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  Secret Billionaire’s Frosty Lover

  By Leslie North

  The Secret Billionaires Series

  Book 3

  Book 1: Secret Billionaire’s Stubborn Cowgirl

  Book 2: Secret Billionaire’s Stormy Lover

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  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and situations either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously.

  All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent from the author.

  Dedications

  I dedicate this book to you, my loyal readers. Thank you for all the lovely e-mails, reviews, and support. Without you, this wouldn't be possible.

  I’d also like to say a special thank you to Leslie’s Lovelies who have had a huge role in making this book – you’re the best! THANK YOU for all your support:

  MD Harrison

  Betty Pehlman

  Tamika Chinn

  Danielle Miller

  Voncile Catledge

  Melissa Herman

  Karen Pierce Rowe

  Michele H

  Melissa Lawhorn

  Sandrine GRANGER

  Robin OToole

  Jessica Hong

  T. Martin

  Regina Carpenter

  Raeann Whitney

  Patty Wells

  Marine-Ann Taylor-Christian

  Cherisse-Angel Charles

  Tonya Helveston

  Cindy Berland

  Stephanie Bryant

  Cheri M. Wyre

  Octavia Cooper

  C. Baker

  Monique Barnard

  Judy Voight-Wong

  Emma Long

  Ann Pike Ashley

  Tammie Terry

  Nancy Dormanski

  Lauren J B

  Amanda Drummond

  Melody Goeken

  Gayle

  Caroline Stowell

  JJ

  Melanie Dawn

  Debra Price

  Wanda Ross

  Janet Paul

  Beth Udall

  Loreli Jessee

  Robin Gentry

  Tonni Brown

  Lorraine Guidotti

  Joanne Wright

  Janet Paul

  Carolyn Redden

  Kelly Johnson

  Table of Contents

  Secret Billionaire’s Frosty Lover

  Copyright

  Dedications

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  The pop went off—a sharp, loud smack that had Dominic McCarthy turning. He saw the guy with the gun and blinked.

  What the hell?

  Before he could think anything else, the guy lifted the gun and shot three more times. Two hard thumps pounded Dominic’s chest. He stumbled back and glanced down. Blue blots spread out across his chest, staining the white silk of his shirt. Security jumped the guy with the gun—paint gun, Dominic thought, touching the blue.

  “Capitalist pig! You’re destroying this county with your greed. We don’t need a goddamn dam flooding our town—we need jobs. Real jobs! We used to have those before you assholes came in here and bought out the honest businessmen!” Security pushed the guy to the floor and cuffed him. Dominic’s security staff were already surrounding him. He pushed them back and strode up to the man.

  Scruffy, in faded jeans with a two-day beard and bloodshot eyes, the guy reeked of urine and stale whiskey. His hair hung down, lank and dark hair, and his dark eyes glinted with hate. Dominic smoothed his tie and asked, “What if I gave you a job?”

  The man spat at Dominic’s feet. “Keep your damn bribe. I’m not crazy, and yeah, I’ll be in jail. But someone needs to get your attention. This used to be a great town to live in. I raised two kids here. My dad built the house I had. Now…now you get to buy another goddamn jet and put money in the bank and the rest of us can go on Welfare, if we’re lucky.”

  “There’s a relocation program—”

  The man’s laugh—sharp and edge with desperation cut off Dominic’s words. “Relocation? God, do you even read your own propaganda? You’re not handing out enough to move to anywhere where there is a job! When was the last time you bought a loaf of bread? Have you ever tried to keep two growing kids in shoes? You jerk—you asshole! You’re another damn corporate tool, and we should have known that the second we heard the name McCarthy!”

  Dominic stiffened. “I think you’re mistaking me for my father.”

  “From where I stand, one McCarthy is as bad as the next.”

  Turning away, Dominic started for the door. He kept his hands at his sides so no one would see them shaking. He also kept his lips pressed tight. It wasn’t fear that had his heart thudding—it was a bone-deep anger. He was not his father. He never would be. He glanced to the side and caught a glimpse of his profile in the floor-length windows of the former car dealership that had held the press conference. Patrician nose, flat dark eyebrows, black hair a little shaggy now but just starting to starting to gray. A Black-Irish face with a hint of roughness now in his jaw line. Dammit—he looked just like his father.

  Dominic slammed into the waiting limo and sat stiff, his hands fisted the entire ride back to his hotel. He climbed the stairs and slammed into his room. One aide opened a Pellegrino for him, another opened a leather binder and asked, “Do you want to skip the ribbon cutting?”

  “After this morning, hell yes, we’ll skip it.” Dominic loosened his tie. “And forget the water—get me a whisky.” The aide—a slim girl who didn’t look old enough to be out of high school—blushed, set aside the water and hurried back to the mini-bar. Dominic shook his head. “No, not that crap. See if anyone has any Macallan.”

