Snowed-In Rivals: One Bed, Zero Walls Between Us

The blizzard had turned the mountain road into a white wall by the time Lena Voss and Marcus Hale staggered into the lobby of the Pinecrest Lodge, coats crusted with ice, briefcases still clutched like weapons. Their conference had collapsed under the storm warnings; every other room was booked solid with stranded attorneys. The desk clerk looked almost apologetic as he slid one key across the counter.

“Last room. King bed. Sorry.”

Lena’s jaw tightened. Three years of courtroom wars with Marcus—objections sustained, deals stolen, that smug half-smile he wore when he gutted her cross-examinations—and now this. She snatched the key before he could.

“Don’t even think about claiming the bed, Hale. I out-billed you last quarter.”

Marcus followed her up the narrow stairs, snow melting in his dark hair, that same infuriating calm rolling off him. “You out-billed me because you billed for breathing, Voss. I’ll take the floor. Unless you’re scared I’ll win the coin flip.”

The room was small, pine-paneled, dominated by the single wide bed and a window already half-buried in drifting white. The radiator clanked uselessly. Lena dropped her bag and turned on him, heat flooding her face that had nothing to do with the cold.

“Scared? I’ve watched you fold under pressure more times than I’ve had hot dinners. You take the floor. I’m not sharing oxygen with you if I can help it.”

He stepped closer, crowding her without quite touching. The air between them crackled. “Keep telling yourself that. You’ve been staring at my mouth every time I object. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Fuck you.”