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“Jump on with me!” Paris shouted, waving at the space on the sled behind her.
She giggled and the sled managed two feet before giving up and tilting, sending Paris sprawling. Dominic ran to help her, but she lay on the ground, laughing. She grinned up at him. “I’d forgotten how much fun it is. I haven’t goofed off like this in years!”
He brushed a snow flake from her cheek. Her smile stilled. The whine of Michael’s machine cut off and Michael muttered a few choice curses. Offering a hand down to Paris, Dominic helped her stand. She brushed at the mud on her butt. He did the same, giving her a swat. She grinned at him again and leaned down to grab the sled rope.
Dominic’s mouth dried. She had as fine an ass as he’d ever seen. The shorts rode up, giving him a better view. He had to ball his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her. Heading over to Michael, Paris asked, “Problems?”
Michael muttered something and opened a door in the side of his snow machine.
Coming over to the two of them, Dominic asked, “So, what’s the verdict? Dead or just catching its breath?”
Chapter Nine
Paris glanced over at Murphy—she was going to have to start thinking of him with his last name only. She liked him—a lot. But she wasn’t looking for attachments right now, and she knew herself all too well. She wasn’t a girl who did flings very well. She’d tried it before and her heart always got tangled up with the guy. She wasn’t the type who did casual sex—she fell in love every damn time. And she could tell Dan Murphy was a guy who wasn’t into commitment—the lack of a ring on his finger screamed that.
Still…the guy could kiss. And he wasn’t half bad to look at. And…and now she was heading into dangerous waters.
She knew she was drawn in part to him because she wanted to fix him. She wanted to show him he could find a caring woman who’d make him want to put down roots. She wanted to put ties on him that would tangle him up good. She shook her head. She had to stop thinking like that.
Maybe a fling was just what she did need—maybe if she had more flings she’d get better at just having fun in the moment. Maybe she really could become that passionate and confident woman who made all the right choices and didn’t give a care about the opinion of others—the woman she’d always wanted to be.
She let out a sigh. Who was she fooling? She was always going to be more ski bum than anything else. And right now she was just a woman who was attracted to a man—the wrong man, probably.
She flopped down next to Michael’s snow machine and pulled off her snow mittens. “I’m out of breath just from that. I’m going to have to start hiking to get in shape for snow season.”
Michael banged on his machine, and Murphy grinned at Paris. “Please forget to invite me on those hikes. And when is snow fall around here, anyway?”
Pulling out of his machine, Michael glanced from Paris to Murphy. “Help, or take your chatter inside.”
Standing and brushing at her butt, Paris nodded. “Sir, yes, sir. You two see what you can do with this and I’ll make some sandwiches.”
She left the guys bent over Michael’s machine and headed inside. It didn’t take long to make a couple of turkey sandwiches. She added some canned cranberry sauce to them and took the plates out to the front porch. She whistled for the guys, but Michael waved to her, obviously needing five minutes more.
Biting into her sandwich, she stared at the mountains and the sky. More blue skies were in the forecast—no storms. No snow. She gave a sigh. She really wanted to be hurtling down the side of the big hill, gaining speed, the wind whistling past her ears. Some days she missed skiing so much. She grinned. She’d love to see what Dan Murphy would do on a pair of skies. She could imagine him wobbling, maybe falling into her arms. There’d be lots of laughter and…
She cut off the thought. Dan Murphy probably wasn’t staying long enough for the first snow to hit the ground. Getting up, she headed back to the kitchen and made some lemonade from a frozen concentrate. She added ice and brought it and glasses out on a tray. Michael and Murphy had moved to the porch. Both of them were eating their sandwiches with greasy hands and talking about the snow machine.
Around a bite of sandwich, Murphy asked, “So what’s your investment strategy? You going for an angel or crowd funding?”
Paris stared at him. “You know investment? You really are an accountant trying to reconnect to your art, aren’t you?”
The tips of Mu
rphy’s ears pinked. “I know some investors. Money and art always go together—it’s actually one of the big areas where investors love to stash their cash.”
She sat down. Michael grabbed a glass of lemonade from the tray. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. The main idea was to get it working.”
“We had light snow last year, and it melted early,” Paris said. “Michael thinks he can extend our season by a month.”
Michael nodded. “Last two years we’ve had sleds bogging down in soft snow and skiers complaining about patchy runs.”
“One machine does not a business make. You’ve got a good idea here, but you need a business plan, manufacturing cost estimates, an idea how you can scale up production.”
Paris swapped a look with Michael. Right now Mr. Murphy wasn’t sounding like an accountant, but more like a business tycoon. It left her a little nervous. Just who was this guy? She wanted to ask him flat out if he had been lying to them. But it really wasn’t any of her business. She’d just have to be more careful. The very last thing she wanted was another business-only guy in her life.
And then Murphy grinned and took a huge bite from his sandwich. He looked a normal guy again, and when he swallowed, he told Michael, “You should go on that TV show. What is it? Shark bait? Shark something? The one where you get money for great ideas. Or better yet, there are all these websites for crowd funding. They are heaven-sent for artists because you can actually get funding for things like graphic novels and even for art installations.”
Paris relaxed. Now he sounded more like a normal guy—like someone who got his information from the Internet and spouted off like an expert. She stood and asked, “Who wants more lemonade.”
