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“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.”
