Why the fuck aren't you taking the bait, Amy Kay? My face hovers over her, watching as she trembles with the phone in her hand, brain on fire.

Hell, maybe I'm the one being baited; hook, line, and sinker.

This woman smells as good as she looks. It's the same barely there beach breeze perfume she wore years ago, pheromones and all. A smell I remember like yesterday.

A flash of our first time – our only – cracks across my memory. Fuck, the way that scent mingled on her skin, especially when I spread her legs and buried my face in her sweetness. Sheer heaven.

I look her up and down, trying not to let my dick get the best of me.

She's all grown up now. The same, but different, and it's screwing with my head because I can't keep it straight in the space of a few scarce seconds. I look her over good and hard, breathe her in, wishing she'd say something to my threats.

Then I wouldn't be lost on the details. Then I wouldn't be mired in the past, recalling how good her pussy tasted on my tongue. Then my eyes wouldn't be locked, quenching themselves on her beautiful contrast.

Wouldn't be lost in the past, the present, and who the hell knows about the future. It's all blurred together in her, in one sexy silhouette of raw perfection.

Wavy brown hair. Everywhere hips. Jade green eyes. Devilishly familiar.

But she's got a woman's curves. A woman's fullness now, teasing my cock up and down.

Exactly what shouldn't be happening. What shouldn't be making this so much fucking harder.

“You hear what I said, Presh?” I whisper, running my hand up her shoulder flicking at her hair. “Might be the only chance you'll get. Tell them.”

I'm taken aback when she shrugs me off, slamming the phone back in its mount. “No. We need to get out of here alive, Trent. Not settle old scores. Or new ones. Nothing matters if we aren't safe.”

Damn. Here I thought I had the control, the calm, the command of this situation.

Instead, my hand hangs loosely at my side, already missing her. My eyes pin hers down, searching, wondering if there isn't just a little hidden regret written on those lips.

“Nothing, huh? Pity. You don't know what safe even is.” Turning my back, I suppress a growl, wishing away this reckless hard-on with all my might.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

A second ago, I was begging her for a police escort, whenever the firefighters or whoever get their asses up here to pry this thing open. Now, not only has she decided against skinning me alive while she had the chance, she's got me hot and bothered like I haven't been for years.

My gaze says I'm pissed. Trapped in the moment. Frustrated by a six year itch.

But the past stings more, leaves me drunk on our first kiss. I'm remembering how good she tasted at the Wilkie's helm when I first thought I'd cast off her heart for the only time.

If only I'd known the kick in the face life had in store a few short years later.

She turns away, as if sensing the inferno in my blood. “Whatever. Let's just be done. There's no reason to say another word unless it involves getting help soon.”

She's right. Too bad the sudden chill in the pit of my gut hates the silent treatment, though.

It lasts the better part of a half hour before I'm too restless for this crap.

Pacing the crooked space, I reach for the service panel on the elevator. The lock comes apart easy and I'm able to fit my fingers in. It takes all my strength to rip the thing open with my hands, especially after the strain my arms took when this thing went sideways.

I've never seen this crap outside a movie, much less done it, but I have to try. It's our only escape.

“Um, Trent?” She breaks quiet time first.

A smile tugs at my lips. I don't answer, just grunt, continuing to push the panel open until there's almost clearance to fit through.

“What. Are. You. Doing?” She bites off each syllable. “Hey, wait! You don't know if it's stable. We shouldn't. Any movement, any tinkering...what if it brings this thing straight down? Jesus. Do you want to wind up plastered on the ground?”

I look down. An evil part of me loves the frenzy nipping at her face.

It's only fair: if I'm being sewn up in stitches, tortured by her presence, then she ought to be, too.

“No. I want to get us the hell out of here by dinner, so you can drag your pretty self home and I can wrap up what I came for.” We've still got the night. My plans won't let me leave before morning.

Not even with this massive setback. I'm hellbent on being here bright and early for my old buddy, Jace. Anything that lets me whip out the pretty surprise I've slaved over for months and shove it in his face.

“You're going to get us killed,” she hisses, shaking her head, chestnut brown hair falling everywhere over her shoulders.

