by Anna DePalo
Still, she’d been nervous about this party ever since Camilla had issued her invite. She’d debated what to wear and had settled on a shirt and short skirt. Cole had driven to her apartment building, and she’d met him downstairs in the entry, not trusting the two of them in her condo alone even for a few minutes. Seeing him in a shirt and khakis, she’d been reassured that she’d at least dressed appropriately.
Thanks to Cole, her kitchen had gotten a wonderful facelift. After their romantic interlude, they had gotten on with the job of painting, and she’d discovered Cole knew much more about the intricacies of stripping old paint and dealing with molding than she did. Her kitchen looked great—and he’d worked magic on her, too.
Marisa followed Cole through gleaming rooms decorated with a bow to the Serenghettis’ Italian heritage to the back of the villa. When they reached his parents’ backyard, she took in the impressive outdoor kitchen, blue-stone patio under a striped awning and wrought-iron furniture. It was an unseasonably warm day in May, and the Serenghetti party was mostly an outdoor affair. People milled about, glasses in hand, and platters of food had been set out on most flat surfaces.
Marisa looked over at her construction guy. Though when she’d started thinking of Cole as hers, she couldn’t quite say. It was a telling slip that was dangerous. They’d had spectacular sex that had transported her from her comfort zone to an area where she was vulnerable, exposed and swamped with emotion and sensation. But still, she couldn’t—shouldn’t—attach too much importance to it. She had once in high school, and she’d fallen flat on her face. She also hoped it wasn’t obvious to everyone that they’d recently become lovers for the first—no, second—time.
Cole placed his hand at the small of her back, and Marisa glanced at him. He wasn’t trying to be subtle about their connection—though which of the two of them was a fraud was hard to tell. Weren’t they supposed to pretend to be a couple? It was getting so confusing...
Cole bent for a quick kiss. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“There are more of you Serenghettis than I’ve ever seen in one place,” Marisa responded, wondering how many people had seen that peck on the lips.
Cole laughed. “Don’t worry, they don’t bite—” he bent to murmur in her ear “—unlike me.”
On her quick intake of breath, he straightened, his eyes gleaming.
Quelling the sudden hot-and-bothered feeling, Marisa scanned the crowd. She had known in high school that Cole had three younger siblings, but she hadn’t been friends with any of them. She’d heard a bit about Jordan over the years because his hockey career and endorsement deals had kept him in the public eye. And before they’d arrived at the party, Cole had mentioned that his sister, Mia, the youngest, was a designer based in New York, and his middle brother, Rick, traveled the world as a stuntman on movie sets.
“Come on,” Cole said. “I’ll introduce you.”
Marisa bit her lip. “Uh...sure.”
The Serenghettis had been a colorful lot so far. She took a deep breath and followed Cole as he made his way toward a lithe and attractive woman who obviously possessed the Serenghetti genes.
“Mia, this is Marisa Danieli.”
Cole’s sister was beautiful. Her hair was longer than Marisa’s, and wavy, not curly. Her almond-shaped eyes tilted slightly upward at the corners, hinting at Slavic or Germanic ancestors—not an uncommon story for those with roots in Italy’s north.
“I remember you,” Mia said, stepping away from the serving table next to her.
Yikes. In her case and Cole’s, recollections of the past couldn’t be a good thing. Still, Marisa couldn’t fault Mia if the other woman wanted to size up Cole’s newest girlfriend and be protective of her brother. Mia hadn’t yet reached high school when she and Cole had been seniors, so Marisa placed her at close to Serafina’s age.
Mia tilted her head. “You were the smart girl who brought down the high-and-mighty hockey team captain. Come to finish him off?”
Marisa felt heat flood her cheeks. Still, Mia’s tone was surprisingly neutral, joking even. Cole’s sister had faulted her brother for his arrogance in high school and called Marisa smart.
“Mia—”
Before Cole could say more, Marisa found her voice. “No, I need him too much to polish him off. He’s the headliner for the Pershing fund-raiser.” She cast a quick glance at Cole. “Besides, he’s shaped up to be a decent guy.”
