Page 21 of Stranded with the Resort Owner

And damn, if he doesn't do a bang-up job of that.

"Let's check the upper floors." Lucas gestures toward the elevator. "It's on a separate backup system—should still have power."

I follow him into the ornate elevator, its brass fixtures gleaming faintly even in the ambient gray light. The doors close behind us with a soft hush, sealing us inside.

Lucas presses the button for the top floor.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then the elevator shudders softly and begins to rise—smooth and slow, the hum of machinery vibrating faintly beneath our feet.

Neither of us speaks.

The space feels tight. Too quiet. Every second stretched thin between us.

We're halfway up when the elevator lurches—hard.

The lights flicker once, twice?—

And then everything goes black.

Only the dim emergency light above the control panel remains, casting a weak amber glow across the confined space. Shadows stretch across Lucas's face, sharpening the angles of his jaw and making his expression unreadable.

He exhales slowly and then checks the panel. Presses the button again. Nothing.

"Well, that's not ideal." He mutters, reaching into his back pocket for his phone. He flips it over, the screen lighting up his face briefly—cool blue against warm shadow. "No signal, of course."

"So we're stuck?" I ask, trying to keep my voice level. The silence between us is louder than ever now. Thicker.

"For now." His voice is calm. Controlled.

But he's not looking at the panel anymore. He's looking at me.

And the space suddenly feels a whole lot smaller.

"Now what?" My voice lands too loud in the tight space, brittle and sharp like glass cracking under pressure.

Lucas steps closer, heat radiating from him in the cold air.

"Now, we wait."

"For how long?" The air feels heavy. The silence is thick with everything we're not saying. Every memory of his hands on my body. His mouth on my skin.

He shrugs, voice low. "Until someone finds us. Or the power kicks back in."

He leans in—just enough for the shadows to swallow his features—and murmurs near my ear, "Could be a while. And I can think of several ways to keep warm."

I let out a short, dry laugh. "Is that all you can think about?" I lean back against the wall, arms folded. "I spread my legs for you once, and now you think it's an all-you-can-eat buffet?"

He stills.

The silence that follows isn't empty. It's loaded. Dense with heat. Tension. Threat.

His head tilts slightly. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Helping myself to another serving?"

His voice isn't angry. It's quiet. Intentional. Dangerous.

Then he steps closer—invading my space, swallowing the air between us in a single breath. His body radiates heat, dominance, control.

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