WILD MEN OF ALASKA

chapter FOUR

Gemma’s eyelids closed and then blinked open. It was two in the morning. The television was playing a marathon of Star Trek: The Next Generation at top volume. She’d turned the heat down, and the inside temperature of her house was currently sixty-five degrees. She was freezing and tired, and almost to the point where she didn’t care anymore if her Dreamweaver visited.

At least he’d keep her warm.

She had to be careful that the temperature in the house didn’t drop enough that her water pipes were in danger. That was taking this astral stuff too far.

Who was she kidding? It had already gone too far. She’d let a bunch of people scare her with nonsense. This was ridiculous. Dreamweavers didn’t exist. There was no real proof. But then if spirits were sexually enslaving souls, would there be proof?

Probably just a lot of sexually satisfied women who didn’t give a flip if they were enslaved.

That’s it. She had to work tomorrow. Enough was enough.

She readied for bed, washing her face, brushing her teeth, and donning a UAF sweatshirt, knee socks, and drawstring sweats that she double knotted around her waist.

There, let’s see if an astral spirit can untie knots.

After adjusting the thermostat to a more comfortable level, she headed to bed.

Before slipping under the covers, she glanced out the window and caught her breath.

The snow glistened with neon greens, electric blues, and hints of violet reflected from an unearthly sky as wave after wave danced across the firmament.

Maybe she should make another pot of coffee.

No. This was crazy. The Northern Lights did look otherworldly. Magical even, chilling with their dramatic display. She’d seen it all before. Though the last few weeks had been the most impressive of her twenty-five years. Still, enough. Sleep called. She was probably too exhausted to engage in anything anyway, even if her dream lover did visit.

And if he did, it was about time she learned the guy’s name.

Finally.

Lucky watched as Gemma adjusted the covers under her chin. He’d been here all night, actually been able to follow her throughout most of her day with the powerful solar flares from the sun storm.

The need to get close to her, smell that combination of sweet-spiciness laced with hints of dark coffee, was making him crazy. He’d seen her guzzle back cup after cup and was hungry to see how she’d taste.

“Come on, Gemma. Go to sleep.” The sooner she entered the REM cycle, the sooner he could take a sample and find out.

Suddenly she sat up in bed and looked around. Her wide and searching eyes were the color of an arctic night with sparks of emeralds and sapphires shining within their depths.

He froze on instinct even though he knew she couldn’t see him. But had she heard him? That was the first time he’d spoken out loud today.

“Gemma?”

“Who’s there?”

Holy shit!

Gemma scrambled out of bed, grabbing the heavy book on the side table. The light clicked on, and he almost laughed at the sight. She looked like a stirred up polar bear wearing all those layers.

He’d gotten her naked before. He had no doubt he would again. But maybe he ought to keep his mouth shut. A spooked woman was not a relaxed one. And he needed her relaxed.

Gemma searched the room, peeking around the closet door and then checking the bathroom. She exchanged the book for a hockey stick that she had standing guard in the corner and headed for the rest of the house.

Great. She wasn’t going to sleep any time soon if she was scared off her ass.

He always was his own worst enemy.

Lucky admired Gemma from behind as she methodically searched each room in the small clapboard house, double-checked that all the doors and windows were locked and then headed back to bed, grumbling under her breath, “I am not going crazy.”

He stifled a chuckle. The woman was delightful. Cute, yet sexy in that ruffled up kitten sort of way. The kind he wanted to cuddle with but knew at any moment the claws might come out. He kept silent this time as she snuggled back into bed. She left the bathroom light on, and it gave a soft glow into the bedroom, bathing the bed with a copper cast, highlighting her skin and hair with gold dust.

He’d always been attracted to shiny things.

She expressed a loud sigh and settled deeper under the covers. He advanced onto the bed, freezing again when her head came up, and she swept the room.

“Too much caffeine,” she muttered. “There is nobody here.” But as though to make sure, she took the adjacent pillow and laid it lengthwise, right over him. His non-corporeal body took the smothering of the pillow and rose above it.

He didn’t dare breathe—didn’t really matter if he did or not, but he liked going through the motions—for fear that she’d sense more of him. How was she picking up on his presence?

