She grinned at him. “What I know about art you could fit onto one of those lettuce leaves. I know more about accounting.”
He winced. “Ouch. Meaning less than nothing. We’ll there’s got to be something.”
“Movies?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Waste of time.”
She stared at him. “How can you say that? There are few things better than movies and buttered popcorn. Okay, that’s it, after dinner, we’re breaking out my video collection.”
He gave a groan, but she was pretty sure it was a mock one. She finished the tomatoes and started to peel a cucumber. “Okay, what did you do as a kid? You couldn’t have been some math-art genius who had no time for anything else.”
He seemed to withdraw. His smile vanished and his hands stilled. He held up the bowl. “Lettuce is ripped as requested. What’s next, chef?”
She let his evasion stand. Either he hadn’t had much of a childhood, or there was something else in his past that he preferred not to talk about. She could understand that. There’d be some times with Jack she’d just as soon forget. Gesturing to the fridge, she told him, “Grab some mayo. I’m going to make a salad dressing.”
She turned to check the grill. When she turned back, he’d moved closer and she smacked into him. He caught her arm with one hand. The attraction she’d felt earlier flared higher—a sharp pull that tugged on her chest. She stared up into his eyes. Such a vivid blue, made all the more so by a band of black around the iris. Behind her the grill hissed. Her chest tightened. Her pulse jumped and her breath lodged in her chest.
For a moment, she thought he’d simply let her go and step back. But he stood there, staring at her, a hungry yearning in his eyes. That look undid her. And she gave into the crazy urge—hadn’t she said that she always dove first and then figured things out. Well, she was diving again.
She wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled him down to her lips.
Chapter Seven
She kissed him. Sweetly at first, then with a growing intensity that left Dominic unable to move. Her tongue darted out, licked over his lips, and he let out a groan. Somehow he held onto the mayo with one hand and her with the other. He shifted her so he wouldn’t back her into the hot grill—that was about all the thought he could manage.
She tasted of something sweet tonight—all he could think of was honey. She has a mouth like warm honey. He couldn’t get enough of her. He deepened the kiss. She gave a small moan and the sound went straight to his cock. Dizzy and swaying now, he had to come up for air.
Paris stared up at him, her eyes bright and glittering. “We’re not going to get to dinner if we keep this up.” Her voice sounded thick, and just the slightest shade unsteady.
“Who said anything about wanting food?” He put the mayo on the counter and both his hands on her waist. She had a slim waist and hips that flared out in deadly curves. He wanted to peel her clothes off right here and hoist her up onto the kitchen counter, bare her skin and dine on every inch of her.
“Paris?” The shout came from the lobby. Michael’s voice.
Licking her lips, Paris stood on tiptoe. She brushed a kiss over his cheek and said, “Michael’s hungry.” Slipping away, she headed back to the grill.
Dominic knew he’d better get out of there. Bailing, he headed for the lobby, calling out to Michael, “She’s in the kitchen. Hey, pour me a drink while we wait for dinner, will you?”
Dinner proved easier than Dominic had thought it would. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Paris, but he managed to keep his hands to himself. But he didn’t do justice to the steak she’d cooked. She ended up splitting what he left with Michael. The two of them swapped ski stories.
“First time on skis, each leg wanted to go in different directions,” Paris said, gesturing with her hands.
Dominic smiled. “What where you—ten?”
“Try three. Soon as I could walk, Dad figured I could ski. But when snowboards came along—man, I was in heaven.” Her face lit up as she talked.
Dominic suddenly wanted to see her on a slope, heading downhill fast, all that beautiful red hair free and streaming.
She put down her fork and asked, “What did you do as a child? Did you only ever do art?”
Dominic clenched his back teeth. This artist thing kept coming back and biting him. “Usual kid stuff, I guess. I had a bike. Damn thing nearly killed me.”
Paris laughed. And Michael launched into a story of himself and his first motorcycle. Dominic leaned back in his chair. When was the last time he’d spent an evening like this? He couldn’t remember. He did business-meeting dinners, or grabbed quick meals on the run between deals. He ordered from and ate at some of the best restaurants in the world—but this…this was more about the company than the food.
Michael lifted his glass. “To good food and good friends.” Dominic clinked his glass against Michael’s and then against Paris’. He drank. Michael got up, and Paris started to stand. Michael waved her down. “You cooked. I’ll clean. Tomorrow, I want you up early. I’m going to test my snow machine.”
Glancing down, Paris pressed her lips tight. Dominic wondered about that. Was she trying not to laugh? He glanced from her to Michael, and when Michael had left the room he asked, “Isn’t it going to work?”
She lifted one shoulder. “I hope. Last time his machine spit out about a dozen flakes that melted before they hit the ground. The time before it was pellet-hard hail that burned like stink when they peppered you.” Paris let out a breath and smiled. “He’s got some great ideas. And I wish I had one ounce of his mechanical skill, but sometimes—”