by Leslie North
“Can I come in?”
“Will you behave?”
His grin flashed. “Do you want me to?”
She threw back her whiskey. Dammit, where was the girl who used to race downhill—and beat everyone? She grabbed Murphy’s shirt with her fingers. “Hell, no.” Dragging him into her room, she fused her lips to his. She couldn’t breathe in enough of him, couldn’t touch enough of his skin, couldn’t get his clothes off and hers gone fast enough.
They fell onto her bed and she rolled him onto his back, and he slipped inside. She gave a gasp and threw her head back. He felt so good…so solid. So…so much like something she needed. She started to move on him, up and down, fast and hard. The feel of him inside her obliterated everything, left her shaking with pleasure. The joy burst hard inside her, like a bomb going off. She gave a gasp, felt him shoot hot up into her. She collapsed on his chest, and his arms came around her.
Gasping, he muttered, “I was going to take it slow.”
She grinned against his chest and snuggled closer. “I needed that. You’re like a good whisky—all heat and sizzle.”
He gave a low laugh. “I was going to say the same of you.”
Pushing off his chest, she stared down at him. Moonlight slid in through her window, but his face was mostly shadow. “Who are you Dan Murphy?”
He touched a finger to her cheek. “Dan Murphy is just an artist—but would you mind so much if I was someone else?”
She laid her cheek on his chest again. She liked hearing his heart slow to a steady beat. “Would I? Who else? Someone rich? Someone poor? Isn’t it usually criminals who have a lot of different names?”
“I promise you, I’m not a criminal. At least, well I don’t like breaking laws or even bending them. But I will try to change them if I don’t like them.”
She sat up and stared at his shadowed face. He had a beautiful face, lovely angles, flat eyebrows, even features. She touched a hand to his cheek. “You sound serious about that.”
He tightened his hold on her. “I think I’m getting serious about you. Does that worry you, Paris? It scares the hell out of me.”
“I’m not asking for commitments.”
“No, but you’re a girl who needs them, aren’t you?” He rolled her over on the bed. Reaching down, he stroked her clit. “You have a lot of needs you’ve ignored. I know about that.”
She let out a breath. “That…that’s what I need.” Wrapping her arm around his neck, she told him. “Can we just let tomorrow worry about itself? Make love to me, Murphy.”
She saw his smile flash. “With pleasure.”
She lost herself in his arms, in his touch, in his kisses. They made love, and slept, and she woke before he did, watched him sleep and then wrapped her hand around his cock and began to stroke. He stirred, his eyes slitting open and gleaming silver. Smiling at him, she kissed his belly—and then took him into her mouth. When he was hard and wet, she lay next to him and put one leg over his. He guided himself inside her and this time it was slow and easy and everything she could ask for. She shattered again—and again—before he threw back his head and closed his eyes and whispered her name.
He fell asleep, but she was awake now. She rose, showered, dressed, and glanced back at Murphy, sprawled in her bed. Leaning on the door, she whispered, “I know one thing—I’ll never regret meeting you.
Chapter Fifteen
Dominic couldn’t get near Paris for the next two days. Hamilton took up all of her time, locking them both in her office. When Dominic asked Michael what was up, Michael shrugged. “I take them meals. No potatoes, no bread.” He shook his head. “A crying shame it is. Man’s not civilized.”
“You can say that again,” Dominic muttered. He just wanted Hamilton gone—and he didn’t care if he had to pay the fifty thousand from losing the bet to do it.
But Paris didn’t throw the guy out, and Hamilton didn’t leave.
The morning of the third day, Dominic got what he’d wanted Zach to turn up. The FedEx package arrived early—express. Zach had added a note. Only way I could get this to you—next time, don’t stay in the hinterlands.
Dominic’s mouth twitched. And he took the package to his room. Zach had done his usual magic—the man’s heart might be tied up with a ranch and being a cowboy, but no one had better business sense than Zach. And no one did research as well as that man.
