Page 32 of Stranded with the Resort Owner

"It's a talent." His grin is sharp and unrepentant. "One of my many useless skills."

"Along with running a resort with no guests?" I raise a brow, teasing.

"The Mortons were very clear. They wanted the entire lodge to themselves the week leading up to the wedding. Bought out every room." He doesn't miss a beat.

I blink. "A whole week? That seems… excessive."

"When you've got that much money to burn, privacy's just another luxury." He shrugs, folding another napkin like a man defusing a bomb.

"Guess mine's origami napkins and frostbite." I flash him a grin.

He glances up—just a flick of heat behind the deadpan. "And letting a complete stranger tie you to his bed."

My breath stutters.

His mouth twitches, not quite a smile. "But hey… some skills aren't useless."

I fold a napkin—badly—just to give my hands something to do. "I thought we weren't talking about that."

"We're not." He leans back in his chair, arms crossing as his eyes skim over me. "Just appreciating your commitment to hands-on hospitality."

Heat flares up my neck. I don't look at him.

And neither of us says what we're really thinking.

But the tension in the air?

That says plenty.

Flustered, I gather the napkins. "Maybe we should reconsider the elaborate place settings. Simple elegance might work better with the mountain backdrop anyway."

"I'm shocked." Lucas's eyebrows rise. "The perfectionist is compromising?"

The observation strikes closer to truth than I'd like to admit. "It's not compromise. It's... strategic adaptation."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" He stands, gathering failed swan attempts. "Well, I fully support your strategic adaptation, especially if it means I never have to fold another napkin."

I smooth my hands over the stack of linens, unexpectedly lighter despite the work still ahead. "Maybe not everything needs to be perfect to be beautiful."

The words slip out unplanned, surprising me with their sincerity. Lucas pauses, his expression softening as our eyes meet across the table.

"Now that." He says quietly. "Is wisdom worth learning."

The moment stretches between us, charged with something beyond physical attraction, beyond our professional roles. Something that makes my heart beat faster in a way that has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with recognition.

The lights flicker, breaking the spell. Once, twice, then darkness falls as the generator fails completely.

"Well, that's inconvenient." Lucas's voice comes from the shadows. "Stay put. I know where the emergency lanterns are."

I remain at the table, listening to his footsteps retreat. Darkness presses against me, absolute and disorienting. Unlike our elevator encounter, there's no thrill in this blindness—only the practical concerns of managing a wedding with unstable power.

Lucas returns minutes later, the warm glow of an oil lantern preceding him. He sets it on the table, its light creating a small circle of warmth in the vast darkness of the dining room.

"The main generator's completely frozen." He places a second lantern beside the first. "I've got some space heaters running on battery power in my cabin, but we're looking at a cold night."

"What about the wedding? If we can't get reliable power?—"

"We still have three days." He sits across from me, features golden in the lantern light. "The roads might clear tomorrow, and we'll get a repair crew up here. If not, I've got contacts with a helicopter service. We'll make it work."

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