Wild Men of Alaska 03 - Dreamweaver

I’ll pick you up at your place at seven.”
    “How about I meet you?”
    “Actually, I’d really like to pick you up. You know, like a real date.”
    Amie’s smile was ear to ear now. But if Cub picked her up, that meant he’d be dropping her off at home too. It could mean another kiss, maybe more. She suddenly needed to hold the cup of ice to her face.
    “All right. Seven then. Dinner,” she clarified if not for him, for herself.
    “Great.” Cub paused and then leaned in and kissed her cheek. “See you Saturday.”
    She watched him saunter out of the café and into the blustery outdoors.
    “Wow, can that man wear a pair of jeans,” Amie whispered in awe.
    Yep, he sure could.
    Gemma took a long drink of the ice water.
    Callista joined them. Her waist-length, flaxen hair lay in a braid down her back. Little silver-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose that Gemma knew she only wore to help downplay her stunning looks and make her appear smarter. She wore gray slacks with a simple white blouse as another camouflage of sorts. “Are you seeing Cub Iverson?”
    “Uh ... kinda. Maybe?” They were just friends, really. But there was a date planned, and they’d shared a kiss, but wasn’t she seeing . . .
    No. She wasn’t in a relationship with Lucky Leroy Morgan. You couldn’t be in a relationship with a dead person. Unless he was a vampire.
    Oh, balls. She needed some sleep.
    One thing she did fully comprehend in her sleep-deprived state, Cub was very much alive.
    “She has a date with him S unday night,” Amie shared, leaning over the counter. At least she hadn’t said it loud enough for the all café guests to hear.
    “I’m so glad. I was heart-sickened to hear about his wife.”
    “Wife!” Gemma and Amie said together.
    A few eyes turned their direction.
    “I thought you knew?” Callista stepped in closer. She continued when both Gemma and Amie shook their heads. “Cub lost his wife a year or so ago. I’m so relieved to see him moving on. He was depressed a long time after he lost her. They were high school sweethearts and were married right after graduation.”
    “How’d she die?” Gemma asked, words suddenly hard to speak and n ot because of her burnt tongue.
    “Breast cancer.”
    “Oh, no. That’s awful,” Amie said.
    Gemma had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, and it had nothing to do with how much coffee she’d drunk today. “Callista, what book did he buy?”
    “Uh ... ‘Your First Time: A Guide to Loving After the Death of a Spouse.’”

Chapter Twelve

    “Are you really going out with him?”
    Gemma jumped, and the pile of Sci/Fi books in her arms scattered to the floor. She glanced around, even though she knew there was no one else in the store but her. Everyone had headed home for the night since the bookstore was currently closed. She should have done the same, but had prolonged her workday not wanting to face her empty house. Not with sleep beckoning and her seducer waiting for her to fall asleep. Was he tied to her or the house?
    “I’m tied to you, and going out with that other guy will really complicate things,” Lucky’s voice rumbled over her.
    “And you don’t think my life isn’t complicated already?” She was talking to dead guy. Basically a ghost, and since he’d shown up here didn’t that mean he was haunting her?
    “I’m not a ghost, and I’m not haunting you.”
    Holy balls, she forgot about that mind reading trick of his. “You have to stop doing that.” It was bad enough he knew so much about her, she didn’t want him inside her confused, messed up mind too. What woman would like the man she was attracted to knowing her every thought?
    “I love how you think. You’re refreshing and honest. Your thoughts are as beautiful as you are.”
    The man could seduce merely with words.
    He gave a chuckle that did crazy things to her insides. “You should see what I can do with my—”
    “Okay, stop.” She threw her hands up.
    “You say stop, but what you’d really like is for me to—”
    “No more reading my mind.”
    “It’s hard not to when you project so easily. You have such charming thoughts, Gemma.”
    Project? Did she have a part in this?
    “You’re like a beacon in a storm. A hot, fervent place promising shelter where I want to—”
    “Beacon or not, I don’t want you in my head.” It was tough enough being alone with her own thoughts.
    “I can’t promise. I’m not the most disciplined.”
    That,