Heading down to the bar, Dominic poured himself a glass of whisky and settled in to wait. He sipped the drink, nursing it. At last he heard voices in the lobby.
“I’m sorry, Paris, but that’s the deal. Full purchase or nothing. The land is worth a good price, but this place needs to be leveled and re-imagined.”
Dominic stepped into the lobby and found Paris facing Hamilton. She had her arms crossed and a frown tight on her face. “Re…what does that mean?”
Dominic headed over to them. “Condos, probably. Gated community is my bet. I would have said the same thing a week ago.”
Paris glanced from Hamilton to Dominic. Dominic smiled at her. “But I don’t think you need that—or Hamilton’s money.”
Face going red, Paris dropped her arms to her sides. “Uh…Murphy, don’t you have…have some sketches to do?”
Hamilton gave a laugh. “Him? Sketches? By the way, ‘Murphy’ you can send me the fifty you owe me anytime. It’s been over seventy-two hours.”
“What money?” Paris asked, still looking from one man to the other.
Dominic pushed the papers at her. “Never mind that, here’s what you need to know. Your in-laws—or I should phrase it, your late husband’s family—have been scamming you. I had a friend do some research. You were left shares in your husband’s stocks. His family didn’t seem to think you should have the dividends due to you and they’ve been hanging onto the trust fund your late husband left for you.”
She stared at him, her mouth hanging open.
Hamilton grabbed the papers from Dominic. He scanned them and gave a laugh. “Nice and legal—almost. Their lawyers put them in as trustees to oversee the funds and determine distribution. And then they send you reports showing no dividends. That’s where you have them by the short hairs. Nice bit of digging, Dom.”
“Dom?” Paris pushed a hand into her hair. “What’s going on?”
Hamilton smiled at her. “What’s going on is that you don’t need my investment, but you do need some good lawyers. You’ll have to take this to court to get your money, but my guess if you get a powerhouse firm behind you, your late husband’s family will cave. They won’t want the IRS asking questions about fake reports on earnings. At a guess, I’d say you’ll come out with a couple of million, less legal fees and taxes, perhaps half that. Not a bad return. I don’t recommend you sink it into this…” He waved the papers at the lobby. “This money pit.”
Paris snatched the papers from him. “That’s it. I’ve had it with…with your condescension and your smug attitude and acting like you already own his place. Get out…and you can pack out your own Louis Vuitton!”
Hamilton’s smile widened. “God, you must be great in bed. Don’t worry, I’ll send my people to get my things. I’ve got a helicopter picking me up.” He turned to the doorway and the sound from outside. “That must be it now. Good luck with her, Dominic. I think you’ll need it.” With a wink, he left.
Paris turned and faced Dominic. “What did he call you?”
Dominic put his hands in his pockets. “I think this needs a drink. The Macallan, in fact.” He turned and led the way into the lounge and the bar. He wasn’t certain Paris would follow, but she did. She strode behind the bar, pulled out the good whisky and poured two glasses. She threw hers back. Dominic left his sitting on the bar. He wasn’t going to drink until he knew if he had something to celebrate.
Face pink, Paris put her hands on the bar and faced him. “Okay—talk!”
Dominic sat on one of the bar stools. “I didn’t come here with the intent to deceive. Just to escape. I…I ended up finding
more than I thought I would.”
She crossed her arms. “So far I’m not hearing anything good.”
Taking a breath, Dominic plunged into the story—someone trying to shoot at him, threatening him, how he’d come here to rethink his life, to somehow reconnect with himself. He wet his lips. Ridiculous how his insides shook. He glanced at Paris. “I…I didn’t want to become my father. He was…well, he sounds like he might have been a lot like your husband. Business first, last, and only. He threw me out when I was sixteen. And I…it pissed me off. And it hurt.” Looking down, he dug a thumbnail into the wood. He’d never told anyone this. “I felt a failure. Even worse, I knew I was letting my mom down. She was dead, but I’d been raised Catholic, and I’m still sure she looks down on me. I wanted her to be proud of me, but there I was in the streets, and I knew my dad was waiting for me to come crawling, begging back to him. So I vowed I’d show him. And I did.” Glancing up, he tried to gauge Paris’ mood, but she kept her face blank. Only her eyes glittered.
