Page 19 of Stranded with the Resort Owner

It shouldn't mean anything.

It doesn't.

Except…

Maybe it does.

And that's what terrifies me.

The resort's main building looms ahead—dark, cold, and quiet under a fresh coat of snow. We crunch through drifts along the covered walkway, the silence between us louder than the wind.

Lucas says nothing.

He moves like a man already thinking five steps ahead—no teasing, no lingering looks, no trace of the man who whispered filth in my ear while I was tied to his bedpost last night.

Just… practical, focused daytime Lucas.

He pulls a heavy ring of keys from his pocket and slides one into the service entrance lock without hesitation.

"We'll need to check for pipe damage first." His breath fogs in the frigid air, white clouds spilling past lips that kissed every inch of my body twelve hours ago. "If any have burst, we could have serious water damage."

His voice is level. Crisp. Not cold, exactly—but distant.

Like he's flipped a switch.

Like last night is already filed away in a box labeled irrelevant.

And somehow, that hurts more than anything he said this morning.

I fall into step beside him as he pushes open the door. The air inside is even colder, the echo of our footsteps bouncing off empty walls.

Lucas reaches for a breaker panel. Flips switches. Checks valves. His attention never strays. His expression never cracks.

He's a man at work.

Professional. Capable. Completely in control.

Like I didn't fall apart under him last night.

Like I didn't sob his name into his pillow.

Like I'm not standing here now, still aching from how thoroughly he broke me open.

He glances back once. Just to check the light overhead.

Not me.

Not anymore.

We head to the lobby next, which feels cavernous without electricity. Shadows pool in corners the gray daylight can't quitetouch. Our footsteps echo across the marble floor, and the space is eerily quiet except for the occasional groan of settling beams.

Lucas leads the way, expression neutral, steps purposeful.

"This way." He gestures toward a side hallway. "Maintenance panel's back here."

His voice is easy. Light. But it's not the same voice that growled against my throat. It's not the one that coaxed confessions from my lips while his fingers pushed me past the edge.

It's his business voice.

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