Lord of Rage & Primal Instincts

by Jill Monroe

  The stiffening of Ian’s shoulders proved he’d caught on to the message she was sending through her gaze. What would he do now? Would he take her up on it?

  “Well, it probably beats speed dating,” Ian said after a downward glance at her lips before he returned his attention to the photo album. His brown eyes were tinged with desire.

  She racked her brain trying to find a reference, and failed. “What’s speed dating?”

  “You haven’t heard of it?” he asked, his voice incredulous.

  She shook her head.

  “Actually, it’s not much different than this tradition here, the men and women are lined up, but then the men move from woman to woman in a row, spending about five minutes with each. Then both the men and women mark on a card whether they want to see a particular person again. If both people mark yes, then the organizers will exchange their information.”

  “Wow. I can’t decide if that’s a really great idea or a really bad one. Sexual attraction does happen almost instantaneously.”

  “Internet dating is even worse.”

  “Internet dating?”

  Ian turned on the couch so that he faced her. “You haven’t heard of that, either?”

  For some reason, she was feeling almost defensive. “Most of my life has been spent out of the country.”

  “But you went to college.”

  “Sure, but my course work took me right back in the field mainly. I only lived one semester in the residence halls, but spent most of that time in the library.”

  “What about before that?”

  “With my mom and dad at sites.”

  “So, you’ve never been to a prom, never cruised, never hung out at the food court of the mall?”

  She shrugged. “What’s the big deal about that?”

  His breath came out in a huff, ruffling his hair. “You know so much about cultures all around the world, but you’re clueless about your own.”

  She blinked up at him in surprise. “I’m certainly no shy virgin. I’ve dated plenty.”

  “What, other students? That’s easy. I’m talking about meeting people. That’s hard. You’re going to be selling this book to people who have hung around the grocery store looking for others buying single-portion meals. I think you need to experience a little of their life to be able to write for them.”

  This sounded like another session of him debunking her theories. It also sounded very exciting. “Okay, I’m game. When do we start?”

  “Right now. Where’s your phone book?”

  “Under the cabinet by the phone. Why?”

  Ian shot off her couch and grabbed her Yellow Pages. He ran his finger along the page as he spoke. “Bricktown is a happening place. Surely there’s a— Found it.”

  “Found what?”

  “Club Escape. Ava Simms, you’re about to have your first experience in a singles’ bar.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MIRIAM USHERED JEREMY out of her office quickly. They’d almost made it to the bank of elevators when her assistant rushed toward her.

  “Thank God I caught you. It’s…your mother.”

  Miriam’s shoulders sagged. She closed her eyes briefly, dragging in a breath. Jeremy obviously sensed something because he took a step toward her, and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. The tip-off must have been the alarmed glances between her and Rich. Or more likely, her body’s natural bracing stance for the emotional combat sure to come.

  Whatever it was, she appreciated the gesture. His hand, warm and solid, actually felt comforting and well, nice.

  Rich cut a glance toward Jeremy, then back to her. “I could tell your mom you’ve already left for the day.”

  Like the former Mrs. Cole would believe that. When had Miriam ever left work—she looked down at her watch—before seven? She shook her head. “No, she’ll just track me down on my cell.”

  Rich nodded. “I’ll tell her you’ll be right there. She’ll be on line two.”

  Miriam turned toward Jeremy. “I’m sorry about this, but it’s something I can’t get out of. You don’t have to stay—”

  He shook his head and smiled. “No, I’ll wait,” he said, as if there was never any question that he would.

  She raised a brow. “This may take a while. In fact, it probably will. You could go back to your hotel. Leave your number, and I’ll call you—”

  “Miriam, it’s okay,” he said, his voice reassuring. His blue eyes supportive.

  With a tight smile, she turned and headed back to her office, sighing heavily.

  Miriam’s mom was what some people would call a gold digger. She was smart, pretty, talented and above all—ruthless. Instead of using all that power to carve a career out for herself, she latched onto rich and successful men.

  Miriam and Ian’s father had been her first husband, but she’d left him, as well as the rest of her family, to marry a rich rancher in Montana. Today she was married to some obscure painter and living overseas, no doubt funding his work now that she was a very wealthy woman.

  About five years ago, Miriam had finally contacted her. They’d been doing an article on what drove women to marry for status and position rather than love, and her mother had offered up several enlightening quotes. Anonymously, of course.

  Miriam doubted she’d ever connect with the woman who’d given her life, but she understood some of what drove her. Since that interview her mother called her on a regular basis. Miriam had tried to assign all sorts of reasons for the contact: Janice felt guilty for leaving her children or she wanted to connect with her only blood relations, but she really suspected that Janice liked trying on the mother role every once in a while. Hence her concern about Ian’s current occupation.

  Miriam returned to her office, and picked up her extension. “Darling, you cannot believe what they’ve been doing to poor Raoul.”

  Miriam had never met her mother’s latest, and it was hard to work up any sympathy for the man—other than for the fact that he was married to her mother.

  “They are canceling his showing. The poor man is having painter’s block. He can’t help it.”

  She’d heard of writer’s block, but painter’s? “Well, Mother, it would be hard to have a showing without any paintings.”