“Go on,” she said the words clipped.
“Well, I put my mind to it. Probably too much. I made more money than dear old dad, had more companies, and just kept on with it. Somehow it was never enough to get what I really wanted.” He looked at her. “Him coming to me and saying he was sorry. He never was. And then one day someone wants to kill me, calls me names for what I was doing, and I started to wonder if I was my dad…if that’s all I was. I needed to go somewhere and not be Dominic McCarthy, the rich and powerful. I needed to just be a guy trying to get along.”
“Why here?”
Dominic shrugged. “Why not. My friend, Zach, picked it for me. Said it’d be relaxing. Quiet. Just what I needed.” He straightened. “And now?”
Paris shook her head. She started to put a hand to her temple, but the papers she was holding crumpled. She stared at them as if she’d forgotten them. “Am I really…really rich?”
Dominic nodded. “I wanted to make sure Hamilton didn’t cheat you out of this place. I knew he would. We’ve done business before. I had my friend Zach dig up a business opportunity and send it Hamilton’s way—I wanted him gone. But I also had Zach look into your late husband’s affairs. It didn’t make sense to me that he left you this place and no money to look after it.”
She stared at him. “What? Why do you say that?”
Dominic shook his head. “A man doesn’t leave the woman he loves in the lurch like that. I knew what I’d do. So I figured something wasn’t right with the money flow.”
“I…I need to think.” Turning, Paris walked away. And Dominic let her. He stared at the glass of whisky in front of him. And he wondered how had he fallen so fast and so hard—and for a woman who probably hated him now.
Chapter Sixteen
Paris went to her room, but she couldn’t stand being inside. She changed into hiking boots and headed for the mountains. If there’d been snow on the ground she could have cleared her head with a run, but this would have to do.
She left a note for Michael about the path she planned to take—it was an old favorite, and only an idiot hit the trail without telling anyone. She grabbed a light jacket and a bottle of water. She didn’t plan to be out that long. But she had to get outside.
The trail took all of her attention. It was rough enough in spots to leave her panting and sweating. When she got to the outlook, she turned and stared out at the land.
The lodge looked like a speck nestled in the trees now. Small and unimportant.
And she was rich.
She sat down. Well, she was if she wanted to hire lawyers and wage a battle. She shivered and pulled on her jacket. Did she want that? The money would be great. She could invest in Michael’s snow machine, she could redo the lodge, and she wouldn’t have to worry about money for a time. She could even get back to skiing if she wanted—maybe compete again. She frowned. Did she want that?
She let out a breath. The truth was, she wanted peace and quiet…but she also wanted the lodge. And Jack had left her enough money to keep it.
Her world had turned when Mur…no, when Dominic McCarthy had told her that. Jack hadn’t been all business—he had cared. It seemed he’d just been unable to show her that. Was Dominic like that too?
She’d have to be blind and dumb not to realize he had to be in the same league as Hamilton Marshall. She didn’t follow business news, didn’t really even know how to balance a checkbook—she was useless with numbers. But she got it that Dominic knew all that stuff and more.
How rich is he?
She shivered again. Clouds had swept in on the wind, moving fast. She looked up and saw the dark thunderheads. She needed to get back. Now.
She started down the trail and the first snowflakes drifted out of the sky. She laughed and held out her hands. And then it started snowing. In ten minutes, she could hardly make out the trail. She kept one hand on the mountain side and slowed her speed. It would be very bad if she fell off a cliff in this weather. Her teeth started to chatter together and even though she was sweating from the hike down, she could feel her fingers and toes chilling. She’d dressed for a nice fall day, not a snow storm. She’d been an idiot.
