Secret Billionaire's Frosty Lover (The Secret Billionaires 3)

He wanted to see her again—preferably in his bed. What would she do if he asked her to leave this place when he left? Hell, what would she do when he told her he’d lied about his name and who he was. He winced and started doodling on the pad. He’d dug himself a hole, he had to admit that. He really wanted to find her and confess everything, but he was too worried she’d toss him out. That wasn’t an option. Maybe he should just let this thing run its course? She’d get tired of him, he’d get…

He stalled out on the thought and stared at the abstract shapes he was drawing on his pad. They were all boxes and lines. Looking out at the scenery—the trees and hills—he could hardly see anything that was straight. He tore off the page, wadded it up and tossed it, and started on some circles and curves.

Curves—that was Paris. All curves in her body and always throwing him a curve, too. No…he wasn’t going to get tired of Paris anytime soon.

He wished he could take her back to his world. For some reason, he wanted to give her everything she’d ever dreamed about. But she’d had that from her first husband—hadn’t she? That guy—Jack—had had money, and from the way Paris talked it hadn’t bought Paris anything she wanted.

Dominic frowned. Working hard and being successful wasn’t a bad thing. It was an incredible thing. But it had its drawbacks. Paris was one of the few who thought of him as a person, instead of a billionaire. What would she think of him once she found out he was as rich—or maybe even richer—than her first husband?

He kept drawing circles. That’s where he was going—round and round. He’d come here to reconnect, to get back to basics, but he’d ended up starting an affair and he had no idea where it was going. He didn’t like that feeling. He liked plans, and numbers that made sense. He wasn’t good when it came to everything else. He started thinking about the town he’d bought up, the water project he’d planned that would flood the place. Maybe he was wrong about that, too. Maybe he should have listened to more of the people-side of the equation instead of just looking at the numbers.

He could still hear that crazy guy shouting at him, still hear the noise, and he still didn’t know what he should do next.

Except get Paris back in bed.

He wanted to take his time with her. He wanted to watch her face go slack with pleasure and her eyes glaze. He wanted to hear her make those sounds again. He shifted on his chair. And all that could vanish if he told her he was rich—just like her first husband.

Looking up, he glimpsed a flash of red hair outside. She pulled up in an Outback, and stopped. Getting out of the car, she waved. Her red hair reached halfway down her slim back, and the breeze lifted a few strands. And then someone else got out.

The guy put his hands on his hips and glanced around like the owned the place. He had a shock of white hair that contrasted with a younger, unlined face. He also had on a three thousand-dollar suit and Dominic recognized Hamilton Marshall’s signature grin—all teeth and charm. He’d been in a fight with Hamilton more than once—over a business, or an investment, or an acquisition. And even over a woman a couple of times.

Hamilton had been born into money. But he was also damn good about making it. So what the hell was he doing here? And, of all the bad luck, Hamilton could blow Dominic’s cover. Well, there was one way to deal with this.

Getting up, he headed straight for them, thrusting out a hand so he could grab Hamilton and talking loud. “Hamilton? Hamilton Marshall? Is that you? What the hell are you doing this far from a city? No…no, don’t tell me. First vacation in years, right? And you pick this place of all places.” Hamilton tried to pull his hand back, but Dominic shook it even harder and began to drag Hamilton with him. “Come on in and let me buy you a drink. You must be thirsty. This place is more than off the beaten path, isn’t it?”

“You could say that. Some people pay for remote—for quiet.”

Dominic grinned. “Yeah, some folks pay for anything. Come on in. I want to show you my sketches.” He looked over his shoulder and saw Paris frowning, and eyeing a pile of luggage in the back. That would keep her—and Michael—busy.

Hamilton’s eyebrows lifted high, but he followed Dominic into the lounge. Michael wasn’t around, had to be out helping Paris with Hamilton’s baggage, so Dominic went behind the bar and poured two whiskeys.

Dominic lifted his glass. “To chance.”

Hamilton smiled. “Luck’s overrated. To brains.” He threw back his shot and hissed out a breath. “What the hell are you doing here, McCa—”

“It’s Murphy while I’m here. Dan Murphy. I didn’t give them my real name. Trying to be smart while I scout out the place.”

Hamilton’s smile dimmed. “Scout? Look, this is my investment. Ms. Dylan brought me in on it. I’ll let you know if I pass.”

Dominic leaned his elbows on the bar. “Really? You’re seriously looking to invest in a ski lodge?”

“And you’re here for your health?”

Dominic smiled. “Sure am. Clean air. Great scenery.”

Glancing back at the doorway, Hamilton nodded. “Yes, I saw the scenery on my way here.” He looked at Dominic again. “It’s one of the reasons I’m considering investing. Ms. Dylan sent me an interesting proposal to turn this into a summer retreat—something about no Internet, no cell phones, and no stress. And then I find you here.”

Keeping his smile fixed, Dominic poured two more shots. “Here first. And I’m looking to buy. But you know how it goes. The name Dominic McCarthy shows up and the price goes up. Of course, she won’t sell if you invest.”

Hamilton’s smile came back, all glinting white. He had a perfect tan to match the perfect teeth. “Nice try to get me to open my pocketbook without looking at the place first. No sale on that, Dom…I mean, Dan. I never buy any pig in any poke—not without looking at the books first of all.” He threw back his shot and leaned his elbows on the bar. “How about making this interesting? What do you say to a bet?”

“You’re going to wager on an investment?”

“No, I was thinking more of Ms. Paris Dylan. Ten thousand says she ends up more interested in anything I have to offer than anything you can put on the table.”

Dominic shook his head. “No bet.”

“Afraid?” Hamilton grinned, and Dominic stiffened. Hamilton had always rubbed him wrong, from his own-the-world attitude to his glinting teeth. He looked the guy over. Hamilton kept himself perfectly thin so his suit hung on him without a stray line. His hair was staring to thin, but money would fix that. He stared back at Dominic, his eyes a flat brown. “Well?”