  “Oh, Miriam, if they weren’t hassling him so much about his new vision, he wouldn’t be having these problems to begin with. He…”

  Miriam opened her top desk drawer and pulled out a doodle pad she reserved solely for phone conversations with her mother. She’d never used a doodle pad before, preferring short conversation that encapsulated in five minutes or less whatever pressing business needed to be dealt with. But Rich had purchased one for her after he’d found her mad scribblings all over her desk calendar. He’d not been pleased.

  Twenty minutes later, she found herself walking back to the elevator. Wrung out and fully expecting to see an empty lobby. Then she spotted the man leaning against the wall, an anxious expression in his blue eyes. Her mouth went dry and her heart began to race.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice deeper than usual, laced with concern.

  She glanced up, meeting his gaze, surprised to hear genuine worry behind his words. The skin around his eyes was tight, and his whole big body seemed tense. The muscles of his arms bunched, as though he was ready to engage in battle.

  Battle for her?

  The tension in her back eased. “You waited,” she said, not realizing until that moment that she’d secretly hoped he would, but hadn’t really expected it.

  A flash of annoyance shot into his eyes. “Of course I waited.”

  Something happened to her in that moment. Miriam Cole no longer felt so alone. It felt almost natural to have him at her side. She gave him a tentative smile. “I’m fine. I just want to get out of here.”

  He punched the down button. “I know about mothers.”

  “Not like mine,” she said.

  Jeremy gave her a sympathetic hand squeeze. Among her friends, when the topi
c of bad parents arose, a competition of sorts began. Whose mother had been the worst? Whose father had the most “other” families? But Jeremy did none of those things. Instead he gave her an easy yet comprehensive form of acknowledgment. And he listened.

  She gave him a sideways glance as they waited for the elevator. He’d gotten a haircut since she’d last seen him. Had he done that for her? The thought that he might have warmed her from the inside, even though she kind of liked brushing his dark hair out of his eyes.

  He was even better than she’d remembered. And lying in the dark in her big, lonely bed for the past few weeks, she’d recalled him looking pretty damn good.

  The downward-facing arrow above the elevator lit up and a bell pinged as the elevator doors whooshed open. She followed him inside and punched the lobby button, and the doors closed.

  In a stride and a half, Jeremy was at her side, and tugging her into his arms.

  His lips came down on hers. For a moment she was too surprised to respond. Then it all came flooding back. The passion. The heat. The hungry wanting Jeremy evoked in her. She’d missed the fervor, that excitement so much. She’d missed him.

  Miriam circled her fingers in the loops of Jeremy’s jeans and yanked. Hard. But she didn’t care. She wanted to feel the solidness of his chest against her breasts. Feel the hardness of his erection pushing into her gray silk business skirt.

  With a groan, Jeremy backed her against the wall and his hands cupped her breasts, touching and stroking her in a way that made her wet and hot.

  He’d remembered what she’d liked. Just the way she’d liked it.

  The rapid descent of the express elevator slowed. They’d be reaching the lower floors now. With obvious reluctance, Jeremy’s mouth left hers. His ragged breathing filled the car, as he rested his forehead against hers.

  “I’ve thought of nothing else but that,” he said. And Miriam felt another jolt of tingles at his words. She’d never melted against a guy in her life. But here she was, practically liquefying herself against the man.

  Her dry mouth hadn’t recovered from the sight of him propped up against the wall waiting for her. And now she had to deal with the lack of his lips.

  The elevator door opened, and they stepped out. Calm, cool and with a respectable distance apart of almost two feet. No one passing by would suspect the heat that had fired up the elevator only moments before.

  Jeremy drew her toward the glass doors that led outside, his hand warm on her lower back.

  They walked together in silence. But for the first time, she didn’t feel the urge to fill it, rack her brain for some tidbit of information that would keep the conversation going. Actually, she kind of liked the calm between them.

  The calm before the storm.

  Because they both knew the minute they were alone, the passion between then would take off full force. There should be some sort of awkward tension right now. Some sort of preintercourse nerves or reserve. Instead she felt an affinity with the man whose body heat penetrated her blouse directly to her skin, and couldn’t they walk through this lobby any faster?

  Finally they made it outside and Miriam began to flag down a taxi.

  “Do you want to walk?” Jeremy asked, his face turning a little green.

  Her arm lowered, and she turned toward him. Miriam tried not to look at him as if he was crazy. She really did. But it was cold. She was in heels. It was—

  Then she remembered he’d never been to New York before. She could point out a few sights. He could rub her feet afterward.

  “Are you wanting to see a few landmarks?” What happened to the hungry guy from her office? The one who didn’t want to wait for a meal in a restaurant to have her?

  “You think I drove all this way just to see Manhattan?”

  “You drove?”

  He nodded.

  “All the way from Oklahoma.”

  He nodded again.

  Forget takeout. She’d take him. Then afterward, they’d order in.

  And yet he still made no move toward the taxi.

  Wait a minute. He looked about as uneasy as she’d felt alone and isolated on that lonely stretch of country highway.

  That had been his element.

