Forged in Ash by Trish McCallan Read Free Book Online Page A

apartments were budget breakers. He had to share a three-bedroom condo with Rawls and Zane—now Aiden—just to afford a place off base and that was with their military discount.
    And their place didn’t have anywhere near the amenities this place boasted, yet Aiden said Kait lived alone. But then he didn’tknow anything about the woman, regardless of how many times he hammered into her during those damn dreams.
    An image took shape in his mind: long legs wrapped around his waist, and a sweet ass in his hands. Tension seized him, the kind of tension his earlier workout was supposed to discourage. He scowled as his cock swelled.
    Son of a bitch.
    He’d only seen Kait Winchester twice. Or at least, he’d only seen the actual woman two times. A slender, stoic beauty with shaking hands accepting the flag draping her father’s casket—and a drawn, white-faced angel at Aiden’s bedside.
    He’d been dreaming about her since.
    Except, in his dreams she hadn’t been hurting. Not like she’d been in reality. He’d recognized the pain in her eyes. He’d seen that same pain often enough in his mother’s eyes after his father died.
    Their second meeting was crystal clear in his mind; they’d brushed past each other in the hall outside Aiden’s hospital room. The contact had only lasted a split second, but it had stopped him in his tracks, and set every nerve on fire. His pulse had warped into overdrive. He’d started to turn, to follow her back into the room. That’s when alarm bells had kicked in. She was dangerous. If one glance stopped him cold and one touch caused instant arousal, then he needed to steer clear.
    Now.
    Before he got a taste of her.
    Such instant, overwhelming attraction led to things he had no intention of exploring—like obsession and need.
    So he’d retreated, and avoided her for the next five years, but even now, five years later, he could still smell that sweet citrusy scent that had clung to her skin.
    He glanced at the cane braced against the passenger floor as he climbed out of the truck, but left it there. No way in hell was he gimping his way to her door, cane in hand. It was humiliating enough limping there under his own steam. It was also uncontroversial proof that he’d lost his mind.
    What was he thinking?
    He’d avoided the woman for five years because of the fire she lit under his skin and now he was going to lie there on her massage table and let those hands, that had been plaguing his dreams for more nights than he cared to remember, roam over his bare skin? One of those bullets must have been a head shot, because he’d sure as hell lost his mind.
    A woman with spiky pink hair tending a stainless-steel coffee cart greeted him with a flirty smile when he reached the front doors. He ignored her, concentrating on the gold plate with its rows of numbers and names next to the entrance. He found K. Winchester, apartment number 607 and pressed the button beside the name.
    “Yes?” a woman asked immediately.
    Cosky stirred uncomfortably beneath the rasp of her voice. They’d made the arrangements through text messages, so he hadn’t heard her speak. Nor had he expected her voice to affect him on such a visceral level. Wasn’t that just perfect? Now her damn voice could join her hands and hair in an erotic dream trifecta.
    “Kait Winchester?”
    “Lieutenant Simcosky?” The lilt at the end of that smoky voice turned his name into a question.
    “Yeah.”
    There was a short pause, as though she was surprised he’d shown up. That made two of them.
    “I’ll buzz you in. There’s an elevator at the back of the lobby.I’m on the sixth floor, apartment 607, end of the hall, on the left,” she said in that raspy voice, as though she’d just crawled out of bed.
    An image flashed through his mind—golden hair spread across a dark pillow. He swore softly as his body tightened. Shit, he was already twitchy as hell, which didn’t bode well for lying there chaste as a priest while her