Max had never wanted anything in his life as badly as he wanted Kimberly, right now. The feel of her, the scent of her, was enough to bury him.

She answered his words with a feverish kiss, long and feverish and filled with all the heat the two of them always managed to generate together.

But he wanted even more than that from her. “Tell me,” he growled in her ear.

“Tell you what?” she whispered.

“Tell me you want me inside you.”

An erotic sigh escaped her, and her voice came weak and breathy. “Yes, I want you inside me. I want you deep, deep inside me.”

And then she gazed intensely into his eyes, her own voracious with desire—but also commanding him, with a silent fervor: Don’t play any more games, don’t ask me to say anything else. Just do it.

Planting his hands on her hips, he pulled her down to meet him, drinking in more of that sexy aggressiveness as she began to grind against him in a hard, sensual rhythm. He worked at the buttons on her dress as she moved, then pushed the fabric aside. Parting the lace of her bra, he reached in to caress her full, round breasts. Damn, he had missed them. Missed this. Missed all of her.

When a low moan slipped past her lush lips, though, he kissed her to quiet it. They had to keep quiet. And the next thing he knew, she was biting his lower lip—just a little, just enough to shoot a heightened bolt of longing through him, making him even harder for her than he already was. And then he wanted to moan and it killed him to hold it in. So he clenched his teeth and closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers, all while she gyrated against him in hot little circles.

“I need you in me now.”

The words came as gentle as a leaf wafting from a tree, but the urgency in them nearly paralyzed him. He needed to be in her, too—as soon as possible.

Grazing his hands up her thighs and under her dress, he soon found more lace beneath his fingertips. Smoothly, he slid his fingers inside the thin strip of it at her hip, taking firm hold—and then he gave one brisk yank, ripping the lace free. Her gasp filled him with a perverse and powerful pleasure before he rasped, “Unzip me.”

Her ragged breath alone was enough to drive him wild as she lifted off him and undid his shorts. “Hurry,” he prodded her, his own voice sounding so throaty he barely recognized it. And when—sweet Jesus—she reached inside and took hold of him, he let out a rough gasp of his own.

But then, to his surprise, she went still, pinning him in place again with her intent gaze. He waited, impatient as a teenager, practically pulsing in her fist—but tried to calm himself by reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face.

When she finally spoke, her voice came out sounding broken. “Max, there’s…no one else I’d rather…”

He couldn’t bear to watch her struggle with the words, so he stopped her with a truth of his own. “I know, love. Me, too.”

And then there was no more waiting—she was lowering herself onto him, taking him deep, deep inside her. And she was releasing another of those long, low moans as he filled her, and lovely though the sound was, right now he had no choice but to reach up and cover her mouth with his hand.

Only then his fingers ended up in her mouth and she was sucking them as she began to move on him again, now with him in her, and he starting losing track of space, time, reality. All he knew was that Kimberly had taken control and was making love to him. Sweet, slow, desperate love. Using her whole body, her whole self, her undulations driven by a smoldering hunger he’d never witnessed in her before. And he was basking in it, letting it happen, watching her love him, pushing up into her, wanting her to feel it all the way to her very core.

Biting her lip, she arched toward him, her lovely coral-tipped breasts near his face, and he took one pebbled nipple in his mouth as she continued in those slow, sexy circles—and then he felt her coming, her body convulsing over him, around him, her sweet tiny sounds too faint to need to muffle this time, and too beautiful to want to.

As she collapsed against him, he wrapped his arms around her, awed by everything passionate and beautiful about her—when he came, too, in shocking waves of heat that made him shudder against her limp body in his arms. “Oh God, babe,” he whispered, breathless.

“I love you, Max,” she said, her breath hot on his ear.

And his chest clenched slightly.

He tightened his hold on her. But he didn’t say it back.

Because he wasn’t quite ready to hear those words. Even as he let his heart fill with them.

He just prayed she understood, prayed she knew how much he felt in this moment, prayed it would be enough to get her—get them both—through the night.

And at the same time, he prayed desperately that there would be a tomorrow.

* * *

At some point, they both slept. Slept until he awakened her with kisses—kisses to her shoulder, to the curve of her breast. And then she climbed onto him again in the confines of their hiding place, and she stayed faultlessly quiet, but he could almost feel the exquisite torture of her silence as she moved against him.

Hours later, he awoke once more, blissfully satisfied. And before even opening his eyes, he found himself ruminating about yesterday morning after their sex. He saw her dreamy eyes and romantic expression next to him in bed. He hadn’t been ready for it then—but he was a lot more prepared for it now. After what they’d been through together in the last twenty-four hours, he felt closer to her than ever.

