Forged in Ash (A Red-Hot SEALs Novel)

by Trish McCallan

  “No.”

  But his voice sounded tight. The scars were red and raw. Maybe they were sensitive. She lightened her touch even more, ghosting over the area with the tips of her fingers. The skin beneath her hands twitched harder, a clear indication he wasn’t appreciating the attention. As the muscles of his back visibly tensed, she shifted up his body and bore down again, digging her fingers into his shoulders, kneading and releasing, kneading and releasing.

  “Relax,” she said, reveling in the feel of him beneath her hands. Lord, he felt so good—hot, hard perfection.

  A fire kindled in her belly and slowly spread, heating her from the inside out. Liquefying bone, melting muscle, bubbling through her blood.

  She paused, wiping sweat from her forehead and bent over him again. But within seconds perspiration was burning her eyes and trickling down her scalp.

  The heat was a good sign. Successful healings always ended with her drenched in sweat and craving a shower.

  Except…

  This heat didn’t feel the same. It was thicker, heavier, with a sexual charge.

  So how much of this fire was a result of lust? And how much was healing energy? Was she even channeling the healing energy?

  The inferno her hands stirred up sank deep, penetrating to his core. The fire infiltrated his blood, bonded with his bones, until the very heart of him loosened and locked on her with primal hunger.

  The pressure in his groin exploded, flooded his cock and balls. Christ. He needed to chill out, or things were going to get humiliating fast.

  “You need to relax,” she said from above him, her hands stilling and lingering on his shoulders. And then she did that flirty little caress again and a bolt of electricity shot straight from her fingers to his cock.

  He went rigid beneath her hands.

  “Seriously!” Exasperation rounded her vowels. “Relax. You’re too tense.”

  Another of those flirty caresses, as though she were attempting to calm him. He choked back a groan, tingles prickling along his spine, electrifying every cell. Which wasn’t very…relaxing.

  “You’re hard as a fricking rock.” She didn’t sound admiring.

  Cosky shoved down the urge to roll and drag her to his mouth. Gritting his teeth, he reached for his formidable control.

  Which, for the first time ever, wasn’t so formidable. His body ignored the dictates of his mind and slipped its leash entirely.

  Every cell, every nerve, every atom within him locked on her. On those hot, strong hands and the burning heat of her body. The urge to roll clawed at him, demanded obedience from his arms. He groaned beneath the onslaught.

  She snorted out a laugh. “Well at least I know you’re awake,” she said, apparently oblivious to the frenzy taking place beneath her hands.

  Or maybe she was just used to this ramped-up reaction. Maybe this happened every time she dug her hands into some stranger’s flesh. A surge of acid dampened the fire. Could that be what was happening? He’d never reacted with such urgency to a woman’s touch before, to the smell of her skin. Could this frenzied reaction be a side effect of her gift? He was thirty-five years old, for Christ’s sake. He knew what it felt like to want a woman. This went beyond want. This bordered on something he didn’t want to name, or believe in. He was on the thin edge of control, for God’s sake, after mere minutes beneath her hands.

  This wasn’t normal. Something else was at work here. He could almost hear Rawls’s laugher at that classic bit of rationalization.

  “This isn’t working,” she finally said and her hands left his body.

  Disappointment rolled through him, which was ridiculous. He hadn’t had any expectations this supposed healing would work.

  Zane’s visions were different. They were finite, easy to corroborate. They happened in real time, in real life. But how did you prove something as insubstantial as healing through touch? Hell, for all she or Aiden knew, her supposed successes could have simply healed on their own. Still, it had cost him nothing to give it a try.

  And…Rawls’s voice kept drifting through his mind. “Far as I know, that shit don’t grow back…”

  “Since the massage isn’t relaxing you, I’m going to just concentrate on your leg.” She shifted beside him, her body brushing his and her hands sliding down to the back of his thigh.

  She started in with that hot, kneading slide again.

  As her hands climbed higher and higher, his heart lurched, and then took off like a jackhammer. It stopped altogether when her fingers brushed the hem of his shorts.

  His ass hardened. An urgent command went out to his arms, his hands, his fingers. Stand down!

  Christ, he needed to get her away from the danger zone.

  “The damage was to my knee,” he said around a mouth full of grit and prayed she’d move those hands to a safer location.

  “Front or the back?”

  He swallowed a groan of relief as her hands moved back down his leg. “Front.”

  He heard the rustle of clothes as she straightened. Her touch vanished. So did her body heat. That citrusy cloud he’d been steeped within eased as well. He would have been relieved, but the damage was already done.

  “Why don’t you turn over? I’ll work on the front for a while.”

  Cosky swore beneath his breath. Considering the baseball bat that had sprung to life in his shorts, and the way his libido had hijacked his control, turning over was the last thing he should do.

  “Yeah,” he cleared his throat, “that’s not a good idea.”

  “Do you need help turning over?” Her voice was closer again, and her heat was back, and that damn scented cloud…

  “That’s not the problem.”

  “Okay.” She sounded exasperated again. “You mind telling me what is?”

  What the hell. It wasn’t like he could hide his condition, not with the Louisville Slugger tenting his shorts. She was bound to notice his avid appreciation.

