Blizzard Knots: Her Rival's One-Bed Claim

The blizzard howled against the lodge windows like it wanted to rip the whole building apart. Selena stood in the narrow doorway of the last remaining room, snow melting off her black coat onto the scuffed hardwood, staring at the single king-sized bed that dominated the space. Kofi loomed behind her, six-two of solid muscle still half-dressed in his courtroom suit, tie loosened, jaw tight.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she said.

“I booked this room first.” His voice was low, the same velvet growl he used when eviscerating her in depositions. “You can take the floor.”

Selena spun. Years of opposing counsel, of sneering at each other across polished mahogany tables, of interrupting closing arguments just to watch the other’s eye twitch—all of it condensed into the space between their bodies. She was still in the charcoal sheath dress she’d worn to the settlement conference that morning, the one that hugged her hips and made senior partners stare. Kofi’s gaze dropped there for half a second before he dragged it back up, and she felt the heat of it like a hand.

“I’m not sleeping on the floor, Kane—Kofi.” She corrected herself with a sharp smile. “And neither are you. We flip for it.”