulled off his shirt and then tugged the white tee over his head.

  Marisa sucked in a breath. He was built. Bigger and broader than in high school, but solid muscle nonetheless. He might have left the ice, but he seemed as toned and ready for action as ever. He had flat abs, and sculpted muscles outlined his upper arms. She’d gotten a partial look at Jimmy’s Boxing Gym, but unclothed, he was even more spectacular.

  He gazed at her with glittering promise. Then he grasped the waistband of her sweatpants and pulled them off, taking her panties, socks and canvas lace-ups with them.

  Tossing her clothes aside, he moved back to her and stroked a hand down her thigh. He raised her leg, flexed her foot and placed a kiss on the delicate skin behind her knee. “You’ve got a fantastic figure, sweet pea. Made for loving.”

  She’d dreamed about this moment in the past. She’d wondered what would have happened if things had turned out differently—if her relationship with Cole had survived to become a real adult one.

  For his part, Cole looked like a man who’d reached an oasis and wasn’t going to hold back. He stood and pulled off his shoes and then stripped off the rest of his clothes. When she held out her arms, he came down beside her.

  He claimed her mouth again, and she ran her hands over his arms, feeling his muscles move and flex beneath her fingertips. His erection pressed against her, cradled between her thighs.

  How many times after high school had she replayed their one time together? The truth was she’d never completely put him behind her.

  When the kiss broke off, she touched his cheek. “You explained the knee injury that stopped your career with the Razors. But you never said how you got the scar.”

  Cole’s look turned sardonic. “Simple. Another player’s blade connected with my mug.”

  She frowned and then traced the long, white line bisecting the side of his face. “Have you ever thought of getting it fixed?”

  “Nah...and have my good looks marred by cosmetic surgery?”

  Impulsively leaning up, she trailed featherlight kisses along his scar. When she was finished, Cole looked as if he’d been undone.

  “Ah, Marisa,” he said gruffly. “That was...sweet.”

  “Women would die to have your nonchalant attitude about their physical appearance.” She paused. “Women would die to have you, come to think of it.”

  He gave her a lopsided grin. “After our first time in high school, I used to think about ways to make the experience better the next time.”

  “You did?”

  He nodded. “Yup. I still have a game plan filed away that I never got to use.”

  She sighed dreamily.

  He stroked her arms. “Close your eyes, Marisa. Just feel.”

  When her eyes had fluttered closed, Cole began to massage her back, loosening her muscles and making her relax. Slowly, she came away from the edge of nervous arousal to something deeper and more soul-stirring.

  Cole kissed her and then trailed his mouth down the column of her neck. He paused, blew on her nipples and then laved one with his tongue. When she jerked, he shushed her, gentling her with his hands. Then he drew her other breast into his mouth.

  Awash in pleasure, Marisa threaded her hands in his hair, holding him. She felt fantasy merge with reality. Cole was here, making love to her. How many times had she dreamed about it? It was like her fantasies, but better in many ways... He was sure of himself, confident in his ability to please her. The full adult version of the teenager she had known.

  “We’ll never use a real bed,” she murmured.

  Cole stifled a laugh. “All in good time, including the kitchen, eventually.”

  She opened her eyes. “I cook in the kitchen.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Not that type of cooking.”

  “Ah, Marisa.” He moved downward and kissed one inner thigh and then the other. Then he pressed his lips against her moist core. He found her with his mouth and caressed and swirled her with his tongue.

  She moaned, and her hips rose, but Cole held her to him, his hands under her rear end.

  She turned her head to muffle her moans against a pillow as sensation swamped her. But it was too much. Panting, she gave in, and let the world explode as she bucked against Cole’s mouth.

  Seconds later, spent, she collapsed back against their makeshift bed.

  Cole came back up to face her. “It’s not over until you’re completely sexually satisfied.”

  Oh. “I need a moment.” Her heart was racing, and she could still feel his arousal against her. “You have incredible staying power.”

  “In hockey and in business, it’s about self-control. Like life, generally.” He smiled, smoothing her hair. “But don’t sell yourself short. You have wonderful stamina yourself.”

  “You’ve always had a lot of self-control around me.” She knew she sounded wistful, but he’d been able to turn away from her so easily fifteen years ago...

  “No, I don’t,” he corrected on a growl. “Let me show you.”

  Standin
g up, Cole withdrew a foil packet from the pocket of his jeans and sheathed himself. Tossing her a rueful grin, he said, “Wishful thinking, but I came prepared.”

  Marisa licked dry lips. With Sal, it had always been plain-vanilla sex—on a bed, at night and over quickly. She was unprepared for Cole’s lustiness, though she’d be lying to herself if she said she didn’t like it.

  In the next moment Cole flipped her on her stomach and grasped her legs, spreading them as he pulled her to the edge of the pillows. He leaned forward, bracing himself over her, and his erection probed her entrance.

  “You are so hot and slick,” he breathed beside her ear. “So ready for me.”

  She felt him slide into her without any resistance and cried out at his possession, while Cole gave a labored groan behind her. He thrust into her once, twice, three times, and she called his name.

  He set up a rhythm for them, pumping into her. “Marisa.”

  She could feel him tightening, and could tell he was close to finding his climax. She clamped down around him, and he cursed. Then they were both spiraling, the air filled with the sounds of their release.

  She cried out as she crested on a wave of sensation so pure and beautiful—its power building for fifteen years—that tears stung her eyes.

  After a moment, Cole slumped on top of her. Then he kissed her ear and rolled to his side, bringing her with him into the shelter of his body.

  Marisa waited for her heart to slow down. Cole had given her one of the most spectacular experiences of her life. She was caught between joy at the wonder of it and embarrassment at her uninhibited response.

  “Was that the game plan that you had filed away for fifteen years?” she asked.

  He gave a helpless laugh. “Part of it.”

  There was more? Still, she managed, “It was so much better than on a regular bed.”

  He smiled against her hair. “I told you it would be better with a sexy construction guy.”

  Nine

  If Marisa had any doubt that she and Cole had grown up in very different circumstances, they were erased when she entered his parents’ house—a Mediterranean villa set amidst beautiful landscaping with a stone fountain at the center of a circular drive. She could almost believe she was in Tuscany, which she’d backpacked through one summer.