Mia’s shoulders relaxed a little. “That’s what I think.” She smiled. “And you’re not his typical fashion-model type.”
“Thanks for the endorsement, sis,” Cole said drily.
“You could be a model yourself, Mia,” Marisa interjected, knowing it wasn’t just flattery to get into Mia’s good graces, it also happened to be true—Cole’s sister was a knockout.
“I was a leg model for a while,” Cole’s sister admitted, her tone rueful as she pushed one of her chestnut locks over her shoulder. “I didn’t like it, but I thought that if I wanted to be a designer, it would help to know the fashion industry from the leg up, if you know what I mean. I did a lot of hosiery ads.”
“Yeah,” Cole cracked, “I tried to get her to insure her legs.”
His tone was jesting but there was also an element of brotherly pride. And Marisa felt a sudden pang at Cole’s easy bond with his siblings. She had her cousin Serafina, but they’d always lived in different homes, though sleepovers had made up for some of that distance.
“Hmm,” Mia said, considering. “Well, don’t count me out on the insurance. I may need to continue to model my own clothes, and from the leg up if it comes to it. Designers starting out have to make do with what they have.”
“I’ve got some helpful advice for you,” Cole teased. “Put Jordan in drag. If he’s a hit with underwear, he’ll rock a strapless dress.”
While Marisa smiled at the image, Mia laughed. “Jordan is going to throttle you for suggesting it.”
“Don’t worry, you’ve got plenty to hold over him. He’ll come cheap.”
Marisa warmed to Cole’s sister, who obviously had a self-deprecating charm. She could also identify with a woman who was trying to get a career off the ground and running.
Cole looked down at her. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Yes, please,” she said, realizing a glass would be a good prop to help disguise her nervousness. “A diet soda would be great.”
“I think you need something stronger,” Cole teased. “You still haven’t met all the Serenghettis.”
“I’m going to check in with Mom in the kitchen,” Mia announced, stepping back. “Knowing her, she’s in a frenzy of activity.”
When Cole and Mia had moved off, Marisa found herself alone and looked around. The crowd had thinned—some people heading indoors—and she spotted Serg Serenghetti sitting in a chair near the outdoor kitchen. The family resemblance was unmistakable—she’d have recognized him even if she hadn’t seen pictures in the local paper from time to time over the years.
He beckoned to her, and she had no choice but to walk toward him.
Serg’s hair was steel-gray mixed with white at the sideburns, and he shared some of his eldest son’s features—not to mention Cole’s imposing presence, even though he was seated.
When she’d neared, Serg waved a hand to indicate their surroundings. “You’re a teacher, Marisa. Based right here in beautiful Welsdale, my wife says. Not like those model types...”
How much had Serg been told about her? “Yes, I’ve been teaching at the Pershing School since I received my teaching degree. Cole has been generous enough to help with our fund-raiser.”
“Pstcha,” Serg retorted. “It’s not generosity. Cole wants you to keep seeing him.”
Marisa had stopped listening at Cole wants you...
Serg tilted his head in imitation of his daughter. “Smart guy.” Then he adjusted the blanket covering his lap and frowned. “My wife likes to keep me bundled up like an Eskimo facing a blizzard even though spring
has come early this year.”
Cole returned, drinks in hand. “I see you’ve met the pater familias.” Handing Marisa a wineglass, he added, “He’s curmudgeonly in a teddy bear sort of way. I trot him out to make a good impression on the girlfriends.”
“Ha!” Serg replied. “I give thanks every day that your fancy schools at least taught you some Latin.”
Cole quirked an eyebrow. “Acta est fabula, plaudita.”
The drama has been acted out, applaud. Marisa hid a smile. She’d studied Latin, too.
“At least I know how to entertain,” Serg grumbled. “Smart-ass.”
“Chip off the old block.”
Serg made some more grousing noises before glancing at Marisa again. “Beautiful woman based right here in Welsdale. Perfect.”