  “Let’s just say my body’s enjoying your attention,” he said, and waited, curious how she’d respond.

  A sharp breath sounded behind him. Apparently her initial response had been surprise. Why the hell that should please him so much was something he didn’t want to examine too closely.

  She recovered from her surprise quickly and laughed. An airy no-big-deal kind of laugh.

  Irritation pinched him. Hard.

  Was she so used to men getting erections at her touch that she could laugh it off?

  “It’s simple male physiology, Lieutenant. I can ignore it, if you can.”

  His teeth snapped together hard enough to hurt.

  Could she now?

  They’d see about that.

  Without giving himself time to think, he grabbed the edge of the sofa and rolled.

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  * * *

  KAIT CHOKED BACK a gasp as Cosky suddenly rolled over, her eyes taking an immediate inventory of how much his body was enjoying her attention—from the visible tenting of his shorts, it was evident he was enjoying her ministrations dramatically.

  Yeah…She cleared her throat, wondering if her face was as lobster red as it felt. Obviously, she wasn’t the only one feeling the sexual heat.

  Avoiding his gaze, she swiped at the perspiration trickling down her face and turned to her array of massage oils. She made a clumsy grab for the closest bottle, which she promptly knocked over. She grabbed the one next to it and got busy pooling the oily liquid in her hands, spending more time than necessary warming it between her palms. Sidling down the couch, she leaned over his knee and cleared her throat again.

  “Let me know if I press too hard,” she said, having a devil of a time controlling her eyes, which kept trying to migrate to the right so they could explore that intriguing bulge he was so completely unself-conscious about.

  Her throat went dry as she leaned down and rested her hands on his knee, gently spreading the massage oil over the joint. His skin was as hot here as it had been on h
is back, but it wasn’t nearly as sleek. The damage to the knee was extensive, as was the scarring. The main scar started at his kneecap and knifed down at least seven inches like an angry, red artery. She could feel him watching her, feel the weight and heat of his gaze on her face.

  “What the hell,” he said, and the irritation in his tone brought her gaze up and over to his face. “I smell roses.”

  His eyes were such a light gray they looked almost silver. A glittery, shimmery stainless steel kind of silver.

  “Roses,” she repeated absently, her attention captured by that gleaming gaze, and then his complaint sunk in and suddenly she smelled roses too.

  With a silent groan, she turned her attention back to his knee and the scented oil she was working into his masculine flesh. The rose-scented oil. She’d mistakenly grabbed the bottle she’d used on Demi. In retrospect, it probably hadn’t been the best idea to bring all her scented massage oils out. But at the time she’d been flustered, and trying to keep busy until he arrived. She hadn’t even realized she’d emptied her bathroom vanity onto the coffee table. By the time she’d come to her senses and realized she didn’t need half a dozen bottles of massage oil, he’d been pounding on her door and it was too late to haul them all back to her bathroom vanity.

  Not that she was going to tell him any of this.

  “This particular massage oil is made out of rose hips which have natural healing properties,” she said in a virtuous voice.

  “Hell.” He sounded disgusted and disbelieving. “Aiden put you up to that, didn’t he?”

  “Of course not. I’d never let Aiden dictate what oil to use.” She tried for a righteous tone; although it was exactly the kind of thing her brother would try to cajole her into doing. “It’s well documented that rose hips have healing properties.”

  Which wasn’t a complete lie. Rose hips did have natural healing properties; she just didn’t have any idea whether this particular oil was actually made out of rose hips. All she’d cared about at the time was that it smelled like roses. Demi loved roses.

  “In other words, I’m going to smell like a damn rose garden,” he grumbled, his tone anything but appreciative of the healing properties of roses.

  Her lips twitched. Oh lord, Aiden would rag on him unmercifully once he got a whiff of him. “Yes, you are. You can always take a shower after we’re done. The oil will wash off.”

  Although, in truth the scent was likely to linger even after showering; some of the oil would sink into the skin, which was much harder to wash away. She was smiling as she glanced toward his face. This time, while her gaze avoided his pelvis, it skimmed his broad, tanned torso and stopped dead. A thick red scar ran down the middle of his chest.

  The surgeon must have cracked his rib cage open to repair the damage those bullets to his back had done.

  Although she didn’t know the specifics, or exactly what kind of damage the bullets had done, she had known he’d spent hours in surgery, and that the bleeding had been life threatening. She hadn’t known they’d cracked his chest and spread his rib cage. With a hard swallow she turned back to his knee, and her still hands. Apparently her eyes hadn’t been the only part of her anatomy to stop in shock. She forced the stark image of that scar out of her mind and started back in with the light circular massaging.

  The damage to his leg had been severe and fairly recent. She didn’t want to put any undue pressure on the joint and add to the damage.

  “I’m fine,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle.

  He must have caught her staring at his scar.

  “The chest shots healed in no time. It’s the round to the knee…” His voice tightened with each word, but his face remained flat, unresponsive.

  Her strokes lightened to a soothing caress. “I know.”

  His bark of laughter was as tight as his voice. “Of course you do.” He paused, and the tightness in his tone eased slightly. “Can you tell if it’s working?”

