Two Chef!

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

When the text arrived, Paul Stark was happily tangled up with a woman nearly twice his years who had offered to demonstrate that some things did improve with age. She had supported her argument impressively and repeatedly through the night, leaving him even more light-headed than justified by the rarefied air of where they lay; a mountain meadow way upslope from Aspen, Colorado.

He’d thought they’d be stopping at her ranch overlooking the town, but he’d been wrong. Even though it was July—more than a little early in the season to be making love out of doors high in the Colorado Rockies—that’s precisely where she’d guided him.

Maroon Bells Lake pooled at ten thousand feet above sea level, surrounded by moonlit fourteen-thousander peaks. One hell of a setting.

An exceptionally well-maintained woman twenty-five years his senior, with flowing chestnut dark hair to her waist, and worth a dozen or so million on her own had definitely enhanced the experience. Knowing she wasn’t after his money, he’d let himself simply enjoy.

And man oh man had they ever enjoyed.

At some point, they’d so overheated each other that a plunge into the lake had sounded like a good idea. Even now he grimaced at the memory of his own high-pitched scream as he’d plunged into the water, unaware that it was glacial-fed. She had simply laughed, made him dance n***d in the moonlight on the coarse grass to dry off and warm up, then dragged him back between the blankets she’d brought along. Once more warmth turned into heat.

Without waking her, he fished out his phone and read the text by the light of the dawn skittering golden across the maroon crags that encircled them.

“Your sister in trouble again. Pick up Sam. BTW, don’t f**k this up!” It was followed with an emoticon that appeared to be screaming at him. Easy enough to imagine coming from Rikka Albert.

Moments later a message arrived from Sam. “Noon. La Guardia.” was all it said. Not a whole lot of warm fuzzies in either message.

Shit! Kate in trouble. Last time she’d almost gotten them all killed.

Noon in New York. Barely time if he left this instant. Not even time to kiss and run.

Well, maybe if they were quick.