“Then I guess you'd better poke your head up here before I've got blood on my hands. You're smaller than me. Need to know if there's enough space for me to squeeze out and head to the next floor. Help me out. We'll be off this death trap, and we won't even have to wait for some jackoff night crew to do their job.” Her eye twitches. If this wasn't so ridiculous, so dire, I'd laugh. “Truce, Presh? Come the fuck on. Work with me. Just like old times.”

She narrows her eyes. I'm expecting defiance when she slips past, edging me aside, but instead I see her standing on her tip-toes, head pushed into the crevice. “Can't believe I'm doing this. For you. Ugh.”

She cranes higher, straining every muscle. “Give me a hand, will you?”

I grin. Gladly.

Crouching, I secure her legs, thankfully freed from her heels. They straddle my shoulders while I hoist her up, allowing her to probe the unknown chasm opening into the shaft.

Don't know the first thing about elevators. I suspect she doesn't either. But if it's anything like the movies, then damn, there's got to be a backup exit somewhere.

“Well? How does it look?”

She reaches down, her hand flailing by my head. “Let me use your phone. Need more light. It's so dark. Funny, I swore this place had emergency lights...”

Fishing out my phone, I pass it up. The battery is half-drained and we need to make the most of it. I mull how much energy she'll use, but decide it's worth it, if this is our lucky break. “Use the camera, if you're able. A couple flash pics. We can map this out without you breaking my neck.”

She makes a sound, head too far up the panel for me to tell if it's a snort or an honest laugh.

I'm teasing. Barely.

Call it payback for the view I get every time she shifts her weight, vying for a better look. Her skirt flows around her knees. There's the faint dark outline of something black and lace between her legs.

I can just make it out in the near darkness. But the faint city lights streaming in through the glass and my own imagination do plenty to fill in what I can't see.

There's that fucking hard-on again. My dick aches.

Mentally, I'm back in bed with her, years ago. Caught on how she tasted as my tongue dive-bombed her clit, how she used to explode wrapped around every inch of me, whimpering while I pumped into her again and again. I never walked away the next morning more drained, balls sore from the many, many times we fucked.

“Hey, asshole!” Her calves pinch my head, breaking my trance. I'm annoyed, more with myself than anything, wondering how long I've missed what she's saying. “I said, 'ready to come down.' Help!”

Whatever.

My fingers have a mind of their own, sliding further than they really need to up her legs, helping her back to this mess. I'm still gripping her ass when she shoves the phone in my face.

“There's space. I think you'll fit. But it's really dark and tight. Saw a ladder, I think, somewhere off to the side. I couldn't quite make it out the door to the next floor, but I saw a lever, and it seems like it's only a few feet up.”

Nodding, I replay the shaky video she captured. It's just as she described. Darkness, messy flashes of metal, but no gaping pits threatening instant death.

She searches my eyes and then looks at the floor. I remember to let her down, eager to get it over with before I run into more distractions.

I give her a look. "All right. Going up. If I'm able to get to the next floor, I'll help you across as soon as I open the door." I drag my briefcase across the floor, using it to help me up.

"Trent?" She calls softly, and I'm halfway to the panel before I look back. What now? “Please, just...be careful.”

Shit. I didn't ask for sympathy. Definitely not her concern.

I press on, ignoring her words, trying to blot out that familiar, soft tone hanging on her lips. There's no time for the implications.

Shining my phone into the darkness, I stick my head through the opening and take a good look around.

No obvious dangers. There's a gap, but it should be a straightforward hop to the ladder.

I'm no coward. But fuck, when I look down, my balls try to crawl up my guts. Staring into what seems like a bottomless abyss gives me a second of pause. I can't slip.

I close my eyes and count. Okay, on three.

One.

Two.

Three.

I step off, panting like a cornered animal until my hands are secure in those steel bars. Then, sensing no other obstacles, I scramble up, scouring the shadows with my phone. There isn't much light to work with, but the lever reflects after a minute, the same place it was in the video.

Thank God. It needs a vigorous push, like it hasn't been manually bent for many years, but it does the trick.

