Page 4 of The Heat Between Us

She takes a deliberate breath, steadying herself. "Okay. So what's the plan?"

Before I can answer, there's another crash, louder this time, and the door to our sanctuary shudders. Smoke pours in more aggressively from beneath it.

"The floor," I say suddenly, dropping to my knees. "These old buildings sometimes have access to basement areas through the floors. Help me look."

We move quickly, pushing aside boxes and feeling along the wooden floorboards. The smoke is getting thicker now, making it hard to see and breathe. Chloe is coughing more frequently, and I can feel my own lungs starting to burn.

"Here!" she calls suddenly. "This board feels different."

I move to where she's kneeling, running my hands over the section of floor she's indicated. She's right—there's a subtle difference in how these boards are set. I pull out my pocket knife and work it into the seam between two planks.

"Stand back," I warn her, then use all my strength to pry upward.

The board comes loose with a crack, and then another. But beneath isn't what I'd hoped for—just more solid flooring, a second layer installed over the original. I stifle a curse.

"No good," I say, sitting back on my heels. The disappointment on her face is crushing.

Sweat is streaming down both our faces now, partly from exertion but mostly from the rising heat. The fire is getting closer; I can hear it consuming the outer room, and our temporary haven won't last much longer.

"Let's try the window," Chloe suggests, moving toward it. "Maybe we can break the glass and call for help."

I follow her, examining the security bars. They're solidly installed, but the frame holding them to the wall looks older, possibly weakened over time.

"Good thinking," I tell her. "If we can loosen those bars, we might be able to get out this way."

We both grab hold of the bars and pull, straining against decades of rust and solid construction. They give slightly, but not enough.

"Again," I say, and we pull harder. This time I feel something shift.

Just as hope begins to rise, there's a splintering crack from above. We both look up to see the ceiling bulging downward, the weight of the fire finally compromising the structure.

"Move!" I shout, grabbing Chloe and pulling her away from the window just as a section of ceiling crashes down where we'd been standing.

The impact sends up a cloud of dust and embers. When it clears, I see that our situation has worsened—the window is now completely blocked by debris, and flames are visible through the new hole in the ceiling.

"We need to get lower to the ground," I tell her, pulling her toward the far corner where the air is still relatively clear. "Try to breathe slowly."

We huddle together, her body pressed against mine as we make ourselves as small as possible. The smoke is thickening, making each breath a struggle. I tear a strip from my t-shirt and dampen it with water from a bottle I find in one of her boxes, then press it to her mouth.

"Breathe through this," I instruct. "It'll help filter the smoke."

She takes it, her fingers brushing mine. Even in this dire situation, I notice how soft her hands are and how they contrast with my calloused ones.

"I'm sorry," she says suddenly, her voice muffled by the cloth. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't been so stubborn about cleaning the place myself..."

"Hey, none of that," I cut her off gently. "This isn't anyone's fault. Old wiring fails. It happens."

She shakes her head, unconvinced. "You shouldn't be here. You should have waited for your team."

"I saw smoke and someone who needed help," I say simply. "I'd do it again."

The room is getting hotter, the smoke thicker. We both know we're running out of time and options. My training tells me to stay put, conserve energy, and wait for rescue. But every instinct in my body is screaming to get this woman out safely.

"Tell me something about yourself," I say suddenly, needing to keep her alert and distracted from our increasing danger.

She looks at me like I've lost my mind, which is fair.

"Something random," I clarify. "Anything."

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