And he’d finally forgiven her for the Carpenter case on top of it all.

He didn’t know how or when exactly, but somehow through the course of the day yesterday, he’d let go of his hurtful grudge. Just let it drift away. He’d realized it didn’t matter anymore, that she’d done the best she could at the time, just like we all do in life.

He wished he’d told her now, before they’d had sex last night. Even if he hadn’t been able to say I love you, I forgive you might have been almost as good under the strange circumstances of their relationship. And he knew he could probably be better at expressing emotions and all that, but…well, maybe he’d work on that after they got out of this. Right now he had other things to concentrate on.

Like figuring out what they were going to do.

And before that, waking her and drinking in that dreamy look in her morning eyes.

Although it wasn’t quite morning yet—his backlit watch read 4:30 a.m. Still, he didn’t want them sleeping any later—if they were to formulate any kind of plan, they’d better get started. He nudged her softly, waiting as she slowly lifted her head from his shoulder and eased her eyes open.

Then she turned to face him, their gazes connecting in the shadowy air. “Geez, Tate, did you have to rip off my panties?”

He flinched, stunned. Okay, that wasn’t exactly dreamy, or romantic. Maybe he didn’t know her as well as he thought—she was becoming less predictable by the day. “Well, you didn’t seem to mind at the time,” he pointed out.

“I was feeling…a bit desperate.”

He raised his eyebrows in her direction. “Has your situation changed in some way I don’t know about?”

Kimberly’s situation hadn’t changed, but her attitude definitely had. After last night with Max, it would have been easy to wake up feeling all lovey-dovey. But she knew a lot about herself, and one thing she knew for sure was that lovey-dovey would make her weak and spineless and girlish—and if they were to stay alive, she needed her professional wits about her today.

So she’d decided to put on her game face bright and early, without giving her spongier side time to start absorbing everything she felt when she looked into his eyes. Max had said yesterday that he liked the tough side of her. Well, today that was what he’d get. It was imperative if they were to have any hope of getting out of this mess with their lives.

“We need a plan, Tate.”

“I’m fresh out at the moment, Brandt.”

“Well, I’m not. Listen up.” Her change in attitude had injected her with a fresh shot of strength that had her feeling bolder than she could have imagined under the circumstances.

“I’m listening,” he said.

“There’s a heat duct overhead.” She pointed at it.

“True enough.”

“And so I’m thinking—what if we could somehow crawl through it and get out? They do it in the movies all the time.”

“I don’t know, Brandt—this isn’t a movie. And that thing looks like it was manufactured in the Dark Ages. I think in the movies they use sturdier-looking heat ducts.”

“Maybe so. But do you have any better ideas? Besides, it’s the middle of the night. They might have let their guard down, expecting us to be asleep. If we’re gonna do something, it seems like now’s the time.”

He tilted his head as he gazed at her in the half-light. “That’s your plan?”

“Look, we can stay here and wait for Carlo’s boss to shoot us, or we can take a chance in the heat duct. I say we go now and be done with it, one way or the other.”

Max didn’t like it—he was generally big on orchestrating a plan, giving it some thought first. After all, a little spontaneity on his part is what had landed them in this predicament.

Still, she made sense. There was nothing to be gained by waiting. And the cover of darkness sure couldn’t hurt. The rusty heat duct looked like it was ready to disintegrate on top of them, but it might be their only hope.

“All right, Brandt—you’ve convinced me.”

“One more thing,” she said. “Another part of my plan.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“If we end up out of the heat duct and on the floor, and we bump into just one guy, split up.”

He blinked, scowled. “Where the hell’s the logic in that?”

“One person can’t shoot both of us at the same time.”

He let out an incredulous breath. He really didn’t like this. If they were going to get shot at, he had every intention of making sure he was the one who took the bullet.

“And,” she added, “the guy will probably be keeping his gun stuffed in his pants behind his back, right? So if one of us could possibly get behind him—”

Okay, he was crazy about the woman, but… “Brandt, that’s too far-fetched. Like I said before, this isn’t a movie.”

“It’s not far-fetched at all,” she corrected him. “I saw Carlo pull his gun from there when we were out in the warehouse.”

Max sighed, taking that in but still not quite willing to concede. “Okay, so you’ve impressed me with your observational skills. Still, if we get caught, we stick together. No arguments.”

She sneered at him, but he didn’t care.

“Got it?” he asked.

Kimberly let out a heavy breath and then, hesitantly, nodded. But she made sure to let him see the irritation in her eyes.