Stopping in a curve in the trail, she found a little protection from the wind. She pulled out her cell phone. No signal. She sent a text for help anyway and prayed it would get through.
And she started down the hill again. She had no idea how far she’d made it. The world was shifting into white. White sky. White ground. White in front of her and under her and above her. Keeping her eyes down, she put one foot in front of the other. Just keep going. The snow piled up around her and she wished for her skis. They would have saved her. They would have made her fast.
She heard a voice, half carried away on the wind. She stopped. It was getting harder to see—easier to walk off the path and off a cliff.
The voice rang out again, calling her name. She started to follow that voice. That would guide her home.
***
Dominic watched the snow start to come down. He stared at it—and he was willing to be snowed in by nightfall. He grinned. At least Paris wouldn’t be able to kick him out.
Heading back to the bar, he saw Michael on the phone—the landline. Lines tightened on Michael’s forehead and his voice dropped to a worried, gravely tone. He hung up and Dominic walked over to him. “What’s up?”
Michael swallowed and his throat worked. “Paris—she went for a hike and she’s not back.”
“Hike? In this?”
“It wasn’t snowing an hour ago. But we’ll have a foot in the next two hours—that’s the forecast. I was just on the phone with search and rescue. They’re going to get a team together, but it’ll take them an...Wait, where you going?”
“After Paris,” Dominic shouted, already running for the door. A blast of cold hit him as soon as he pulled the front door open. He slammed it shut and bolted for his room. It wouldn’t do Paris any good if he froze his own ass. Grabbing a coat—and a spare for her—he glanced around his room. But there was nothing here to help him. His money wasn’t of any use now.
Running downstairs, he yelled to Michael, “Where did she go?”
“South trail. It’s her favorite. It’s marked, but I don’t know if you’ll see it.”
“I’ll find it. Call nine-one-one, call everyone. And get those damn rescue people on the move.” He headed out into the snow. The stuff stuck to his face, to his lashes, froze his nose. But he started calling Paris’ name.
The cold bit his throat and his mouth, but he kept thinking of Paris. Had she taken a coat with her? Or anything? Was she out there frozen already?
“No, dammit,” he muttered. He was not giving up on her the way his father had given up on him. He was going to find her and drag her ass back here.
He yelled again for her, and again, and again. He yelled until his voice hoarsened. And then he heard an answer—faint and soft. “Dom?”
Chapter Seventeen
Dominic found the sign
for the trail first—half covered in snow. He started up. Rocks slipped out from under his shoes. He had to slow his speed. He kept calling for Paris, kept shouting, realized he should have brought a flashlight. Pulling out his smart phone, he turned on the light setting and yelled, “Follow the light!”
He met up with Paris not far up the trail. She was staggering and shivering. He wrapped his coat around her and then his arms. “You okay? You okay?” He kept asking the same question, but she was shivering too hard to answer.
Keeping his arms around her, he started down the trail, but it was too narrow. He dragged off his coat and put that on her, too. “Keep going,” he said.
The rescue team met them at the trail head. Someone wrapped a blanket around him, someone else took Paris from him. They bundled her into a vehicle of some kind, tried to do the same with him, but he shook them off and said, “Make sure she’s okay.”
And then she was gone—safe now, off to a hospital, he hoped. He staggered back to the lodge and found Michael waiting for him. “She’s safe.” Dominic shivered.
Michael let out a breath and grinned. “Then I guess you’ll be wanting the fire and a whisky to warm you.”
Dominic wanted all of that—but mostly he wanted Paris. But he’d been right—they were snowed in by nightfall.
Coming to him after dinner, Michael lowered himself into a chair. “Just our luck. The phones will be ringing soon with skiers wanting to book, and Paris isn’t here.”
“Why don’t you take the calls?”
Michael stared at him. “I cook and I clean, and I build the snow machine. That’s it.”
Shaking his head, Dominic headed into Paris’ office. It took him an hour to learn the booking software she had installed. It hadn’t been set up right, so he fiddled with it until he had it working efficiently.