  The aides hurried away, and Dominic sank onto the sofa. Thankfully, Zach Collins came in. Dominic had known Zach for years—they’d done business together, and Zach had warned him about this venture.

  “Come to gloat and say I told you so?” Dominic asked.

  Zach gave the aides a sideways glance as they hurried out, and then came over to stand in front of Dominic, hands in his pockets and his tie askew as always. Dominic knew Zach preferred cowboy hat and boots to suits. He was also a settled married man now. Zach shook his head. “You really wowed the locals. The press are now ready to pounce on you as soon as you show your face.”

  Groaning, Dominic leaned forward and rubbed his face. “Terrific. Just what I need. When did business stop being simple, Zach?”

  “Hey, you buy up a town, that’s news. Bigger news when some local tries to paint ball you to death. You do know, buddy, next time it could be real bullets.”

  Sitting up, Dominic shook his head. “So I’m supposed to go into hiding?”

  Zach sh
rugged and pulled his tie even looser.

  Dominic strode over to the window. Second floor was the highest up they had in this hick town. He glared out at the pavement, the rickety houses, and the faded signs. The place looked deserted. Except for the news media vans. He turned back to Zach. “How much is a loaf of bread these days?”

  “If you have to ask, you can’t afford it.”

  “Zach, I bought the damn town.”

  Zach spread his hands out. “That was a joke. And now you’re going to give me the list? How many jets, houses, cars…girls? You forget I know you from way back.”

  “And you’re so damn unlike me?”

  Zach held up a hand. His wedding ring glinted on his finger. “I didn’t say it.”

  Glancing out the window again, Dominic put a hand against the cold glass. “My dad threw me out when I was sixteen.”

  “Yeah, I know the story. Told you to make your own way and you did.”

  Turning, Dominic managed a smile. “I swore I wasn’t going to be like that bastard.”

  Zach picked up the opened bottled water and sipped. “And yet…here you are. Your dad only threw you out—but you’ve topped him. You’ve got a whole town out on their ears.”

  Slumping onto the couch, Dominic put his head in his hands. “So…what? I’m supposed to stop doing business?”

  Coming over, Zach nudged Dominic’s shoulder with the green glass bottle. “When was the last time you took a vacation? You have ten houses and you live in hotels. You do know there’s more to life than money.”

  Dominic took the sparkling water from him. “I’ve got nuts shooting at me, girls inviting themselves into my hotel rooms, and deals showing up in my in box without my asking. Why would I want to leave all that behind?”

  “Then disappear.”

  “What? Like Elvis?”

  Zach pulled a face. “Elvis died. I’m thinking more Howard Hughes. You need to get your head on straight—and I think it’s about time you found out a few things. You need to get away.”

  Dominic pulled a long drink from the bottle. The idea of not being Dominic McCarthy—well, not THE Dominic McCarthy sparked an appeal he couldn’t deny. He knew Zach had stayed sane with his ranch—hell, the man spent most of his time there these days. Dominic shook his head. “Things like…?”

  Zach shrugged. “The price of bread…maybe.”

  And if I really am becoming my old man, Dominic thought. He stood up and handed the water back to Zach. “And where can I go where my face won’t light up the news and have hands reaching for my wallet?”

  Zach smiled. “I think I know just the place. Lucy found it. But you’re going to have to leave it all behind—the money, the image, the name.”

  Dominic stretched and smiled. “Right now, that sounds like a slice of heaven.”

  Chapter One

  The massive timber front door gave the loud bang that came so often during ski season that you forgot to listen to it. This time of year, without any snow on the ground just yet, the sound had Paris jumping.

  Michael, her bartender, leaned closer to her. “Looks like an answer to our prayers.”

  She glanced at him, one eyebrow lifted. “No one ever books into a ski lodge when there’s no snow, Michael. That’s why we’ve got to change things. It seems like first snow comes later and later.”

  He gave her a grin, a wink, and nodded to the lobby. “Guess no one’s standing over there and looking for a room then.”

  She shook her head. “The guy’s probably lost and looking for directions.” But she headed for the lobby.

  The lodge still looked more ski resort and less like the retreat Paris wanted to create. Lots of wood, a huge stone fireplace, lush leather chairs. Her late husband had spared no expense on the place, but sometimes Paris looked around and thought about how many kids would have been fed had the money been put to better use.

  She still thought the place could be put to far better use—but right now she was struggling to figure out just how to handle the books, and had given most of the staff the month off. A fall without snow was not their busy time of year. So who had just stepped into the lobby?

  Paris watched the man. His suit looked expensive—just like what Jack had always worn to impress others. His suitcase had a designer tag, and the shining, leather shoes just made her itch to kick the guy out. She was so tired of playing nursemaid to the rich and spoilt—they all came here with attitudes and often left wreckage behind.

  A year of running this place had taught her that a ski resort for the rich was not what she wanted to do with the inheritance Jack had left her. She was going to do better! And maybe this guy was her first start at that—something about him made her think of a lost puppy. Maybe it was just those big eyes.

