Page 39 of Stranded with the Resort Owner

The room stays suspended in that golden hush, the air thick with breath, memory, and something too fragile to name.

His lips brush my temple one last time before he exhales—a sound full of restraint like he's trying to tuck something unruly back inside himself.

Then his arms loosen.

He steps back.

The loss of his warmth is immediate. Devastating.

"I'll take the couch." He says softly, not quite meeting my eyes.

The words slice deep, carving through the echo of the kiss still lingering on my mouth.

Right.

The line.

Still there.

Still standing.

Even after that.

I shake my head. "No, I'll take the couch."

"You don't have to do that." His head snaps up.

I give a small, tired smile. "Consider it my punishment."

"We're not doing that." His jaw tics.

"You're right. We're not doing that. I am. Consider it self-imposed punishment." I meet his gaze. "It feels fair to me. You're too big for that couch anyway."

He opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off, softer now.

"I see your line, Lucas." My voice doesn't shake, even though my heart does. "And I respect it."

A pause. A breath.

"But I'm not going to give up."

His eyes darken. With what—I don't know. Anger? Longing? Fear?

Maybe all three.

But he doesn't speak.

And that silence tells me everything.

I grab a throw from the armchair and curl up on the couch, facing the back cushions. The fire crackles behind me, and his footsteps retreat—measured and heavy.

I listen to the creak of the bed.

I hear him move.

Then stop.

Then nothing.

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