Wild Men of Alaska 04 - Wild Men of Alaska - Four Book Bundle

eyes on them, especially the ones boring into her back from Tern. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. He had come to see her. She owned a business. People came and saw her every day. Bought books, coffee, sometimes just popped in to say hi.
    “Hi,” she responded. “Everything okay?”
    “Yeah.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I, uh, wanted to bring you these, and let you know—”
    Here it came. He was here to break off their date. Relief and regret warred inside her.
    “—how much I’m looking forward to our date tomorrow.” Cub held out the flowers to her. “I was passing by Forget-Me-Not and saw these.” He shrugged self-consciously. “And, well, I thought of you.”
    Oooh. She slowly took the flowers. A swirl of cold air twisted around her.
    Her movements froze, and her heart raced.
    Lucky?
    She glanced to the side to see if she could pick up any details in her peripheral vision. Nothing. No mirage, no vague outline. Lucky hadn’t answered her mental question either. Was she just imagining him here?
    The bell on the door rang as it closed behind a few café customers. Well, that explained the draft.
    “I hope you like roses.” Cub stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “I know most women do. They smell nice but are kind of clichéd these days, aren’t they. The flower shop didn’t have a good selection. These were the best of the lot, and I’m talking too much.”
    Gemma laughed, pushing aside all the crazy things floating around in her head. “Cub, I love them.” She took the flowers and buried her nose in the center of the bouquet. They smelled sweet and spicy, and while they wouldn’t live long, she’d enjoy them while they did. “Let me put these in some water. Oh, thank you, Callista.” She took the vase of water from Callista—ignoring the knowing twinkle in her eyes—and arranged the flowers on the desk. They were a promise of spring, brightening up the dry, always dusty, bookstore. She smiled for real this time. “Thank you, Cub. They’re beautiful.”
    He seemed to blush, and dipped his head in a slight bow of acknowledgment. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Then he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll be thinking of you until then,” he whispered.
    Nice move. The skin on her cheek tingled, and she badly wanted to cover the spot with her hand.
    Tern sidled up next to her, her arms folded across her chest as the two of them admired Cub’s confident stride as he exited the bookstore. “You are in so much trouble,” she murmured.
    Yes, she was.

    Lucky slammed into Limbo. The thread he’d chased to Gemma flung him back like a broken rubber band.
    He lay there breathing heavy, his body stinging as his soul absorbed the abrupt shift from one plane to the next. A few moments passed while the pearlescent clouds drifted lazily over his head.
    Why the hell couldn’t it rain? He wanted thunderstorms, lightning. A goddamn squall.
    Seeing Gemma with Cub, taking his flowers, letting him kiss her had torn his heart out of his chest. Lucky hadn’t missed the slight flush to her skin as Cub’s lips had grazed her cheek.
    He leapt to his feet and ran for the rocky cliffs. The facts of his existence pursued him like arrows.
    He hadn’t done anything that bad in his previous life other than his part in Hansen’s death, though Hansen didn’t seem to hold any grievances toward Lucky. It had been a tragic accident when they’d been climbing the north face of Mont Blanc and the rope snapped. Lucky had blamed himself for a long time. After all, he’d been the one who’d checked the gear. He should have seen that the rope had been compromised. But being here with Hansen had reassured him that it had been just that, an accident. A byproduct of living life on the edge.
    He started to free climb his way up the sheer rock face of granite that he’d tackled many times before. He raced, not being careful of his handholds, until he’d slid down the cliff one too many times. Even though he didn’t have a body to bleed, his soul ripped and burned with each cut of the rock. He needed that now. Needed the physical pain, or as close to it as he could come, to dim the bleeding of his heart.
    Oh, God in Heaven, why was he being tortured this way?
    He’d spent his life working hard and playing harder. Hell, he’d turned play into his livelihood. While he hadn’t gone to church as often as he should—believing that God didn’t exist in a building—he’d given