The door to the next floor groans open. I push myself the rest of the way up the ladder and fall in. Safety at last. I can't tell where we are, one of the twenty-something floors.

It doesn't really matter. A second later, my jaw hangs open.

Adjusting to the darkness, I see the cable attached to the elevator. It's fucking torn.

Frayed, really. Nearly off its track. Way too fucking likely to send Presh to the next life.

"Presh! Precious, I need you to listen, grab your crap and get the hell up here. The second I say." My heart thuds so fast I think I'm about to pass out. Obviously, I can't. She's depending on me. More than she even knows.

More than she can because the worst thing I can do is panic her.

"What? Trent, what are you –"

"Hang on," I growl, turning to the floor behind me. There's no time.

There has to be something up here I can use to help her.

Easier said than done. I can race back down, try to help her up with just my hands, but there isn't much space between the elevator and the ladder. I'm also worried what having both of us on top of the elevator at once will do.

Could be a fatal, destabilizing mistake.

She yells up to me again, but I'm busy, distracted, frantic. I see a standard wall of office glass and a door, leading to some place called Shaw Financial. I pull on the door.

It's locked. Of course, it is.

It's after hours. If anybody has access, it'd be security or maintenance, the people who've done exactly jack for us.

On the wall, there's a fire extinguisher. I don't even hesitate. Ripping it out of its compartment, I grip it tightly, and then go charging at the door.

The glass panel in the middle shatters. There's an insane shriek and shower of beads.

No alarm. I'll take it. Moving on, I see a row of cubicles, typically spartan, except for the guys who like to make their office space a second home.

Bingo.

It takes no more than a few minutes to navigate the mess of trinkets, plaques, and family photos. A guy named Harold has a workspace that catches my attention. He's got horses everywhere, miniatures and photos of him riding, sandwiched between a mess of DON'T MESS WITH TEXAS kitsch.

There's cowboy boots, a freaking saddle on top of his filing cabinet, and yes – finally – a big black rope from some state rodeo tucked behind a frame. “Sorry, Harold,” I mutter, breaking the glass with my elbow. “It's my rodeo now.”

The rope falls in my hands, dragging on the floor. It's heavy. Sturdy as I hoped.

Another guy, the manager, has an old fashioned gumball machine in the corner of his office. It's solid steel, weighs the same as a small elephant.

I've found my anchor. Even though it's a bitch and a half to move.

Maybe, just maybe, we aren't as screwed as I feared.

When I get back to the elevator opening, I secure the rope to the machine with several knots. Meanwhile, Presh screams up a mess of questions laced with obscenities. Demands. I let her have at it for a second or two, hiding my smile in the darkness while she cusses like a sailor.

It takes me a minute to realize that's the part of this that's missing.

Fuck it. I let loose, laughing, making sure she hears. If she's pissed at me, she'll be too distracted to be scared. And fear is always where the worst mistakes happen.

“What the hell's so funny up there, you whacked out psycho?” I see her little face through the panel, glowing in the light of her phone.

I shine mine toward it, adding to the soft blue luminescence. “Throw me the briefcase. Purse and shoes, too, if you want them. Then I need you to take the end of this rope when I let it down, hold on tight, and don't move until I say. I'll come down the ladder to catch you.”

Squinting through the shadows, she blinks, her little mouth falling open. “Are you kidding? You're not getting help? You want me to crawl up and...oh God.”

What little color remains in her pale face drains in the flickering light. She knows what's waiting. She's seen it, just like I have. The pit. Far too close to the ladder, which the stockings on her feet won't grip nearly as easy as my shoes.

“Presh...you want out, right? We're almost there. You're gonna have to trust me.”

“Been there, done that. Got destroyed. Screw you, Trent. I'm not moving. I'll wait for the firefighters.” She turns, steps away from the panel, flattening herself against the wall.

God damn. My eyes flick to the elevator cable. I can't tell if it's worse than it was five minutes ago, but it could go at any time. That's all that matters.

No time for her attitude. Can't waste precious seconds convincing her.

Snarling, I pick up the rope and chuck it toward the panel. Her little cry tells me I hit the mark. It's inside, or near enough. I'm coming for her. I'll drag her out, kicking and screaming, if I have to.

