Wild Men of Alaska 03 - Dreamweaver

them. Gemma—”
    He couldn’t make sense of them? Try having them. “I think it’s best if you go now. I need some time. This is . . . too much. I can’t make sense of anything.”
    “You’re thinking too hard.”
    “Of course I’m thinking too hard. How do I not? I’m falling in love with a dead man, my mother is off her meds, and I’m beginning to think I need to get on some.” She pressed her palms against her temples where her head pounded. She hadn’t eaten and now couldn’t as her stomach bubbled with anxiety.
    “You’re falling in love with me?”
    “That’s what you picked out from all of that?” The question coming out a bit hysterical. “Not the being dead part, my mother nuttier than a granola bar and me following in her footsteps? None of that concerns you at all?”
    “Are we about to have our first fight?”
    “Holy balls! You would think dying would have gained you some insight.”
    “I really like how your skin flushes when you’re angry,” his voice rumbled with arousal.
    “Are you freaking kidding me?”
    “No. You skin does that same thing when I—”
    “Okay, enough. Let me tell you something, yelling in my kitchen, by all accounts appearing to be alone, to a spirit who is turned on by it is not an attraction for me.” She suddenly felt Lucky behind her, his hands massaging her shoulders.
    “Close your eyes. I can make you forget everyone and everything.” His voice purred into her ear, making her want to give in. For a moment she did, closing her eyes and leaning into his body, her blood quickening at his obvious arousal. She wanted to turn and bury her head in his shoulder, grip his backside in her hands and pull her to him. Strip him of his clothes—did he even wear clothes?—at least, strip hers and then ride him until she thought of nothing.
    He gave a painful groan, his hands leaving her shoulders to grab her hips, holding her tight against him. “Yesss,” he hissed.
    All it would take is the relaxation of her body against his. One thought and she knew he’d have her naked and writhing on her kitchen floor. Did she want that?
    “God, please say yes, Gemma.” His lips trailed down her neck, his teeth grazing her shoulder.
    “I can’t.” The words were torn from her. She so badly wanted to lose herself in him. “Lucky, I can’t make a decision like this when I’m this sleep deprived.”
    She felt his need to push and was surprised when he took a slight step away from her. His hands shook where they still held her hips, but he was no longer pressed against her. Part of her breathed easier, but the other part mourned the promise of his body next to hers.
    “Rest, Gemma,” he said. Though she clearly heard the implied, “ You’ll need it for next time. ”

Chapter Fifteen

    Gemma tossed and punched her pillow. She glared at the digital clock on her bedside table as the minute turned from 1:59 to 2:00 am. How could she not sleep? She hadn’t slept more than a few fitful hours in weeks. What the hell? She was alone. Utterly and completely alone. She’d tried a hot shower, needing it after the jail stopover.
    Her mind ran circles around her problems, never settling on a course of viable action. Maybe she should talk to someone? Who? A therapist? Right . What she needed was a freaking sleeping pill.
    And Siri had given her some.
    Gemma jumped out of bed and raced into the kitchen. Where had she put them? Her purse produced nothing, but the pocket of her coat proved helpful. There was the small plastic baggie with a dozen or so small white sleeping pills.
    Had Siri said how many to take? One, two, four? Obviously not four. Geez. Maybe not even two. She could Google the information if the pills had a name on them. But there was only a number etched into the face of the pills. Should she call Siri and ask? No, it was way too late to call anyone. Besides, she shouldn’t even be entertaining the idea of taking medication her mother recommended.
    Obviously, she was way past doing anything reasonable.
    She needed sleep, and she was going to get some even if it killed her. Okay, probably not the best thought to have. She’d take one pill. If that didn’t work within a reasonable time frame she’d take another. An hour should be good.
    Fishing one of the little white pills out of the baggie, Gemma swallowed it whole without water. She stood there waiting, for what she didn’t have a clue. A magical stirring of melatonin that promised sweet