  New York was hers. And she knew what every out-of-towner commented on after a visit. She stared in his direction. “The traffic getting to you?”

  He shrugged. “What’s with all the honking?”

  She reached for his arm, and tugged him toward the cab. “Come on, big guy. This time I’ll protect you.”

  AVA DID AN INTERNET search to find out what to wear to a nightclub and fifteen minutes later emerged from her bedroom hoping she’d fit in with the natives. She was usually a lot more prepared than this, spending hours researching adornment and attire.

  By the fire behind Ian’s eyes, her choice of black miniskirt, sparkly tank and sheer long-sleeved overshirt hit the mark. Going heavy on the eyeliner and sheer lip gloss felt strange, but she went with the advice in an article she’d found in one of Cole Publishing’s own magazines. Dress To Be Noticed.

  “I won’t stand out, will I?” she asked.

  Ian nodded. Slowly. “That will do,” he said, his voice slow. He crooked his elbow.

  Unfamiliar with the gesture, she quickly figured out she was supposed to wind her own arm through his, appreciating the solid strength of his body.

  “Technically, you’re supposed to want to stand out. You’re trying to attract men,” he said with little enthusiasm.

  Ava tilted her head. “Okay to stand out. Got it.”

  Like most of the attractions at Bricktown, the nightclub was on the canal, and it took only a few minutes to walk there from her apartment.

  She heard the pounding synthesized beat of music long before she turned the corner to the Club Escape. Two large black doors bore the word Escape in bold, neon blue. Ian escorted her into a darkened hallway, shrouded in pale blue light. After flashing her ID and paying the cover charge, they followed the music down the hallway.

  Lights overhead pulsing in beat with the music illuminated dozens of people dancing on a large floor. She’d participated in many types of ritualistic dancing, but nothing ever this…free-form. She preferred her customs a bit more scripted than this.

  Ian indicated a grouping of purple couches and she followed him as he led the way, pushing through the crowd.

  A waitress quickly stopped at their table and asked for their drink orders.

  Ava leaned over to Ian. “What’s the normal drink for a woman to order?”

  Rather than reply, he told the waitress, “She’ll have an appletini. I’ll have a beer. Domestic.”

  “Draft or bottle?”

  “Bottle.”

  “What’s an appletini?” she asked as soon as the waitress left.

  Ian shrugged. “Hell if I know. It’s what my sister always orders.”

  She sat in silence beside him just digesting the sights and sounds around her. The smell of various perfumes and colognes scented the air. People grouped and clustered everywhere, trying to make conversation and laughing. There was an interesting anthropological study in this experience she was sure. Too bad she hadn’t brought her camera.

  DAMN ALL THE LOCKS on her door. It took too long for Miriam to enter her apartment. She could have been using tongs to hold her keys her fingers felt so useless. Her heart raced in anticipation. She couldn’t wait to get Jeremy alone and inside her apartment.

  Finally. Her door swung open, and then Jeremy took over. Except he was even slower. She wanted hard and fast. And eight times in a night.

  Instead he closed the door, locked it and gently pushed her against it. He cupped her face, and she met his blue gaze. He stroked her bottom lip with his thumb.

  “I’ve dreamed about these lips,” he told her. His voice gruff and full of desire.

  He traced the line of her jaw. Slid his fingers down the line of her neck. A small smile touched his mouth as he found her pulse point. He leaned over and pl
aced a light kiss there. An innocent kiss. One that would look almost chaste until he added the tip of his tongue. Then her pulse really began to hammer.

  “Seeing how much you want me makes me hurt not to be inside you,” he said with a groan against her skin.

  “Then why are you being so slow?” Her breasts ached for his touch.

  Jeremy straightened, his expression turning serious. “Because I told myself if I was lucky enough to be with you again, I wouldn’t rush things like a horny jerk.”

  “I liked horny and rushed.”

  A wicked little grin appeared on his face. “You’ll like this more.”

  Then his hands moved. He slid her jacket from her shoulders, making the simple act a carnal caress. She wanted his mouth on hers, his tongue at the base of her neck as he undressed her. Like before.

  But now, his eyes never left hers as he began to unbutton her blouse. How intimate it felt to have him slowly undress her in the stark light of her entry.

  His expression was a mask of tight concentration. His shoulders strained and tense. Jeremy Kelso was perfect. Beautiful.

  Before, in Oklahoma, they’d raced to the bed. Two people in the heady throes of passion who couldn’t get their clothes off fast enough.

  His deliberate movements now were far more frustratingly sexy. He clearly was a man who’d thought of nothing else but undressing her slowly, and he planned on enjoying every moment now that he had the chance. Jeremy’s eyes darkened, but never left hers. Although she couldn’t hold his gaze as he caressed her nipples poking at her bra.

  She moaned when he cupped her breasts, molding them with his hands. “Take off my bra,” she said, her voice low and needy.

  She hadn’t wanted to be naked with a man this much since…since the last time she’d been with Jeremy. How he could make her breasts ache without taking off the material that separated his skin from hers, she’d never know.

  He finally removed her lacy blue underwire. “I’ve waited so long to see you. Wanted you for so long.”