For a split second, I take a look down.

I must be officially crazy doing this shit, swinging in like Tarzan. As long as I hold on real tight, and avoid the pit...fuck.

Closing my eyes, I let go, ignoring the rope burn exploding across my hands. My ankles catch the crooked edge of the elevator. I drop through the panel a second later, then help feed the rope inside so we have an easy climb back out.

“Help isn't coming, Amy Kay. This is it. We can't wait.” I take a deep breath. “You're coming with me now.”

“Can't wait? Says who? Trent Usher, I swear to God, I'm not going anywhere with you, much less –“ She shuts her mouth once she notices I'm not listening.

Something up above creaks. I don't know shit about elevators, but even I know there's a good chance it's a death rattle.

Move.

I grab everything I can, her purse and my briefcase, scurrying back up the rope. It's just the right angle to hurl our stuff safely to the floor above. My phone blips, a low battery indicator, like a death threat in my ears.

The elevator's creak becomes a groan. Shit.

We're wasting too much time.

We have to go or the next stop will be the grave.

“Presh, now. Save your jabs, your doubts, your daggers for later. I'll take them all, after we're off this fucking thing and on solid ground again.” She's fighting when I grab her.

I stop just short of telling her the real reason, letting her know I'm trying like hell to save her life. This thing could go any minute, if she doesn't realize it yet.

But I'm not telling her how dire this is. If there's any chance at getting us out of here, she can't freeze up. I can't let her.

“No, Trent. No. We're not doing this again. I'm not following your –”

“You will, Amy Kay.” I actually sound resigned as I pull her toward the rope, force her hands around it, and then jump on and hoist myself above her. “Climb,” I snarl.

“Not your first choice, I know. Isn't mine either. This sucks, having to fight each other for our lives like this, when all I wanted to do was come here and flatten Jace. It blows all kinds of ways, some that haven't been classified yet. But if we don't do it, we're fucking dead, so get your sweet ass moving.”

“Don't you dare lecture me!” Her small white teeth are pinched tight, hate glowing like a scorned panther's from her face.

“Don't make me drag you, darling.” My eyes never waver. She does a double take. “I've never been more serious. You know I fucking will.”

Finally, she grabs the rope and starts scrambling up behind me.

Confidence boosted, I pull myself through the panel and rest on the elevator, which creaks under my weight. Not creaks, groans. Again.

Damn it all. We have to make this fast, or there's a savagely good chance it won't stand having us both on top for long.

“Take my hand. Let me help,” I say, reaching down.

“Coming, coming, and I still hate your frigging guts...”

Let her hate away. If it gets her up faster, I'll take it. The next few minutes melt into each other.

Hell, maybe it's only seconds.

I manage to pull her out, jerk her close, and jump across to the ladder.

She balks at following me, using the rope to swing across. “I'll catch you, don't worry,” I tell her a hundred times. “If I'm lying, I'll fly right down that pit and join you. Just listen, Amy Kay. Last fucking time. I promise.”

I hope it's one promise I'll keep.

Because I'm as sick of this as her. I should be raising hell for my worst enemy. Not saving my still-too-sexy-for-her-own-good ex.

After endless coaxing, I watch her become one with the rope, edge off the elevator, and swing across the narrow space to the ladder, where I'm hanging. She whimpers, flattening herself against me, damned near throwing us both to sudden death.

We hold.

I'm more thankful than ever for good reflexes. They can't fix everything, though.

She's so paralyzed, so afraid she can't move. Can't climb the four feet up the shaft to safety, and I can't drag her along if I'm going to make it up myself.

“Look at me, Presh. This is hardly the worst it's ever been. Remember that time on the Wilkie? I would've wrecked the fucking boat if you weren't there to help me along. We would've drowned years ago.” I tell her, trying to put her mind at ease. “Just a few more feet, darling. I'm saving you. You saved my skin and a whole lot of others that day. It was your advice, your words, that kept us from disaster. You saved our lives then. This time, let me.”

“Lives you went and ruined,” she snaps, staring up at me, eyes on fire again.

