Wild Men of Alaska 03 - Dreamweaver

over the edge into bliss.
    But tonight she was awake.
    She felt the bookshelves dig into her back, the tight band around her upper thighs as he held her still, positioning her perfectly for the rubbing of his engorged erection through the constraints of her clothing. The need to have him deep within her, now, caused her ears to ring.
    The impatient peal of the phone rang throughout the store, clashing with Fleetwood Mac’s “Rhiannon.”
    “Ignore it,” Lucky murmured, his tongue doing amazing things to her breasts. She hadn’t even realized he’d gotten her sweater off and the front closure of her bra undone.
    “Please,” she whispered but didn’t know if the plea was for him to stop so she could silence the blasted phone or to keep going so she could finally climb that peak he’d been driving her toward since that first dream visit.
    His rough hand cupped her breast, holding her prisoner as his tongue lavished her erect nipple. The phone went silent, and she gave a groan of relief that quickly turned to a sound of pleasure as he took her nipple into his mouth. Her inner muscles contracted as he sucked, nipped, and licked. She might be able to clamber over the crest just on the attention he showed her breasts.
    But she wanted more. She wanted all.
    The phone pealed again, seeming angrier than the last time if that were possible. Who was she kidding? She was having the most intense make out session with a corporeal impaired being. Of course phones could ring with emotion.
    “Holy balls, you’ve got to be kidding,” she said. The damn thing was not going to shut up.
    “I’ve never had a woman refer to my balls in a religious context before. I like it,” Lucky said, humor in his voice.
    She choked on a laugh, but sobered when she opened her eyes and caught the definite outline of the man in front of her. Her breath caught. “Don’t move.”
    “What’s wrong? Besides the phone.”
    “I can almost see you,” she whispered.
    “What?”
    While his image wasn’t fleshed out, she could see where he was, like a mirage in a desert. He was there and yet he wasn’t.
    The phone started up again. It obviously wasn’t a customer wanting a book put on hold. “I’d better get that.”
    “I’m not letting you go.” Next thing she knew he’d carried her to the information desk in the middle of the store so that she could reach the phone. She didn’t take her eyes off Lucky, afraid if she did, his image would dissolve. Blindly, she reached behind her for the receiver.
    “Chinook Books,” she answered breathlessly.
    “Oh, thank goodness I reached you,” Rosie said. “Siri’s been arrested.”

Chapter Thirteen

    Gemma drove to the police station mad at herself for being so dang distracted that she hadn’t realized what day it was and how her mother would celebrate the spring equinox. Siri had, no doubt, demonstrated some pagan ritual naked.
    How many times had she bailed out her mother?
    Rosie had apologized profusely for not watching Siri closely enough. The clever, conniving woman had begged off dinner, saying she was feeling poorly and needed some sleep. Rosie had bought it and got lost in her favorite BBC TV series.
    That’s all it took. A few minutes and Siri was gone, stripping down to her birthday suit in the middle of the Bentley Mall. At least she was inside and not baring all outside in cold enough temperatures sure to cause frostbite.
    Gemma pulled into the Troopers Station off Peger Road. “Lucky?”
    “I’m right here,” he said in the seat next to her.
    She didn’t know if she should feel relieved or more stressed that he’d insisted riding shotgun. The fabric of her life seemed to be unraveling thread by thread.
    “It will be all right, Gemma.” He took her hand in his and squeezed before releasing her.
    She took a deep breath and stepped out of the car. The brisk air helped to clear her head. As she reached to open the door to the building, it swung open presumably by itself.
    “Maybe you should stay in the car,” Gemma said.
    “There is no need for you to handle this alone.”
    “I have many times before,” she muttered under her breath. “If you’re going in there with me, no more opening doors. We’re talking Alaska State Troopers here. They’re a suspicious lot, and magically swinging doors are going to produce some questions.”
    “Got it.”
    Gemma managed the second door in the Arctic entryway and walked up to the desk where a young trooper who looked to be