As they both got to their feet, she sensed them both silently steeling themselves for what was to come. Max glanced over at her. “Ready to do this?”

She nodded again. “Although, frankly, Tate, I’d feel better if I had underwear on.”

This time he sneered at her. And they exchanged looks of annoyance—just like old times. Well, old times over the past few days. But it had been a hell of a long weekend.

She watched as he carefully climbed up on a tower of boxes toward a metal slat in the duct that was partially disconnected from the rest, the screws missing. After a few minutes of working at it, it finally came off completely, opening an entryway to the duct.

“I’ll go first,” he announced, and she knew he was thinking about protecting her—if it was going to come crashing down beneath the added weight, he wanted to be the one to fall, not her.

And while her P.I.’s sensibilities were slightly offended, her feminine ones were not, so she simply said, “Okay,” and waited as he pulled himself easily up into the duct with the agility of a cat. When he disappeared inside and the duct didn’t move or even sag, she hoped that meant it was stronger than it looked.

Next, she followed his path up the boxes and into the duct. It wasn’t easy in a dress, but soon she was in the pitch black tunnel on her hands and knees.

Reaching out to make sure he was in front of her, she found his butt.

“Geez, Brandt. Not now.”

“Quit dreaming,” she snipped. “It was an accident.”

“Are you in? Are we ready to crawl?”

“More than ready. Let’s get going.”

The travel was slow, cramped, and uncomfortable. Breathing was difficult—while she could see nothing, she could smell, taste, and feel the heavy dust particles all around her. Moving through the unrelenting blackness was nearly unbearable, but she tried not to feel claustrophobic or think about the possibility that bugs or vermin could be sharing the space with them.

After a few long minutes, she had no idea how far they had gone, and she only prayed they were making progress in some direction that would bring this to a happy conclusion soon.

Soon took longer than she wanted, though. Get me out of here. Get me out of here. Get me out of here. Her chest grew almost unbearably tight as a sense of panic began to set in.

But be calm. Be tough. That tougher you who gets the job done. You have no other choice right now. If ever in your life you need to be strong, this is it.

“You all right?” Max asked after a little while.

“Yes,” she lied.

“I don’t believe you.”

She tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t. “I’m tough, remember? Now shut up and keep going.”

“I’m here with you, babe,” he said.

And she knew he got it, all of it, that he understood she was miserable and afraid right now, and that no matter how intent she was on not letting it show, on staying strong, he wanted to help her get through this. “I know,” she answered softly. “And…I’m glad.”

“Soon this will all be over, and we’ll be safe and sound.” His tone remained reassuring.

“Do you really think that?”

He hesitated a beat too long. “Yes.”

“Now I don’t believe you.”

“Yes you do. You have to, Brandt. You haven’t given up, or you wouldn’t have suggested the heat duct. So just keep going, and just think about how good it will feel to see the sun again and get back to normal life.”

Normal life. Normal life without you? Or…an old, better kind of normal? They’d only been a couple for less than six months, but it had felt so right, had so quickly become just that, normal. Life had never really felt normal since.

As they kept crawling, it gave her some sense of hope to realize he’d actually succeeded in distracting her from the fact that they were in a hot, narrow, smothering heat duct—or at least he had for a little while. But just keep staying calm. Just for a little longer Remembering that this was a life or death situation helped.

“Damn,” Max whispered in front of her then.

She didn’t have to ask why. She’d already caught sight of the rectangle of dim light ahead.

“The duct is ending,” he told her anyway. And when he approached the opening a minute later and peered down, he quietly announced, “We’re right in the middle of the damn warehouse.”

But Kimberly simply took a deep breath. Kept being tough. Believing. “At least we’re out of the storage room,” she reminded him.

“Good point,” he sent back over his shoulder. “We’re gonna have to get down to the floor now somehow, Brandt. And then we’re gonna have to find our way out, quick and quiet. Ready?”

“Do you have a plan for this?”

“Not really.”

“Then what are you doing?” The duct was wider here, and he appeared to be squeezing his legs around to the front, toward the opening.

“Winging it,” he said. After which he made a quick, simple drop down to the floor—and again, she thought the movement looked like that of a cat. Astonishingly, he’d made the ten-foot jump gracefully and had landed with barely a noise.

“Max,” she whispered down to him. “I can’t do that like you just did. I’ll break my legs.”

But below her, he was shaking his head and looking annoyed. “This is no time to go soft on me, Brandt. Just do it. Don’t think about it. I’ll break your fall.”

He was right. So she didn’t think. She just took a deep breath and let herself drop.

