Page 16 of Stranded with the Resort Owner

"Morning." He flips another pancake without looking. "Sleep well?"

"Not much." I attempt a casual tone that doesn't quite land. "Someone kept me busy."

His laugh is low and sensual, stirring embers I thought thoroughly extinguished. "No complaints were registered at the time." He pours a mug of coffee and hands it to me.

"None whatsoever." I grab the coffee, grateful for something to anchor me. The mug's still warm, the brew strong and black. Exactly how I need it.

I take a sip. He watches me over his shoulder.

"You moaned louder than the wind last night," he says casually. "Might've scared off the storm."

Heat floods my cheeks. I roll my eyes and will my body not to react to the memory of his mouth on me. Again. And again.

"We need to talk about the wedding."

His expression shifts, the playful lover retreating behind the mask of the relaxed resort owner. "Before breakfast?"

"We've lost a day already, and with the storm projected to last another three, that puts us dangerously close to?—"

"A wedding that's still four days away." He slides a plate of pancakes across the counter. "Everything will get done, Amelia."

His tone is maddeningly relaxed. Infuriating. Like the whole world can pause while he makes pancakes and plans his next round of sex.

I try to focus on the pancakes. Not on how he moves. Not on how good his arms look flexing when he flips a pancake. Not on the way his jeans hang just low enough that I can see the dip of muscle leading?—

"You don't understand." The pancakes look delicious, but anxiety has already begun its familiar crawl up my spine. "Even if the roads clear tomorrow, we've lost critical setup time. The florists need to begin arrangements, and the lighting crew needs to install the custom fixtures, the?—"

He cuts me off, stepping closer, coffee mug still in hand like we're chatting about the weather.

"And all of that will still be there," he says, voice low and maddeningly calm, "after pancakes… after I bend you over the counter… and after shower sex."

My mouth opens. Closes. Nothing comes out.

"You're impossible," I manage, barely keeping my voice even.

He takes a sip of coffee, then nods toward the plate he made me. "Either eat your pancakes…" He leans in close, lips grazing the shell of my ear. "Or bend over."

My knees threaten to give out. My nipples pebble beneath his shirt. And he knows it.

Our eyes lock across the counter. Part of me—the part still buzzing from his touch—wants to yield. The other part—the professional event planner responsible for a multi-million-dollar wedding—cannot.

"I need to make a list at least." I reach for my phone, abandoned on the counter last night, when his kisses rendered technology irrelevant.

Lucas sighs, sliding a fork beside my plate. "You don't know how to stop, do you?"

The words sting more than they should. "Some of us can't afford to be so... relaxed."

"Is that what you think I am? Relaxed?" Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. "You, of all people, should know better after last night."

Heat floods my cheeks as images from our encounter flash through my mind—the controlled power in his movements, the meticulous attention to every detail of my pleasure, the unwavering focus that left me breathless.

The cabin's lights flicker once, twice, then stabilize. Lucas glances toward the ceiling, frowning.

"Generator's struggling in the cold." He moves toward the window, peering out at the accumulated snow. "If it fails, we'll need to move back to the main building and rough it by the fireplace."

"Another complication." I push my barely-touched breakfast aside, anxiety superseding hunger. "We should check the resort. Make sure there's no damage from the storm."

Lucas regards me silently for a long moment, then nods. "Finish your coffee, at least. I'll get dressed."

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