“You’d think so,” Cole remarked drily.
“Get Marisa to take you on, and you’re set. Then you can stay put and run Serenghetti Construction.”
“Right.”
What? Cole’s mocking tone was undeniable but Serg surely couldn’t be serious. Marisa felt as if she’d landed in the middle of a family drama that she didn’t totally understand.
Serg shook his head. “I had a stroke but I can still understand sarcasm.”
“I’m the best you’ve got. Jordan and Rick are worse.”
Camilla appeared and came forward to fuss over her husband, and both Marisa and Cole stepped back.
Serg looked up from under lowered brows. “Vade in pace. Go in peace. Latin was required in my day, too, you know.”
As she moved aside, Marisa bumped up against something—or rather, someone—and turned around.
A tall, good-looking man smiled down at her. “Hi.”
Cole sighed resignedly. “Marisa, this is my brother Rick. The prodigal son back from a film set at the edge of the Earth.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Rick said with a lazy grin. “I’m the movie star. But I’ve been trying to get Cole here to play one of the bad guys for a long time. With the scars and all, don’t you think he looks menacing?”
What Marisa was thinking was that Cole made her heart go pitter-patter...
“You’re a stuntman and you’ve been a body double for Hollywood’s A-list,” Cole replied. “Still doesn’t make you a movie star.”
“A fine distinction.”
Marisa had to concede that Rick had movie-star looks. Closest in age to Cole, he was also rough-hewn. But he’d been a wrestler, not a hockey player, in high school. That much she knew.
“So word is you two are an item.” Rick looked at Cole, his expression droll. “Hot for the teacher?”
Marisa heated to the roots of her hair. She took a sip of wine to fortify herself.
“You can always count on a brother to embarrass you for no reason,” Cole said drily, though he didn’t look greatly perturbed.
“Your taste in women is improving. What’s to be embarrassed about?”
“You.”
“Payback.” Rick grinned. “So what happened? Marisa clobbered you in high school, and now you’re moonstruck?”
Marisa observed the back-and-forth between the brothers, a nervous and self-conscious smile on her lips. Still, it seemed as if Rick was willing to be open-minded about her relationship with his older brother—whatever it was.
Cole, on the other hand, looked as if he was praying for patience. “Mr. Hayes made her ’fess up about who doctored the PowerPoint presentation, smart-ass. She was going to lose recommendations for a college scholarship.”
“No, really,” she interjected, “I think that explains my behavior but doesn’t excuse it.”
“You had a good enough reason for doing what you did,” Cole replied.
“I shouldn’t have cared about Mr. Hayes’s embarrassment.” She shrugged. “Chances were good he’d keep his job regardless. You paid a big price.”
“I had it coming. Everything worked out eventually.”
Marisa wanted to argue further, but then she caught Rick’s amused expression.
“What a love-fest,” Rick remarked, looking back and forth between them. “I should get out of the way while you two fall all over yourselves making excuses for each other.”
Marisa clamped her mouth shut. Something had been changing between her and Cole. She felt as if there were silken ties—a lingerie robe sash came to mind—binding her to him. For his part, Cole seemed as if he couldn’t wait to be alone with her again...
Cole linked his hand with hers. “Come on, there are other people I want to introduce you to.”
Rick stepped back. “Have fun. I have my hands full avoiding Mom. She wants to capitalize on my rare family appearance.”
Murmuring a nice-to-meet-you to Rick, Marisa allowed herself to be led away. Cole introduced her to one group after another until Marisa found it hard to keep track of so many family members, friends and associates. In between, she ate Camilla’s delicious food, and Cole had a burger and hot dog while taking his turn grilling.
When they finally reached a lull, Marisa checked her phone and realized they’d already been at the party for three hours.
Cole glanced down at her. “Let’s get out of here.”
She looked around. “But the party isn’t winding down yet.”
He gave her a heavy-lidded look. “Right. It’s the perfect time to go. People will understand we want to be alone. It’ll keep up the appearance that we’re a couple.”
