Page 3 of Stranded with the Resort Owner

We wait. Nothing happens except the increasing howl of wind rattling the massive windows.

"Or not." He sighs. "The backup system should have started automatically."

"And if it doesn't?" The cold already seeps into the room as the fire provides the only heat.

"Then we adapt." His gaze locks with mine, firelight dancing in those blue depths. "That's what you do as an event planner, right? Adapt when things don't go according to plan?"

The question hits uncomfortably close to home. My reputation at Elite Events stems from my ability to execute flawless events exactly as planned—because I leave nothing to chance. Adaptation has never factored into my professional vocabulary.

"I prevent problems before they occur." The words sound hollow even to me. "I don't leave things to chance."

"Well, Ms. Hayes." He gestures toward the howling storm beyond the windows. "I don't think either of us planned for this."

My phone buzzes in my pocket—a lifeline to the outside world. I fumble it out with shaking fingers, Miranda's name flashing on the screen.

"Please tell me you've arrived and everything is on schedule." Her voice cuts through the static of the poor connection.

I turn away from Lucas, lowering my voice. "I've arrived, but we have a situation. There's a storm, and it's intensifying. They've closed the only road in, and now the power's out."

"They've what?" Her voice rises sharply. "That's unacceptable. We have a strict timeline. Do you understand what's at stake here?"

"Of course I do, but?—"

"No buts. Find a solution. That's what I pay you for." The connection crackles. "I'm losing signal. Call me when you've fixed this."

The line goes dead, leaving me staring at the screen. Fix this? As if I can command the weather to bend to my will.

"Bad news?" Lucas's voice startles me in the darkness.

I slip the phone back into my pocket, squaring my shoulders. "Nothing I can't handle. I need to make some calls and see what I can salvage of this disaster."

He moves toward the fireplace, adding another log. The flames leap higher, casting dancing shadows across the room. "I'm going to check the generator. The controls are outside. Stay here where it's warm."

"What about all the rooms?" I wrap my arms around myself, already feeling the chill creeping in as heat escapes through the soaring ceiling.

Lucas pauses at the heavy entrance door, snow gusting in as he cracks it open. "Without power, none of the rooms will have heat. The fireplaces are our only option right now."

The door closes behind him with a heavy thud, leaving me with the crackling fire and my flawless plans unraveling. I pull my coat tighter, watching snowflakes batter against the windows like tiny fists demanding entry.

Ten minutes pass before the door reopens, admitting a gust of freezing air and a snow-covered Lucas. His cheeks are reddened from the cold, his dark hair dusted white.

"The generator is completely buried in snow." He brushes ice crystals from his shoulders. "And something's wrong with the backup system. I can't fix it in this storm."

"So what do we do?" I ask, approaching the fire for warmth.

"We have two options." He shrugs off his coat, snow-dusted and heavy, hanging it on the hook near the door.

I should be focused on logistics—weather alerts, backup power, guests, emergency protocols.

Instead, I'm hyper-aware of every movement he makes. The way his sweater pulls across broad shoulders and muscular chest. How his jeans ride low on narrow hips. How snowflakes melt in his hair and slide down his neck. How he rolls up his sleeves with slow, capable hands.

Good God.

His forearms are corded with muscle, dusted with dark hair, veins visible beneath golden skin. Functional strength, not the kind sculpted in a gym—earned by physical work. What is wrong with me?

"I can keep the fire going all night if we stay here in the main lodge." His voice is low, unhurried, with just enough rasp to make my pulse skip. "But it's a big space to heat."

He crosses the room, each step echoing in the vast space. My throat tightens. The scent of pine and firewood trails after him, and something warm and wrong pulses deep in my belly.

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