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

hands roamed over him.
    “You’re visiting Kaity?” the coffee girl asked. “She’s at the end of the hall, sixth floor.”
    “So I heard,” Cosky said tersely, reaching for the door as soon as the buzzer sounded. The image of pale hair sliding across silk sheets followed him into the lobby. This was insane. But he kept walking.
    Aiden claimed that there was magic in those slender, aristocratic hands. And his teammate had the miracle to back that claim up.
    Cosky wasn’t so sure. But nobody had expected Aiden to walk again. They sure as hell hadn’t expected him to run. Yet, there he’d been, barely six months after they’d pulled him into the Black Hawk, running a mile and a half in nine minutes.
    Nine. Fucking. Minutes.
    So Cosky would lie there and let those sexy hands of hers drive him out of his mind, in the hope he’d be blessed with a miracle too. Because without one, his seat in the Zodiac would be handed over to someone else. A gimpy leg had no place on the teams.
    A trio of coeds spilled out of the elevator and approached him, their toned arms cradling tennis rackets. He ignored their flirtatious smiles, and lurched along faster, trying to catch the elevator.
    It closed two feet before he reached it.
    Swearing beneath his breath, he jabbed the up button. Four months ago he would have hauled ass up the stairs without a second thought. But then four months ago he’d given this building a wideberth. He’d have signed up for a battery of psych evaluations, rather than face the threat of her massage table.
    Four months ago he’d still possessed a brain, in the upper quadrant of his body.
    By the time the elevator reached the sixth floor his leg was shrieking like a Black Hawk shedding its propellers and the last thing on his mind was sex. Thank you Christ.
    Not that he’d ever had trouble bringing his body to heel, but at least he wouldn’t have to struggle with that particular demon during the next hour. Not when cutting off his leg, without anesthesia, sounded like a viable alternative to its current bitchiness. As he limped his way out of the elevator and toward her apartment, her massage table was sounding better and better. At least he’d get off the damn leg.
    He pressed the buzzer beside her door and fought the temptation to lean against the doorjamb while he waited for her to answer. He probably should have brought the cane, although the humiliation of hobbling his way into her apartment, cane in hand, just might beat out the humiliation of crashing face-first at her feet without the cane to stabilize him.
    When the door opened, he breathed a sigh of relief. There was no sign of that loose golden hair from his dreams. She must have pinned it to the back of her head. She was also wearing a loose, peach T-shirt and baggy, lightweight cotton sweats, which meant everything of interest was covered.
    So far, so good.
    Until she opened her mouth.
    “Aren’t you supposed to be using a cane, Marcus?”
    There was something far too intimate in the way her throaty voice caressed his name. Something that made his body flex and fix on her with too much interest.
    Besides, only his mother called him Marcus. “I go by Cosky, or Cos.”
    Intense brown eyes studied his face, and her eyebrows lifted. “I’m not one of your teammates.”
    He stiffened slightly. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Before he had a chance to ask, her mouth was moving again. The shape of those curvy, pink lips distracted him for a moment. By the time he shook the distraction aside, he’d missed most of her response.
    “…by refusing to use the cane, you’re setting your progress back?”
    Forcing his weight onto the leg in question, he locked down any sign of pain and stared back. “It’s fine.”
    “Riiiiight.” She raised her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head. “Of course it is. That’s why you’re here.”
    He studied her heart-shaped face, for the first time recognizing the stubborn tilt to her chin. “We