Oh, yeah. That. There's no time for bad memories because – holy shit – she's right behind me, gripping my leg, and I think we'll actually make it.

I crawl to sweet freedom on the twentieth-whatever floor, spin around, and take both her hands in mine, yanking her to safety.

She only gives her tongue a moment's rest before it's lashing me again. “Jesus. What...what happened up here?”

I turn. There's broken glass everywhere. The gumball machine is closer to the cliff than I thought. We're lucky it held.

The entire floor looks like a war zone from the office I raided, glass shards scattered everywhere. Don't think I've ever been more thankful than now to have a billion dollar net worth to my name. These damages won't break the bank. They're a small price to pay for saving her spitfire ass, and mine.

“Precious, look –” I hold up a hand, press it to her cheek, sarcasm and euphoric affection getting the best of me.

But before I can finish, the elevator gives way. There's a screaming, clanging, bone-chattering chorus of metal-on-metal for the longest twenty seconds of my life as it tumbles down the shaft, pounding the floor with an explosive wham so deep it goes straight into my chest.

Presh leaps into my arms. Shaking, scared, shocked, and beautiful.

Yeah, I know. I thought it. So damn beautiful.

“Holy shit. Holy hell. Trent –”

“I know,” I whisper, cutting her off.

Then I bring her one more shock. Shoving my fingers through her brown locks, I give her a kiss for the books.

The record keepers have to be out there somewhere, chronicling this utter insanity.

* * *

At some point, she peels herself away, manages to stand, and looks into the dark chasm of the shaft that almost ended us. “Jesus. Where are the police and EMTs? It's like we're the last people on Earth.”

I look at her and laugh. “Still a whole city out there, Presh. Plenty of rush hour traffic.” I nod toward the nearest window, revealing a perfectly normal Seattle night scene below.

Still, she has a point. If anyone knew we were trapped in the elevator and decided to drag their feet, the elevator's death rattle as it impacted the ground should have sounded like a bomb going off to anyone else in the building.

It doesn't make sense. Where the fuck is everybody?

I reach for my dying phone. When Amy Kay sees me, she does the same.

“Damn, no signal.” We blurt it out in unison. It's like this place is reinforced with military grade, or somebody up above really wants to keep us trapped here for their own amusement.

“We'll have to walk. Only way we'll ever get any help at this rate.” Or get out of here.

“Trent!” she calls after me, but I'm done listening.

Grabbing my briefcase, I head for the door beneath the neon red EXIT sign.

It's actually a dull brown sign that should be lit bright red, but I don't pause to think about it.

I can't waste more time. I damn sure don't want to hang around revisiting a kiss that shouldn't have happened.

It'll be a long hike downstairs to ground level, more than twenty winding floors. Good thing hiking kept me in top shape, a habit I picked up after running to Oregon. Maxwell Chenocott's favorite past time must have rubbed off, though I'll never admit it.

“Trent, wait –” Presh yells after me again. I hear her shout through the door when I'm halfway down the second flight of stairs.

I don't listen. She won't pursue in her stockinged feet. Her heels were the only casualty when the elevator went down, thank fuck.

Onward.

It's harder than I expect. By the time I'm several floors down, my knees burn like dry brush catching a spark. Every floor seems to have three long flights of winding stairs between it. I could take a break on the landings, but I want to get this over with, or at least figure out what the hell's going on.

It's somewhere around the twelfth floor when I try one of the doors.

Damn thing is locked.

And It's the same with the next floor down.

Security is especially tight around here.

I'm living a bad dream. Worst part is, I can't stop thinking about that impulsive kiss, how her taste hasn't changed in all these years.

It isn't fair. I expected her to be more subtle, more bitter maybe, against my tongue. I expected to taste her anguish, her setbacks, hell, a husband or boyfriend or a long train of guys she's no doubt had in my wake.

I expected to taste the woman I abandoned and not fucking care.

But she was pure. Sunny sweet as the last day I kissed her, before Jace's evil fuckery blew my world apart.

Sweeter, if I'm brutally honest. I won't admit distance has made my heart any fonder, but it's done frightful things to my dick, and my adrenaline.

