Wild Men of Alaska Collection - By Helmer, Tiffinie Page 0,95
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 thanks. God was in nature. And Lucky had shown his appreciation in all the things that God had created. Including many women, and a few too many beers.
It hadn’t even been his fault he’d been killed. At least the killer hadn’t been after him, just using him as tool of vengeance against Tern. Boy, had that worked. He’d had his head so far up his ass he hadn’t seen that knife before it was too late. But the knife that had ended his life hadn’t hurt nearly as much as the blade of truth slicing through him now.
The muscles in his arms burned and bunched as he struggled to free climb, searching for tiny edges and footholds in his ascent to the top.
He couldn’t ask Gemma to be his. It was unfair to her. His life was over, hers still in progress. She had a chance to find happiness. Be with a man who could hold her, love her, give her children. Be with her the way a man and a woman were supposed to be together. Not in the spirit of the sense. How could he provide like a man should provide for the woman he loved? It wasn’t as if a spirit, ghost—or hell—Dreamweaver could get a fucking job.
By all appearances, Gemma would be alone for the rest of her life if she choose to share her life with him. She had Siri and Rosie and many friends, including Tern, but they would pass on or moved on with their lives and she would have no one tangible.
It was the ultimate act of selfishness to ask of her.