Wild Men of Alaska 03 - Dreamweaver

Chapter One

    Gemma’s lips trembled apart on a moan of pleasure so intense her body shivered with it. Synapses fired behind eyes she dared not open for fear he’d leave her wanting again.
    Last time, he’d taken her right to the brink of release before disappearing, leaving her writhing with hunger. Not this time. This time he’d better take her all the way, damn it.
    Her body came alive under the tutelage of his skillful hands. The way he knew just how to caress her, tease, and torment, until she wept, t hreatened, and begged for more.
    Her hips arched off the bed, seeking, wishing to be filled, but once again he strung her out un til she was mindless with need.
    Oh, please, please. Quit dinking around and take me, already.
    He chuckled as though able to read her thoughts, while his hands breezed over her breasts, the heat of his mouth hovered over her nipple, until she sunk her teeth into her lower lip to keep in the whimper. Sensations flooded her, tightening her muscles, and her hands clenched the sheets beneath her as little cries escaped her bitten lips, betraying her.
    A growl of satisfaction vibrated from him, pouring into her body, pushing her closer to that delirious edge.
    The alarm blared in her ear, jerking her awake.
    “Nooo,” Gemma groaned. Her sound of distress battered around the empty bedroom. “Not again.” Would her dream man ever truly make love to her?
    She opened her eyes and found herself alone. Of course she was alone. He was just a dream, part of her imagination. Her very creative imagination.
    B ut he felt like more than that.
    For weeks now he’d been visiting, always in the deepest of night. That magical time where the world slept and passions awoke.
    She threw back the covers, the chill hitting her nakedness.
    What the—?
    She never slept naked.
    A quick glance around the room showed her flannel pajamas tossed to the floor, along with her pink polka dotted cotton underwear.
    Huh? She knew she’d crawled into bed last night fully clothed, including her hand-knitted woolen socks currently hanging off the top of the dresser. Her copy of The Three Musketeers lay face down, where she’d placed it before turning off the light. She’d given up on her love of romance books once the erotic dreams had started, not needing the added stimuli. She’d hoped reading the classics would settle down whatever the heck was going on with her subconscious mind while she slept.
    She grabbed a robe hanging over the back of a chair and slipped into the warm terrycloth. It was springtime in Alaska and just like Johnny Horton was famous for singing, it was currently forty below.
    No one in their right mind slept naked.
    And she was very worried that she wa s no longer in her right mind.
    ***
    He’d almost had her.
    Lucky Leroy Morgan fell back onto the sweet smelling grass, his hands fisted, his jaw clenched, and aching with sexual frustration down to the cellular level. No, that was no longer true.
    Not since he was dead and trapped in this fucking paradise.
    He roared up at the perfectly blue skies, his back arching, and his lungs emptying of pent up emotions, praying the sound reached farther up into the Heavens from where he was currently trapped.
    If he didn’t know bet ter, he’d think this was hell.
    She’d been so close. He’d literally brushed her soft skin this time. Smelled her, and she’d smelled like high mountain Himalayan Impatiens with hints of rich, dark coffee.
    What he wouldn’t give for a cup of coffee.
    He sat up, his hands tearing at the lush grass beneath him, and cam e to face to face with Hansen.
    “Failed again?”
    Nothing like stating the obvious. “Fuck, yes.”
    Hansen glanced around and lowered his voice, “Reverence, man.”
    “I don’t give a shit. I shouldn’t be here.”
    “You aren’t going anywhere with that attitude.”
    “Fuck you too.”
    “She got to you this time, didn’t she?” Hansen gave him that knowing smile. “You’re starting to care, to fall in love.” Nothing seemed to ruffle the calmness the man radiated. That used to impress him.
    Lucky Leroy Morgan came by the nickname “Lucky” naturally. He loved women. Not just one. Many. And caring this much about one woman freaked him out.
    “You’re running out of time,” Hansen said. “If you can’t get her to accept you before these strong solar storms are over, you’re stuck here, my friend.”
    “Like I don’t know that.” Lucky clawed his fingers through his shaggy,