One

      Sera disliked smooth operators, bad in-laws and unwelcome surprises.

      Unfortunately, Jordan was all three, and his sudden appearance in her offices on a sunny spring day in Massachusetts meant she’d better start preparing herself for the unthinkable.

       “You!”

      The exclamation was out of Sera’s mouth before she could stop it. It had been just another day at Astra Therapeutics until Mr. Hotshot-NHL, Underwear-Ad-Hottie Jordan Serenghetti had crashed the party like an errant puck arcing through the air.

      Jordan smiled lazily. “Yes, me.”

      Arms folded, he lounged against the treatment table, as if striking sexy poses was second nature to him—even when propped up by crutches, as he was now. Clad in a casual long-sleeved olive T-shirt and jeans, he emanated charisma. The shirt outlined the hard muscles of his arms, and the jeans hugged lean hips. Not that she was noticing. Not in that way.

      Sera was wary of men who were too good to be true—as if everything came easy to them. Nowadays, Jordan Serenghetti would be at the top of her list. He was smoother than a skate blade hydroplaning over ice. With dark, ruffled hair clipped short, moss-green eyes, and a sculpted face with a chiseled jaw, he could score anywhere.

      Sera had seen him in underwear ads, showing off his package on supersized billboards and fueling thousands of dreams. But she’d learned the hard way to deal in reality, not fantasy.

      “What are you doing here?” she blurted, even though she had a sinking feeling she knew. She’d been told her next appointment was waiting for her in room 6, but she’d had no idea it was Jordan.

      She’d heard he’d suffered a sports-related injury, but figured he was in good hands with the New England Razors hockey-team staff. She so was not going to worry about him, even if her second-worst mistake was now related to her by the marriage of her cousin to Jordan’s brother. In the annals of her bad history with men, Jordan ranked number two, even if it had become clear to her that he didn’t remember their chance encounter in the past.

      She eyed his wrapped left knee. She wasn’t used to seeing Jordan Serenghetti vulnerable...

      “Now, that’s a refreshing change from the usual greeting. Too often I get enthusiastic fans yelling my name.” He shrugged. “You’re an antidote to the monotony, Angel.”

      Sera sighed. Fans? Women screaming his name was more like it. Terribly misguided, deluded women. “Don’t call me Angel.”

      “Hey, I’m not the one who named you for a heavenly being.”

      She’d never had occasion to rue her name so much. Serafina served as a topic of easy cocktail-party conversation, but the nickname Angel irked her, especially when uttered by Jordan. So what if she was named for the seraphim?

      “Your type of angel is supposed to be heavenly and fiery,” Jordan went on, unperturbed. “Someone had a kismet moment when they named you. Beautiful and hot-tempered.”

      Serafina rolled her eyes, refusing to be swayed by the way beautiful rolled off Jordan’s tongue. “Am I supposed to be impressed by your grasp of biblical trivia...or backhanded compliments?” Then she scowled at the thought that her response had just proven his point. She dropped her clipboard on the counter. “So you’re here for a physical-therapy session...”

      “Yup.”

      She quelled her irritation. “And I’m supposed to think it’s mere chance that you were assigned to me?”

      Jordan held up his hands, a smile teasing his lips. “No, I’m not going to lie about that part.”

      “Oh, good.”

      “I want the best—”

      Sera was sure Jordan was used to the best in women. No doubt eager females were waiting for him when he exited the New England Razors’ locker room.

      “—and you’ve already got a great reputation. The clinic manager couldn’t stop singing your praises.”

      With a pro athlete of Jordan’s caliber, Sera was sure Bernice had given him his choice of staff. And the clinic’s manager probably thought she was doing Sera a favor...

      Sera thought back to her conversation earlier in the week with Bernice. We’re trying to land a contract with the New England Razors. Their management is looking to outsource some therapy work and supplement the team’s staff. They’re auditioning three outfits, including us. If we land this deal, it could open the door to work with other sports teams in the area.

      Ugh. At the time, she’d dismissed her chances of encountering Jordan, even though he played for the Razors. The gods couldn’t be so cruel. Apparently, however, gods laughed at angels. Jordan had been sent—or volunteered—to test the quality of the clinic’s services. With her. She should have known the minute she stepped into this room, but she’d been in deep denial.

      “You asked for me?” Sera said slowly.

      Jordan nodded and then cracked a grin. “The fact that, when I booked my appointment for today, your receptionist couldn’t stop extolling your cooking skills just sealed the deal for me.”

      “She mentioned my cooking?”

      “And baking,” he added. “Apparently, the homemade dishes that you sometimes bring in for the staff earn you brownie points. So you were clearly the right choice.”

      “Let me remind you of something...we don’t like each other.”

      “Correction,” Jordan said, lips quirking. “You don’t like me. I have no problem with attractive and passionate women. You, on the other hand, have issues—”

      “Right.” She narrowed her eyes.

      “You should feel safe around me,” Jordan said easily. “We’re practically related.”

      Right. Jordan’s older brother Cole had recently married Sera’s cousin Marisa Danieli. Jordan loved to joke about the couple’s long and winding path to the altar. At one point, Marisa’s former fiancé had been dating Cole’s ex-girlfriend, and Jordan had kidded that his brother and Marisa were engaged by proxy. It did not, however, mean that she and Jordan were related in any meaningful sense of the word.

      Up to now, Sera had done her best to ignore the fact that she and Jordan were technically cousins-in-law. Marisa and Cole had had a surprise wedding, so she’d been spared having to be the maid of honor to Jordan’s best man.

      “I’ll drive you into the ground, Serenghetti,” she harrumphed, changing tactics. “You’ll sweat like you’ve never worked before.”

      It was only a half-idle threat. She expected a lot from her patients. She was good, she was understanding, but she was tough.

      Jordan’s smile stayed in place. “I wouldn’t expect any less.”

      “Are