A need I haven't felt in years to own her little mouth swept through my blood.

“Nostalgia, you idiot,” I whisper to myself. I'm clinging to excuses.

Shit. I've never needed them more. Because if I slow down enough to admit how familiar, how natural, how right my mouth felt on Presh, and how eagerly she melted into me...

No, damn it. We were drunk on fear. A triumph escaping an early grave, and nothing more.

I know why I'm here. Whatever happens tonight can't change it.

Jace Chenocott will pay for fucking me out of Presh years ago, poisoning my family, and savaging my reputation. His life needs gasoline on it, so much fucking gas, poured by my hand.

And I'll be standing there when I strike the match, laughing in his face.

* * *

Joke's on me.

The door to every floor is sealed tighter than Aladdin's cave. The second floor to the lobby is the darkest yet, and that's when I finally realize the lights are out. Completely.

They're not blown. It's the building that's lost power, keeping these doors shuttered from the outside. A ring of sweat circles my back. My lungs are blazing into ash by the time I reach the lobby.

I grab the handle, say a quiet prayer, and –

“Fuck!” It's closed too. Locked. Sealed.

I bash my fists on the heavy steel fire doors.

Once, twice, a couple dozen times.

As much as I can stand before my pulse warns me I'm working myself toward a heart attack.

But I can't stop here. There must be someone down here who'll hear me beating pits in this thing, right?

That's my working theory. I beat my knuckles raw, until I can't feel my arms, hollering the whole time. I wait a few minutes between breaths. Then I do it again.

Nothing. No sound on the other side. No words. No shrill sirens or raucous emergency crews stomping through the lobby, bleeding commotion I'd hear through these metal slabs.

We're alone.

We're fucked.

It's at least another minute before I tear myself away.

It takes a while to drag my ass back upstairs, disappointment weighing on me more than muscle strain. Presh has shut the door on me in the meantime, leaving it locked.

“Precious, what the hell? Open up!” My fist pounds heavy steel, angrier with every punch.

After a small eternity, I hear her little voice. “Nope. You're cooling your heels out there, Mr. Usher. I'm done playing kiss and run, even if you did save my life.” It's a hard thing to admit, heavy on her voice.

The fact that I actually did, and she's keeping me out here, is fucking infuriating. “Come on! I just came up from the lobby and guess what? Every damn door's locked. We're stuck here till somebody on the outside finally wants to figure this mess out.”

“Hmmm, I'm not so sure, Trent. Seems like you're the one who's 'stuck.' I've got a nice office all to myself with coffee and bathrooms. If you'd just been a little nicer, and hadn't taken off, abandoning me up here, then maybe you'd share it, too.”

“Let. Me. In.” I ram my fist into the door after every word. Pain arcs up my tendon, leaving my teeth pinched. “Precious, this isn't fucking funny!”

“Exactly,” she whispers.

It's the last thing I'm able to hear. Then there's just the soft, almost indecipherable scuff of her feet on the ground, disappearing fast.

“Precious! Amy Kay! You can't leave me stranded. You can't...”

She can. She will.

She's out for punishment after that vicious kiss.

Swallowing a growl, I decide I've had enough. There's nothing more to be gained fracturing my knuckles on this damn door. I shuffle over to the corner, drop down on the cold concrete, clutching my briefcase.

In this commotion, I've barely had a spare second to mull over the contents. I flip the latches and peer inside. It's all there. Three neat little folders.

The treasures inside have already been sent to their targets. I'll catch Jace, sooner or later, just in time for the fireworks. I want to watch the knife twist in his guts when he realizes how unbelievably fucked he is.

That's what this trip to Seattle is. Revenge.

Taking a detour through the ugly past and the awkward present with the girl I wanted to marry wasn't on the itinerary. Too bad. Once this is through, I'm heading back to Portland. I'll do whatever it takes to cleanse Presh from my system.

My fist tightens on the suitcase. The wry smile fades just as weakly as it came, like it was never there. Playing cat and mouse with that delectable, maddening woman behind the door changes nothing.

Nothing.

This body, this heart, this soul are mine. Not hers, damn it.

Not anymore.