Page 41 of Landing Liam

“You can’t dig your way out of this storm, Maggie,” I say. “Come on. Let’s get you warmed up and figure it out in the morning.”

For a moment, she looks like she might argue again, her lips parting as she shivers against the cold. But then she lets out a long, defeated sigh and stands, brushing the snow from her coat.

“Fine,” she mutters, her eyes darting anywhere but mine. “But just until the snow clears.”

I grin despite myself. “Okay, Maggie.”

As I lead her back toward the lodge, a small part of me hopes the snow doesn’t let up anytime soon.

At the front desk, the clerk informs me about the blizzard warning. It rolled in fast, catching everyone off guard, and now there’s no getting around the mountain until morning. I ask about rooms, half-expecting them to be fully booked, but luck is on my side—barely. There’s one room left.

Perfect.

I book it without hesitation, though I’m well aware Maggie’s probably not going to be thrilled about the arrangement. As I take the key card, I glance back toward the lobby. She’s by the fire, her hands stretched toward the flames, trying to shake off the cold. Her cheeks are still pink from the icy wind, and despite her obvious frustration, she looks… soft. Beautiful. Like she belongs here, wrapped in firelight.

Shaking myself out of it, I walk back over to her and hold up the key card. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

Her eyes widen as she turns to me, her mouth parting slightly. “Wh-what?” she stammers, her voice uncertain.

“A warm shower,” I clarify, smirking as her blush deepens. “There’s a blizzard. We’re stuck here for the night.”

“Great,” Maggie exhales, the sound dripping with sarcasm as she runs a hand through her hair. There’s an underlying tension in her voice that makes me want to close the space between us.

“Look,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “It’s just one room. You take the bed, I’ll take the floor. It’s either that or you keep trying to defrost yourself here by the fire all night. Your call.”

Her lips press into a tight line, and for a moment, she looks like she’s weighing her options. Finally, she lets out a resigned sigh. “Fine,” she mutters.

I grin, unable to help myself. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

“Don’t push your luck, Thompson,” she warns, grabbing her coat from the arm of the chair.

“Noted,” I say, holding my hands up in mock surrender as I lead her toward the elevator.

As we step inside, the air feels heavier, charged. I can feel her glancing at me out of the corner of her eye, but I keep my gaze forward, biting back the grin tugging at my lips.

Tonight just got a lot more interesting.

She stays silent as we ride the elevator, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The only sound is the hum of the machinery and the faint chime when we reach our floor. Even as I lead her down the dimly lit hallway, she doesn’t say a word, but the tension radiates off her in waves. Every step she takes feels heavier than the last, like she’s bracing herself for something.

I glance over my shoulder, catching her quick, frustrated exhale. She’s clearly annoyed—not just with the situation but, if I had to guess, with herself. It’s written all over her face: she hates that she’s attracted to me.

“Here we are,” I announce as we stop in front of the room. I hold up the key card, turning to face her fully. “Our room.”

Her brows furrow at that, and she clears her throat. “Before we go in there, we need to set some ground rules.”

I lean against the doorframe, slipping the key card between my fingers and letting a smirk tug at my lips. “Okay,” I say, keeping my tone light. “Ground rules. Shoot.”

Her lips purse, and for a second, she looks so serious I almost laugh. Almost.

“First,” she says firmly, holding up a finger, “no crossing any boundaries. That means no sneaking over to my side of the room, no funny business, no… whatever it is you’re thinking right now.”

“Agreed,” I reply, raising my hands in mock surrender. “What else?”

“Second,” she continues, her cheeks pinkening, “the floor is yours. The bed is mine. Non-negotiable.”

“Fair enough.”

“And third,” she adds, pausing for dramatic effect, “no flirting.”