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

“Yeah, how about to the pool and back?”

“Sorry—no pool. Had to close it. No one to keep it clean.”

Dominic stared at him. “Hot tub?”

“Oh, that’s open. A sauna, too. Paris put that in. Likes to go in after her whisky most nights.”

“Whisky? Does she have the taste to drink it straight?”

“That she does. If you want to impress the lady, show you know your way around a good whisky. Of course, she’ll probably know then that we’ve been talking about her.”

Dominic smiled. He had nothing much else to do for the next couple of weeks, other than hang out and figure out just what kind of man he’d become. It would be good to reconnect back to nature—back to the old days when he’d had a few hundred in his pocket and not much more than sheer nerve.

But Paris Dylan…well, she was intriguing. He wanted to know more about her. How long was it since he’d found a girl who didn’t immediately want to hang onto him?

> He stretched and patted his stomach. It was going to be interesting to be plain old Dan Murphy, a guy without much going for him. And it was also going to be more than interesting to see if Dan Murphy could get a woman like Paris into his bed with nothing more going for him than sweet talk and charm.

Chapter Three

Dominic slept better than he thought he would. The quiet did bother him, but he still managed to fall asleep in front of the TV. He woke early and decided to spend the day poking around the hotel. There wasn’t much to see beyond the lobby, but the place had great views, ski lift access, and not a drop of snow. He didn’t see Paris or Michael most of the day but when he strolled into the lobby around dinner time he found Michael behind the bar.

Michael waved him over and Dominic eased onto a wide, cushioned timber stool. Michael held up a short glass. “Whisky or something else?”

“Macallan, if you have it.”

“You sure? It’s a bit dear, and it’s only the thirty-nine.” Michael started polishing a glass.

“I’ll live a little.”

Michael nodded. “We’ve a special blend as well. The young lady doesn’t like me discussing her private business, but her dad has his own label.”

“Paris is from a whisky empire?”

Michael poured and placed drink in front of Dominic. “I wouldn’t call it an empire. But her father does well enough.” Michael picked up another glass to polish.

Dominic sipped the Macallan. It went down smooth with a delicate after burn. He heard the click of heels in the lobby and turned.

Paris strode into the bar, her burning-ember-red hair flowing out behind her. Skinny jeans and a polo sweater outlined her curves. Dominic wished he had another drink to swallow down—she left his mouth dry and his heart thudding hard. She smiled at him and his stomach actually turned over.

She gave him a wary smile and turned to Michael. “I got the supplies you wanted from town. They’re in the kitchen.”

Dominic waved at the bar. “Can I buy you a whisky? Or don’t you drink with guests?”

She cocked one hip. Michael didn’t wait, but poured her a glass. “You can’t let a man drink alone. Besides, if you’re just back from town on the short cut, you’ll be needing this.”

Relaxing, she leaned on the bar. “Okay, just the one drink.” She raised the glass to her lips. Dominic was mesmerized by the sight of her smelling and sipping the drink. She closed her eyes when she took a sip, her tongue flicking out to catch the last drops. He glanced away and asked, “And why would a visit to town require a drink?”

Eyes opening, she studied him. “Not the town—the back road. It’s impassible in winter, and an unpaved adventure the rest of the year. But I only scared off two deer and managed to miss most of the pot holes.” Perching on a bar stool, she lifted her glass. “You have good taste in whisky, Mr. Murphy. Thank you. The artists I know usually buy cheap wine for home and drink water when they go out.”

Dominic smiled. He had no idea what to answer. Business didn’t bring him into contact with many artists. Michael came to his rescue, asking, “What do you think of the place so far?”

Waving at the room, he said, “It’s big. I’m surprised you’re not booked year round.”

Paris pulled a face. “We’re working on that. Depending on skiers is just too risky—one bad snow year and we end up in debt. And…well, the rich are pretty picky. You have to be in but not too in to pull them as visitors. I’d rather broaden our appeal. But we need some alterations to be able to pull in people who want peace and quiet.”

Dominic studied her. “Is there really that much of a market for that? Peace and quiet, that is.”

She frowned. “I’m tired of catering to those looking for the highest price tag on their ski holiday. This place should do more good for people. It should give them a getaway—a retreat from the world. I’m thinking of even making it an affordable phone-free and tech-free resort.”