  He meant the healing. Kait frowned, arching her neck as a trickle of sweat ran down her scalp. She was uncertain how to answer the question. She was hotter than hell, something she associated with a successful healing. But she was also far too attracted to her patient, and a good share of the heat was in places she’d never experienced in a healing before—like her nipples and the damp flesh between her thighs.

  Pausing, she twisted to grab a towel off the coffee table and wiped the sweat from her face again. “I’m not sure.”

  “You feel something, though?” he pressed, bracing himself up with his elbows.

  Kait shrugged. Ignoring the ache in the small of her back from the awkward position, she leaned back over his knee and started in again with that gliding massage. “Maybe. I don’t know yet.”

  “Does it always get this hot?” he asked, something odd, almost watchful in his voice.

  She concentrated hard on her fingers, even though the impulse to check out that massive erection to her right was almost impossible to ignore. “Heat is definitely a factor.”

  “I see,” he said after long pause.

  From the dryness in his voice he saw far too much, and knew exactly why she was being so vague. Which didn’t surprise her. He would have picked up on her attraction to him as easily as she’d picked up on his to her. Okay, maybe not as easily—female physiology was better at hiding the response than the male body was—but still, the damn man was a SEAL. His life depended on his acute observational skills. He had to know that she was as turned on as he was.

  Suddenly she was tired of skirting the issue. She was twenty-nine years old for God’s sake. Sexual chemistry was a fact of life and nothing to be embarrassed about. Besides, he felt it every bit as much as she did, so it wasn’t like she was alone in this attraction.

  Straightening, she reached for the towel again and wiped her face. “There’s always heat in a healing. But this chemistry between us makes it difficult to distinguish between the healing heat and sexual heat.” She paused, locked her gaze on his face, and raised her eyebrows. “It’s rather silly to pretend that there’s nothing simmering between us. We both know it’s there.”

  The words came out as a challenge, which she hadn’t intended. Still, she awaited his response with curiosity. Something slid across his face, something hard and hungry, but it was gone almost instantly. He lowered his elbows back down to the couch. His shoulders followed, and when he was lying flat again, he draped his right forearm across his eyes.

  “Yeah…” His voice trailed off. His flat, uninterested voice.

  This time she couldn’t stop the quick glance to his crotch. His shorts looked like they’d ballooned another inch or so. He may not have responded verbally, but he’d definitely reacted physically to her admission.

  So who was skirting the issue now?

  Another wave of heat rolled through her, only this time a good dose of irritation threaded through the lust. The irritation escalated as the dampness and swelling between her legs increased.

  The tingles skating up and down her spine and into the nape of her neck didn’t help.

  She wanted him, wanted to feel that hot hard weight of him against her, inside of her. She’d wanted him for years. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted another man.

  And she was tired of him pretending she was the only one feeling this way.

  He wanted her too. They both knew it. It was time he admitted it. Out loud, to her face.

  And she knew just how to drag that admission out of him.

  Cosky closed his eyes, his muscles rigid beneath her touch, trying to banish the memory of the heated glow suffusing her face as she’d admitted to the attraction she felt for him. He shouldn’t have pushed her but, damn it, he’d expected the subtle challenge to warn her off, back them both off, set them squarely on the moral high ground.

  He sure as hell hadn’t expected her to grab hold of his innuendo and lob it directly at him.

  As soon as her hands started up again, gliding over his knee with that slow
circular sliding rhythm, he raised his arm slightly and stared at her. The folded towel lifted his head just enough to afford him a perfect view of her face. Her rosy, perspiring face.

  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, which drew his attention to her lush mouth. His belly tightened beneath a surge of rampant hunger. There was a hint of a dip in the middle of that ripe bottom lip. His mouth watered. What would it feel like beneath his tongue? What would it taste like?

  What did she taste like?

  Oranges? Had that citrusy scent permeated her skin?

  His balls tightened at the question. And his cock throbbed like an abscessed tooth.

  He tried to drag his eyes away, but they refused to budge; which was bad news when she suddenly shot him a flirty little look out of the corner of her eye. It was the kind of look a woman gave a man when she had him squarely in her crosshairs.

  Or when she knew she was in his crosshairs.

  It was the last look he wanted to see coming from her. Particularly now, while he was lying all but naked and fully aroused beneath her hands.

  Jesus, he was in trouble. Big trouble.

  A groan tried to escape his throat. He swallowed it and forced his arm back down and across his traitorous eyes. In the darkness that fell as his eyes closed, her hot, strong hands abandoned his knee and began a teasing, erotic glide up his thigh.

  Every stroke, every teasing caress, brought them closer to his shorts and the storm taking place beneath them.

  There was pure seduction in her hands, in their purposeful climb up his leg.

  He wanted to be wrong about that. He was too damn close as it was to dragging her down to his mouth, rolling over, and driving into her like a rabid animal. It was hard enough keeping his own impulses in check, let alone hers.

  Her fingers teased the hem of his shorts and hung there, a silent invitation.

  He choked on another groan, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes.

  She was watching him steadily, her face rosy with heat. A silent invitation in her eyes.