Wild Men of Alaska 03 - Dreamweaver

she believed.
    Gemma bent to retrieve the books she’d dropped and found them missing. She swiveled and discovered the books stacked on the shelf where she’d meant to display them. “Did you do that?”
    “It was my fault for scaring you. Helping you clean up is the least I could do.”
    Yeah, but unnerving as hell. She shook off the shiver. She hadn’t even seen the books move. Explained how he could so easily get her undressed.
    “Definitely a perk.”
    “Hey.”
    “Sorry. I can’t help it. Just like I can’t help this.”
    He tucked strains of hair behind her ear that had fallen out of her clip, and she swore he nuzzled the side of her neck.
    Her heart skipped. Now don’t get excited , she tried to chide herself. She was supposed to be downplaying her attraction to Lucky not building on it. After all, there was only so far this—whatever it was—could go.
    A wave of sadness enveloped her, and she suddenly felt lonely. She’d never been one to feel alone. It was more than melancholy she felt. It was desolate isolation with the promise of eternity. Could she be picking up on Lucky’s feelings?
    “Now that is interesting,” Lucky murmured. “I’m not up on all the rules. Rules have never been my thing.” She imagined him shrugging. “But somehow I must be transferring my feelings to you.”
    Her knees wobbled. She might need to sit down for this. Instead of falling into a horizontal position that her body so badly craved, she returned to the customer service desk for the other stack of books awaiting her attention. She felt him shadow her. What she wouldn’t give to see him. There was another wave of understanding that she interpreted as him wanting the same thing.
    She grabbed a pile of “Hot New Romances” and carried them to the endcap in the romance section. She placed the books in the already set up Plexiglas holders and then looked them over to make sure the display seemed balanced. She turned to get the next pile of books to fill in and found them floating in the air.
    She froze.
    “Did I freak you out again?” Lucky asked, the stack of books lifting as though he were offering them to her. “I’d just like to help.”
    “Don’t move,” she whispered. With him holding the books, she knew exactly where he was. What if she put something on him? “Seriously, stay right here and don’t move.” One last look to make sure the books were still suspended in mid-air, she ran for the café and grabbed one of the clean aprons Amie had hanging in the kitchen. She rushed back to find the books floating where she’d left them with Lucky presumably still holding them.
    “What are you doing with the apron?” There was a distinct frown in his voice.
    “I want you to wear it.”
    “Not very manly. How about you wear the apron and nothing under it?” Though she couldn’t see his eyebrows waggling, she’d bet good money by his tone they were.
    “You’re such a man.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Now put on the apron.”
    “If I have to wear that thing, the least you can do is put it on me yourself.”
    The challenge lay between them. A challenge she didn’t have any problem accepting.
    “Divide the books in both hands,” she ordered, fascinated as the stack of six books suddenly became a pair of three, each held about four feet apart. She reached up and felt solid shoulders under her hands.
    Lucky moaned. “You’re hands are so warm.”
    “Shh.” If he kept talking like that her willpower would dissolve like sugar in a sea of water. The books moved closer to her as though he intended to hold her. “Nuh-uh. Keep the books in your hands. And no dropping them. Enough merchandise has been bruised tonight already.”
    She looped the apron over his head a little astonished when it stayed. Next, she stepped closer and brought the ties around to knot behind his back. If she closed her eyes, it was like wrapping her arms around a flesh and blood man.
    He was here. He was real.
    Yet, he wasn’t.
    Lucky groaned as though in pain. “Do you have any idea how good you smell and how badly I want to hold you?”
    “Stop that,” she said, though her voice held no conviction. She swallowed hard and stepped back. In front of her was a floating dark green apron with hovering romance novels on each side. She shook her head. “Stay put. I have another idea.”
    She ran to the office, hurrying back wi th her wool scarf and knit hat.
    “Purple really isn’t my color,” Lucky said. “Besides the