  He looked at his hand as he walked, holding a phone she presumed. No staring at the sheer enormity of the inside of the lodge with its cathedral ceiling of solid natural timbers. No gazing out the floor to ceiling windows at the neighboring imposing mountains looming skyward. None of the usual reactions at all. And that was weird. He also chewed on a lush lower lip as if he wasn’t certain.

  When he was almost at the desk, she caught a drift of his cologne. The rich, spicy-sweet aroma thrummed a chord deep inside her. Her shields went up at once. The last time she’d fallen for a guy who’d smelled that good, she’d found herself trapped in a cozy, gilded cage. She didn’t ever want to be there again. She’d learned to value her freedom. But the lodge was about all that was left of that life—and there wasn’t any harm in looking at a good-looking guy.

  He was tall enough that she had to look up at him. Broad shoulders filled out his suit jacket and he’d left off a tie, so she caught a glimpse of corded muscles and a hint of curling dark chest hair. He still hadn’t looked up from his Smartphone, his manicured thumb flicked over the screen. “Goddamn, stupid contraption. I swear to God…”

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  He never bothered to look up. “What’s your best room? I’ll need it for a few weeks.”

  She swallowed. Hard. He had a voice that could lure any girl into sin—a deep tenor that had a faint purr to it. She also knew she could manage a guest for a few nights—but a few weeks? She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but we’re not staffed for a long stay right now.”

  He looked up at last. Annoyance lit his eyes, but that changed to a half-lidded appreciative gaze that knocked the breath from her lungs. His bright blue eyes, framed by curled dark lashes, locked onto hers. Suddenly, he was all charm and smiles, and Paris fought the tug of attraction.

  He leaned one elbow on the counter. “I can make my own bed. And I don’t mind sandwiches. My car’s parked outside and I’m dead tired of driving. So…how about a room?”

  Paris crossed her arms and doubled her rates. “Our premier suite is five thousand a week.”

  He gave her a level, hard look, and she wondered how many of his staff buckled under that look. “With no snow and no staff? No way.”

  She tilted her chin. “We do have the small loft for five hundred.”

  “Can I speak to the manager?” He straightened and glanced around, the annoyance back in his eyes and his voice. “I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.”

  She frowned. Well, he might be the best looking male she’d seen in months, but she wasn’t some country hick who’d just fallen off the turnip truck. “Are you certain?”

  He glanced at her and a smile curved his mouth. It was utterly unfair that any man should have that kind of charm. She wanted suddenly to make him smile even more. She fought the urge. If he was one of the rich that she was trying so hard not to attract to her lodge anymore, she wanted him gone.

  Flicking back her hair, she told him, “Why bother with the manager when I can get the owner for you?”

  “Fine. Do it.” He crossed his arms, looking ridiculously smug and superior.

  Paris’ smile froze. “I’ll be right back.” She stepped into the large office behind reception. She checke
d her make-up, straightened her hair, redoing the barrette that kept it out of her eyes. She grabbed a cola from the small fridge and took a long drink. No rush. The owner could keep him waiting for as long as she wanted. She also thought over her strategy.

  She had a good mind to just tell him to leave, but it was off season. The lodge could use the cash, particularly with the renovations she wanted to make and the change in advertizing. She wanted to redo this place from a rich-bitch ski resort into a true spiritual retreat—and something about that guy tugged on her.

  Sure, he looked confident, but she’d caught something else hidden in his eyes. A deep hurt—a wound. He put on a good show to hide it, but she’d always been sensitive to the hurts of others. Probably because she’d gotten a few hurts put on her. Jack had never been the most caring of husbands—and he’d thought it a right to have a wife and several mistresses. She gave a sigh. Poor Jack. He hadn’t been the best husband, but at least he’d left her the lodge—and she loved these mountains.

  She pulled in a breath and glanced at her reflection one more time. Okay, so maybe she didn’t look much like a hotel owner. Not in jeans with her hair down to her waist and an old plaid shirt hanging loose around her. She gave herself a nod and touched her cheek—her freckles were showing again. Putting back her shoulders, she put on a smile and told herself, “Showtime.”

  Striding back into the lobby, she stuck out her hand for a handshake. “Good afternoon, sir. Paris Dylan, I’m the owner. Welcome to Obersaxen Resort and Retreat.”

  His mouth dropped open. His cheeks reddened. And his blue eyes widened. Paris gave him her biggest, sweetest smile. “And I’m afraid the only room we can let to you is the loft.”

  Chapter Two

  Dominic stared at the young woman before him. Out from behind the counter, the smattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks stood out. The light shade of her sky-blue eyes showed a mocking challenge. Fine—if she wanted to play, he’d play.

  He took her offered hand and caught the softness between both his hands. “A pleasure to meet you. I’m…Dan. Dan Murphy. I’m here for an art sabbatical. Hoping to find my muse, if you would.”