Wild Men of Alaska 03 - Dreamweaver

and had a corporeal body. And he wasn’t hard to look at either.
    Suddenly she was glad that she hadn’t pushed off tonight since she was so tired. She was also glad she’d downed that Rock Star.
    ***
    Lucky didn’t feel lucky at all. He’d been talking all damn day, but Gemma, by all accounts, hadn’t heard a peep from him. Similar to the day before, he’d been able to follow her around feeling like an attention-starved puppy, his heart weeping at seeing Tern. Hell, how he’d missed her too.
    He missed everything.
    He’d mentally salivated watching Gemma partake of each bite of cinnamon roll from the Bun on the Run. He wished there was some way he could experience what she smelled, tasted, felt. Definitely what she felt. How she felt.
    Touching her while she dreamt was thrilling, amazing. Sensual on a level that he hadn’t been with a woman before—no shit—but he still missed that human contact. The pressing together of warm flesh, the thrusting of groins, entering the heat of a woman. Entering Gemma.
    Holy hell, did he want to enter Gemma.
    Should he be saying holy hell? All right, holy heaven. There, that felt somewhat better. Or more appropriate. Listening to Tern and Gemma discussing all the implications of him visiting from another plane, kind of freaked him out too. They didn’t understand that he wasn’t out to harm Gemma. He wanted to give her pleasure. But that wasn’t his only motivation. If one thing death had taught him, it didn’t do any good to lie to one’s self.
    Was this a particular hell he’d been sent to because of the free-living lifestyle he’d engaged in while alive?
    Too may questions.
    For now, he’d learn more about Gemma. Knowledge was power. He was beginning to realize she was his soul mate. She was beautiful, smart, adventurous, and fit. So physically fit.
    But who the hell was this guy she was with?
    Lucky didn’t like the way she looked at him, staring too long when he tore off his shirt and revealed muscles that even made his mouth drop open.
    Gemma stripped down to her a sunset-orange bikini. Where the hell was her life jacket? Those perfect breasts, which had left Cub speechless, too, needed to be covered up and buckled down.
    Cub sidled up to Gemma, and on instinct, Lucky tried to push him aside. He went flying through the man, didn’t even cause the guy’s perfect hair to stir.
    This was no good. He was losing steps that he’d gained. Just the other day, he’d been able to flutter a piece of paper.
    “Here, let me help you,” Cub said, wrapping his hand around Gemma’s upper arm, his fingers way too close to the sides of her breast that the tiny scraps of material barely covered. Damn the man, he brushed the exposed globe of goodness with a slight caress of his index finger. Lucky couldn’t really fault him, but how he wanted to gut him on the tiled surface of the pool for touching his woman.
    Yeah, this was hell.
    He didn’t like seeing another man’s hand on his Gemma. He’d never been the jealous sort. Back to that free-living lifestyle. And he didn’t like feeling this way at all.
    It was cruel. Torture. He wanted to return to his spirit prison. That would be better than watching Gemma enjoy another man’s touch. He didn’t miss the goose bumps or the becoming blush of her skin at Cub’s smooth maneuver.
    Gemma climbed into the kayak, and with a push from Cub, slid into the water of the pool. Lucky watched with awe at her form as she paddled across the water, getting to the deep end and rolling the kayak. Wow, the woman was skillful. What else did she like to do? So far, he’d mainly been concerned with how she liked to be touched. Did that make him some sort of ass? Or pervert?
    Of course it did.
    Cub slid his kayak into the water and quickly caught up to Gemma with a few powerful strokes. Now Lucky was in awe of the power the man possessed just in his shoulders. He missed pitting himself against what nature had to offer. Granted there wasn’t a lot of nature here in the Hamme Pool, but it wasn’t a stretch to see how both Gemma and Cub would perform in the outdoors paddling down the world class rapids of the Nenana River.
    A lump formed in his chest and spread throughout his soul. This wasn’t fair. If you were dead you shouldn’t be able to hurt like this.
    ***
    “What would you like to drink?” Gemma asked, as she let herself into her house. Cub had followed her home after two hours of cavorting about in the pool. “I don’t