Nervous anticipation spiraled through her. “Where are we going?”
Taking her hand, Cole raised it to his lips. “My place is closer.”
She sucked in a breath. “Okay.”
She’d never been in Cole’s apartment, and it occurred to her that they were crossing another threshold...
* * *
The drive to Cole’s was quick. They made their way through the understated lobby and ascended in the elevator to the top floor.
When he let them into his loft, Marisa glanced around. The penthouse was like the home version of Cole’s office. Masculine and conveying muted power. Everything looked state-of-the-art—from the electronics that she glimpsed in the living area to the appliances visible in the kitchen.
In the next moment Cole backed her against the exposed brick wall for a searing kiss.
When they broke apart, she said breathlessly, “We have to stop this. We’re in a pretend relationship.”
“This is helping us pretend better.”
“I don’t follow your logic.”
“Then don’t. Just go with the flow.”
He was making her feel too much. She was afraid...and yet she couldn’t resist taking the plunge.
He touched her face. “I want to take you on a bed this time. I want you to cry out my name as I come inside you.”
She placed unsteady fingers on the top button of her shirt, and Cole zeroed in on the action.
“I’ve been glimpsing your lacy bra all night. The peekaboo effect has been driving me crazy.”
“You’ve been staring at my breasts?” How many guests had noticed? And how had she not been aware of it? Probably because she’d been too nervous and overwhelmed by her surroundings.
“Yeah,” Cole said thickly, “and Rick caught me at it, too. I haven’t bumbled so much since high school.”
A girlfriend would have told her that her bra was showing so she could fix the problem. Not Cole.
“Think of it as foreplay.” He braced a hand on the wall next to her and leaned in to trail kisses from her lips to the hollow behind her ear.
She shivered, and her fingers fumbled with the buttons of her shirt. When she finally finished, she tugged her top out of the waistband of her skirt and opened it wide. The cool air hit her skin, raising goose bumps.
“So pretty,” Cole murmured, trailing a finger from her jaw, down her neck and to the swell of her breast.
Marisa lowered her eyes as the back of Cole’s hand grazed over the top of her breast...again and again. Her breath hitched. She couldn’t
wait to experience what Cole wanted to show her—and do with her—this time.
He slid one hand up her thigh and under her skirt, and she leaned against the wall for support. He nuzzled her neck, and then found her with his hand, delving inside her welcoming moistness.
She tangled her hands in his hair. “Cole.”
“Yeah?” he said thickly.
“Tell me this isn’t in the playbook.”
“No, but this is.” He crouched and moments later used his tongue at her most sensitive spot.
Her knees nearly buckled, and she sank her fingers into his hair, anchoring herself in a world flooded with sensation. “Cole, please.”
“Please, what?” he muttered. “Keep going?”
She was so aroused that she couldn’t breathe right. “Oh...”
“My pleasure.”
Minutes later her world splintered, coming apart like a kaleidoscope exploding, and she sagged against the wall.
Cole straightened, bracing himself with a hand against the wall near her face, his eyes glittering.
“You’re going to ride me,” he said huskily. “You’re breasts are going to bounce and drive me crazy...and then after you scream for me, I’m going to come inside you in one long rush.”
Marisa parted her lips. She’d never been so turned on in her life.
“Bed. Now,” she gasped.
“The magic words,” he responded, grinning.
He swung her into his arms and strode down the hall. The bedroom was at the end, on the right.
It was an enormous room, with skylights and glass doors opening onto a terrace.
When he set her feet down, they both stripped, their fingers working quickly on more buttons. He beat her to the finish—naked when she still had on a bra and panties.
He prowled toward her with purpose. He was perfect. All muscle and sculpted maleness. Not an ounce of softness, but still, she was prepared to be cosseted.
He cupped her breasts, kissed the top of each one and then claimed her mouth. With a deft move, he undid her bra and she spilled against him.
He pushed down her panties until they pooled at her feet. And then he was laying her down on the bed and stretching over her. He fanned her hair out across the pillow.