Murphy stood. “Let me help in the kitchen. That’s the least I can do.”
“And maybe get another sandwich?” she asked.
He spread his hands wide. “Busted.”
Chapter Ten
Dominic followed Paris into the kitchen. Stainless steel counters, fridge, freezer and sinks left the place looking totally commercial. Along with a huge-ass range and oven. But someone—Paris, he figured—had added homey touches. Drying herbs hung from a center wrought-iron rack. Bright red hand towels lay on the counters. The dishes were all white, but touches of blue on the pans and on some of the serving dishes added a splash of color. He liked the place at once.
Paris strode to the freezer, pulled out lemonade and tossed him the can. “Make yourself useful.”
He glanced at the can. “What? It’s not fresh squeezed.”
She opened the fridge and threw another look over her shoulder. “You try getting fresh fruit up here on a regular basis.”
“You should put in a greenhouse.” She straightened with a loaf of bread in one hand. He popped the lid to open the can and started to pour it into the pitcher. “You know, go for the gourmet greens crowd—everything fresh.”
“That’s a great idea.” She pulled luncheon meat turkey from the fridge and bumped the door closed with her hip.
He glanced at her. “You know, you don’t have to sound like it’s amazing if I have a good idea.”
Standing next to him, she pulled out slices of bread. “I’m still trying to figure you out—accountant, business-dick, or artist?”
“A guy can’t have sides to him?”
She shook her head. “I’m just not used to…to Renaissance men.”
He added water to the lemonade, stirred, and then turned to lean on the counter and watch her make the sandwich. She put her whole focus on the sandwich. Even if it was just lunch meat, she tore off each slice, carefully folded and stacked. She went back to the fridge for mayo and canned cranberry sauce. Watching her, a sense of peace settled over him. He could have stood there forever, doing nothing more than watching her.
She seemed to realize he was watching her because she looked up at him. That direct stare from those startling blue eyes unsettled him. He looked away and gestured at the kitchen. “This is a great space. You could do cooking classes here. You’ve got the room for it.”
“And who would take them?”
“Oh, come on—you’ve got rooms to put up guests. All you need is the connection to a couple of name chefs and you could pull in a crowd when there’s no snow on the ground. Heck, I’ll bet a few skiers would even sign up for some classes—it’d be a great way to warm up after a day on the slopes.”
She put his sandwich on a plate and handed it to him. “I’m going to have to start writing these ideas down. Are you sure you’re not a marketing guy in disguise?”
He laughed and started to tell her his marketing people thought most of his ideas were crazy. He bit off the words just in time. He couldn’t tell her that, and now he started to kick himself. Why had he ever thought posing as an artist was smart?
Because Dominic McCarthy was hiding from the world right now.
He glanced over at Paris and put his hand over hers. Somehow, Paris was smoothing out all his jaded edges—she was like the best whisky, a good sharp edge, a warm mellow after burn, a rich taste. He wanted more of her. “How do we stretch this day longer, Paris? I don’t want it to end.”
“I should get some work done.”
“Really—work? On a beautiful day like today?” And if my staff could hear that they’d all have heart attacks.
She smiled. For a moment, he couldn’t catch his breath. The joy gleaming in her eyes and her messed up flame-red hair made her the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
He moved closer, lowering his mouth to hers, giving her plenty of time to step away. She didn’t move. He put his mouth over hers. Her lips softened. She smelled like flowers—and dirt. She tasted tart like lemonade. He put his arms around her and drew her against him. She groaned and opened to him, letting him explore her mouth, letting him taste her. His heart pounded. He deepened the kiss, and Paris answered. She fit his arms. She started a fire in his guts.
He wanted to stand there with her forever. She moved her lithe body against him, and he let his hands drift down to stroke the skin showing under her shorts.
That touch seemed to wake her from the spell. She put a hand on his chest and pulled back. He let her go. She was breathing hard, just like he was. He wanted to put his hands in her hair and pull her close.
Paris shook her head, but she smiled. “I…I’m not sure I’m ready for someone like you.”
“I thought you were a downhill skier? A risk taker.”