Did it have something to do with the Northern Lights or were these visits actually creating a connection?

God, he hoped it was the latter.

He needed her. Not just spiritually. She was his ticket back to the physical.

Gemma drifted in that place where she wasn’t completely asleep yet couldn’t fully wake up.

He was here.

She could feel him...breathe?

Spirits didn’t breathe. But then he was more than a spirit. He was a Dreamweaver come to weave an enchanting spell over her, enslave her into giving up her soul so that he could take over her body. She’d read a little more today after everyone had made such a big deal, and now she didn’t know what to believe. Just knew she wanted to curl into him.

He smelled like fresh mountain breezes with undertones of earth and pine.

Heavenly.

She mentally giggled at the thought. Of course he smelled heavenly. Wasn’t that where he was from?

But what if he was from that other place? The one she dared not mention in case she invited a darker element into her life. One otherworldly spirit was enough.

Could she be a spirit magnet?

Her mother had raised her on a steady diet of natural organic foods, and homegrown herbs and berries with enough supplements to ensure she lived forever. It was a hard habit to break. Her first fast food hamburger and fries had been at the age of fourteen, and she’d promptly thrown it up. She was pretty healthy without a lot of toxic chemicals, though like most women, she had an addiction to chocolate. Pilates was her exercise of choice, and weather permitting, she took full advantage of all the outside activities living in Alaska provided.

Yeah, her system probably was real attractive to the body impaired.

“It isn’t your body that attracts me,” a husky whisper said before lips nibbled the side of her neck. “At least, not just your body, which is smoking.”

Funny, wouldn’t a dream lover say all the right things? He’d kind of stumbled over that.

She needed to make him go, but instead found herself arching her neck to give him better access. If she could only open her eyes, he’d disappear. But her eyelids were so heavy. She reached up her hand and laid it on his cheek.

Her fingers dived into the softest, silkiest hair. She had a picture of sun-bleached wavy strains left too long without a trim.

This was different. More interactive.

He groaned. The sound vibrated throughout her like a plucked guitar string. “Yes, touch me,” he said. “It’s been so long since someone has touched me.”

She could feel him, hear him. He was more than just a sensation this time. “How is this possible?”

“Don’t question. Just do.”

“Who are you?” Please don’t say Dreamweaver.

“Lucky.”

What did that mean?

His hand, large and calloused cupped her bare breast and her nipple pebbled, stealing her breath. How was he doing this? And was she naked again?

“Yes.” There was a smile in his voice as he switched attention from one nipple to the other.

“Okay, how?” Did she really even care as his clear expertise in seduction ratcheted up her need for him?

“That’s a loaded question, Gemma.” His lips traveled lower over her collarbone.

“I need some answers.” Boy, did she ever. And quickly, before her mind gave up and let her body embrace the sensations he enticed her with.

“I know. But could we just...enjoy each other first?”

He did have a point. A very impressive point.

“Why thank you.”

“Are you reading my mind?”

“Sorry, bad habit I’ve recently gotten into.” His lips traveled to her breasts, and one rogue hand ventured lower. Much lower. Any articulate thought evaporated.

He gave a husky laugh. “Good to know.”

He went to church, worshipping, lavishing her nipples while his fingers teased and tormented until everything inside her melted with wanting. Why was he doing this to her?

“Because you’re the one.”

“The one what?” She needed to stay coherent, present, and not drift with him.

“Not what. Who. You and I were meant for each other, Gemma.”

“How do you mean?” A shiver of unease intruded.

“You were my future.”

“What do you mean ‘were’?”

“We are destined, Gemma.” His mouth traveled lower, and she started to see stars.

“Wait...what?”

“Do you really want me to stop and explain?”

Nooo. Yes.

She didn’t know what she wanted. She wanted him. Wanted to be filled, consumed, and thoroughly loved by him.

“I’m here willing to do it all, babe.”

Babe?

“Gemma,” he rushed to cover.

Had that been a slip? Most men called women ‘babe’ as a cover because they couldn’t remember the woman’s name. “How many other women do you visit?”

“There is only you.” There was a long pause. “But to be honest, there have been many. Before.”

“Before what?”

“Before I...died.”