He kept his word and let her fall onto him, the impact knocking him down. But despite the rough landing, she ended up in his arms, and they both scrambled to their feet, uninjured other than a few scratches and bruises picked up along the way.

Now on the floor, she looked around. Everything was gloriously still. And not as dark as she might have hoped, but it remained much more shadowy than it would be in the morning when sunlight came blasting through the windows near the ceiling. They’d picked a good time to go.

Her stomach churned with nervousness as they began silently making their way around heaps of glassware containers. The place was big and maze-like, making it hard to get their bearings or have much of a sense where they were going. But they kept moving, quiet and swift—and a few tenuous moments later, they rounded a row of crates and, to her amazement, she spotted the door, the very same one they’d come through yesterday afternoon.

Her heart pounded even harder than it already was as she grabbed Max’s wrist and pointed. As his eyes lit with relief, she knew she wasn’t just imagining it; it wasn’t just some strange warehouse mirage—it was the right door, their means of escape. And the normalcy he’d promised her waited just on the other side. We’re actually getting out of here!

“Well, what do we have here?”

Oh shit. Kimberly and Max both turned to find Carlo standing behind them.

“I don’t know how you two got out of that room, but you might as well have stayed put, because you sure as hell aren’t getting out of this building.”

A ragged, disbelieving sigh slipped past her lips. And part of her wanted to break down and cry in despair. She was so damn tired—physically and emotionally. She wasn’t sure she had any more strength left inside her.

But another part of her quickly realized that Carlo was alone.

And what had she told Max? If they went up against only one person, they should separate.

He’d practically forbidden it, but she didn’t care. She had to trust her instincts now—she could see no other way.

So she strode boldly toward Carlo without giving Max even a glance—she only prayed he’d stay where he was.

“Brandt,” he snapped, low, but at least he didn’t seem to be following her.

Meanwhile, Carlo took a step back, obviously confused by her approach. “What the hell…?” he muttered. And she began to wonder if maybe he would make this easy—maybe she could just walk up and take his gun herself.

But then he reached for it—pulling it from the back of his waistband, just as she’d known he would.

Instead of letting that stop her, though, she remained unfazed and kept walking toward him—which clearly confounded him all the more. “Hold still!” he said.

“You wouldn’t really hurt me, Carlo,” she said with a purr in her voice, “would you?” She was relying on what she knew to be his weakness: women, sex, seduction.

He seemed unable to decide whether to hold the gun on her or Max, although he ultimately chose Max—figuring him to be more adversarial, she guessed—yet his eyes had gone soft at her provocative tone.

“Would you?” she whispered again. And then she was at his side, so close she could have reached up and kissed him, and she knew he was thinking the same thing.

“I…don’t want to hurt you, Kimberly,” he said, sounding nervous. “You know that.”

“Yes, I do know that,” she breathed, letting her eyes widen, meeting his gaze, and trying to figure out exactly how she could get that gun from his hand.

But then Max said, “Damn it, Brandt, get away from him.”

And Carlo swung his gaze back to Max. “Get your hands where I can see ’em!” After which she heard him mutter under his breath. “And who the hell’s Brandt?”

Before Carlo could figure out what to do next, her eyes landed on one of the heavy white pitchers they’d found yesterday, jutting from the packing straw in an open bin—and she picked it up, lifted it high with both hands, and brought it crashing down on Carlo’s head.

The smarmy crook crumpled to the ground before her, and she was on the verge of feeling victorious—when she caught sight of the alarm shining in Max’s eyes. Damn it, what now?

That was when someone behind her said, “Hold it right there!”

The words halted her in place, but she cautiously looked over her shoulder to find three men with guns, all of them pointed at her and Max. Her heart dropped to her stomach.

Still, she knew instantly that they’d come too far to give in now, and that their only chance lay in blatant and very risky defiance. The only other alternative was certain death. So she looked toward Max, her back still to the gunmen. And she moved her lips to say Run.

Yet Max just stood there, his eyes darting back and forth between her and the gunmen. And she supposed he was determined to do something to save her, to treat her as the damsel in distress she’d once been. But Max, there’s no time for that now. She had to force the issue. She mouthed the word to him again, this time with fire in her eyes. Run!

Then she bolted madly toward the door and Max joined her. Gunfire erupted behind them, with bullets whizzing past and people yelling and danger so thick she could taste it.

A sharp pain exploded in her hip and she looked down to see a bright red blot on her dress. She kept running in spite of it, although she felt strange and weak and heavy. And as they neared the door, she yelled at Max, “Tate, I’ve been shot!”