Wild Men of Alaska 03 - Dreamweaver

more than a spirit. He was a Dreamweaver come to weave an enchanting spell over her, enslave her into giving up her soul so that he could take over her body. She’d read a little more today after everyone had made such a big deal, and now she didn’t know what to believe. Just knew she wanted to curl into him.
    He smelled like fresh mountain breezes with undertones of earth and pine.
    Heavenly.
    She mentally giggled at the thought. Of course he smelled heavenly. Wasn’t that where he was from?
    But what if he was from that other place? The one she dared not mention in case she invited a darker element into her life. One otherworldly spirit was enough.
    Could she be a spirit magnet?
    Her mother had raised her on a steady diet of natural organic foods, and homegrown herbs and berries with enough supplements to ensure she lived forever. It was a hard habit to break. Her first fast food hamburger and fries had been at the age of fourteen, and she’d promptly thrown it up. She was pretty healthy without a lot of toxic chemicals, though like most women, she had an addiction to chocolate. Pilates was her exercise of choice, and weather permitting, she took full advantage of all the outside activities living in Alaska provided.
    Yeah, her system probably was real attractive to the body impaired.
    “It isn’t your body that attracts me,” a husky whisper said before lips nibbled the side of her neck. “At least, not just your body, which is smoking.”
    Funny, wouldn’t a dream lover say all the right things? He’d kind of stumbled over that.
    She needed to make him go, but instead found herself arching her neck to give him better access. If she could only open her eyes, he’d disappear. But her eyelids were so heavy. She reached up her hand and laid it on his cheek.
    Her fingers dived into the softest, silkiest hair. She had a picture of sun-bleached wavy strains left too long without a trim.
    This was different. More interactive.
    He groaned. The sound vibrated throughout her like a plucked guitar string. “Yes, touch me,” he said. “It’s been so long since someone has touched me.”
    She could feel him, hear him. He was more than just a sensation this time. “How is this possible?”
    “Don’t question. Just do.”
    “Who are you?” Please don’t say Dreamweaver .
    “Lucky.”
    What did that mean?
    His hand, large and calloused cupped her bare breast and her nipple pebbled, stealing her breath. How was he doing this? And was she naked again?
    “Yes.” There was a smile in his voice as he switched attention from one nipple to the other.
    “Okay, how?” Did she really even care as his clear expertise in seduction ratcheted up her need for him?
    “That’s a loaded question, Gemma.” His lips traveled lower over her collarbone.
    “I need some answers.” Boy, did she ever. And quickly, before her mind gave up and let her body embrace the sensations he enticed her with.
    “I know. But could we just... enjoy each other first?”
    He did have a point. A very impressive point.
    “Why thank you.”
    “Are you reading my mind?”
    “Sorry, bad habit I’ve recently gotten into.” His lips traveled to her breasts, and one rogue hand ventured lower. Much lower. Any articulate thought evaporated.
    He gave a husky laugh. “Good to know.”
    He went to church, worshipping, lavishing her nipples while his fingers teased and tormented until everything inside her melted with wanting. Why was he doing this to her?
    “Because you’re the one.”
    “The one what?” She needed to stay coherent, present, and not drift with him.
    “Not what. Who. You and I were meant for each other, Gemma.”
    “How do you mean?” A shiver of unease intruded.
    “You were my future.”
    “What do you mean ‘were’?”
    “We are destined, Gemma.” His mouth traveled lower, and she started to see stars.
    “Wait ... what?”
    “Do you really want me to stop and explain?”
    Nooo. Yes.
    She didn’t know what she wanted. She wanted him. Wanted to be filled, consumed, and thoroughly loved by him.
    “I’m here willing to do it all, babe.”
    Babe?
    “Gemma,” he rushed to cover.
    Had that been a slip? Most men called women ‘babe’ as a cover because they couldn’t remember the woman’s name. “How many other women do you visit?”
    “There is only you.” There was a long pause. “But to be honest, there have been many. Before.”
    “Before what?”
    “Before I... died.”

Chapter Five

    Gemma rushed to