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Marisa gave a quick nod before turning and heading for the door.
As she made her way past reception, down in the elevator and out the building, she pondered Cole’s words about wishing things had worked out differently between them. What had he meant? And did it matter?
But there was more to puzzle over in his expression. We’re not done.
It was more than had existed between them in fifteen years—or maybe they were just going to write a different ending.
Four
Marisa gazed up at him with big, wide eyes. “Please, Cole. I want you.”
“Yes,” he heard himself answer, his voice thick.
They were made to fit together. He’d waited fifteen years to show her how good it could be between them. He wanted to tell her that he would please her. This would be no crazy fumble on a sofa. When it came to sex, their communication had the potential to be flawless and explosive.
He claimed her lips and traced the seam of her mouth. She opened for him, tasting sweet as a ripe berry, and then met his tongue. The kiss deepened and gained urgency. They pressed together, and she moaned.
He felt the pressing need of his arousal as her breasts pushed against his chest. She was sexy and hot, and she wanted him. He’d never felt this deep need for anyone else. It was primitive and basic and...right.
“Oh, Cole.” She looked at him, her eyes wide amber pools. “Please. Now.”
“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “It’s going to be so good between us, sweet pea. I promise.”
He positioned himself, and then held her gaze as he pushed inside her. She was warm and slick and tight. And he was sliding toward mindless rapture...
Cole awoke with a start.
Glancing around, half-dazed, he realized he was restless, aroused—and alone.
He sprawled across his king-size bed, where damp sheets had ridden down his bare chest and tangled around his legs. Most of all, there was the feeling of being irritated and unfulfilled.
Damn it.
He’d been fantasizing about Marisa Danieli. He’d itched to ride her curves and have her come apart in his arms. He worked hard to slow his pounding pulse and then threw off the sheets. A glance at the bedside clock told him he needed to be at the office in an hour. He hit the alarm before it could go off and then rose and headed to the shower.
The master suite in his Welsdale condo included a large marble bath and a walk-in closet. He’d bought the place—on the top floor of a prewar building in the center of downtown—in order to have a home base during his hockey career. Not to mention that like the rest of the Serenghettis, he was a keen real estate investor.
The condo had been a place where he could retreat during the off-season without becoming an extended houseguest of his parents. His brothers kept places nearby, while his sister preferred to stay at Casa Serenghetti—as the siblings sometimes jokingly referred to the family manse—when she was in town.
He opened the glass door to the shower stall and then stood under the lukewarm spray, waiting for it to cool him down before he grabbed a bar of soap and lathered up.
He told himself he’d been dreaming about Marisa only because he wanted to win. Sex was just a metaphor for crashing through her defenses. Then he’d have some relief from this frustrating dance that they were engaged in.
Certainly he didn’t want a round two with her. He wasn’t even sure he trusted her...
After dressing, he made the quick drive to his office at Serenghetti Construction. He’d just reached his desk when the receptionist announced that she had Mr. Dobson from the Pershing School on the phone.
Interesting. It appeared Marisa had spoken with Pershing’s principal, and Mr. Dobson was wasting no time getting the wheels turning on his end.
Through careful questioning of his contacts, Cole had learned that a Pershing board member was golf buddies with the CEO of JM Construction. He didn’t have solid evidence that JM Construction had been a shoo-in for building the gym, but it was enough. In the end, proof didn’t matter anyway. He needed that job to go to Serenghetti Construction and not JM.
“Mr. Dobson, Cole Serenghetti here. What can I do for you?” Cole made his voice sound detached, even a bit bored.
Dobson engaged in pleasantries for a few minutes, as if he and Cole already knew each other and the call was an ordinary occurrence. Then without missing a beat, the principal thanked him for agreeing to headline Pershing Shines Bright, and invited Serenghetti Construction to submit a proposal for building the gym.
Cole leaned back in his chair. Since coming to his office last week, Marisa must have delivered the message at Pershing that the fund-raiser and the construction job were a package deal. Still, he needed to make sure there was no doubt about this understanding. He expected at least a handshake deal, if not a signed contract, before the school benefit took place.
Drawing on the business savvy that he’d gotten at an early age by observing Serg, Cole said, “I have an architectural partnership that I work with. I suggest setting up a meeting for next week where we can discuss the vision for the new gym as well as talk about costs and the timeline. Afterward, I’ll submit contracts for your review.”
