by Jill Monroe
Ava smiled when she realized his attention had settled on a small collection of naked fertility goddesses.
“Ah, you’ve found my harem. As you can see, most fertility deities are shown with large breasts and protruding bellies.”
Ian pointed to Danisis, a voluptuous-looking goddess. “She’s different from the others.”
“She’s my favorite. She’s the goddess of war and fertility. Kind of ironic, huh? One destroys life, the other creates it. I love the spear she’s carrying, the detail work is amazing. There’s a very erotic love-play ritual associated with her.”
His hand lowered and he went back to his bags. “Where do you want me to stash my gear? I’ll need to plug in my laptop. My battery’s shot—I used it on the plane.”
“We can just use my computer. My manuscript is already right there.”
Ian shook his head. “It would work better to use my laptop. First, if we go from your manuscript, it’ll be too tempting to use what’s already there. We need to start fresh. A total rewrite.”
She took a deep breath, steeling herself for her next question. She had to know. “It was that bad, huh?”
The left side of his mouth lifted. Was that almost a smile? “A woman who wants me to tell it like it is.”
“Always,” she replied. She wasn’t one for sugarcoating, she wanted total honesty.
“It sucked. And not in a good way.”
Ava gasped. Okay, maybe not that much honesty. “Is there a good way to suck?” she asked.
Ian coughed behind his hand, then looked at her strangely. “If you were going for campy humor, then bad writing can make it more fun. Sometimes. Probably never.”
She nodded. A flash of alarm crossed Ian’s face. His eyes widened, and for a moment Ava was confused.
“Your concept is excellent,” he hastily reassured her. Awkwardly. What did he think she was going to do, cry? That explained the alarm she’d sensed in him a moment ago. Often in patriarchal societies, men backed away from tears. Anything squishy, like emotions, were very much off-limits.
“Thanks,” she told him firmly. But he didn’t need to worry about her. This was science. There was no emotion in science.
“It’s just the writing. The rituals and foods you chose were perfect examples of new and unusual, yet didn’t morph into the freak zone.”
Her eyes narrowed. That would be a relief for the cultures who’d shared their revered customs and ceremonies with her—that they hadn’t moved into Mr. Cole’s freak category.
Which then drew the question—what was Mr. Cole’s freak category?
And would it mesh with her freak categories?
No, she didn’t care. This man simply didn’t get what she was trying to do here. She didn’t want his help, plus he didn’t have the sensitivity. Although she hadn’t expected to spend any time with the man, his name had come up when she’d looked up Cole Publishing. Her search proved him to be a man more in tune covering the world’s hot zones. How would a man like that possibly understand what she was trying to do here? He’d have to go.
“We’ll go over each chapter. We can take the pictures as we move along or do them all at once at the end. At night in my hotel room, I’ll edit.”
“You’ll edit?” she asked, her tone unbelieving.
Ian ticked off these items as if they were on a to-do list. He’d only reduced her life’s work and passion into something resembling an inventory sheet. “You can simply crank these out?” she asked, wanting to make sure.
“I’ll have this book whipped into shape in no time.”
“You’ll have it whipped into shape?” Yes, and there was her limit. Ian Cole had just stepped over the line. She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. Ian’s gaze lowered a fraction before returning to hers.
She shook her head. “No. I can’t possibly have you do the writing.”
“Why?” he asked. His voice held no offense. And yet that one word sounded unbending. As if he fully expected to get his way.
“It’s clear you don’t appreciate what I’m trying to do with this book. You’re thinking to spice up the time in the bedroom, not how the act of lovemaking can be enhanced with a few delicacies and rites from other cultures.”
Ian moved toward her, towering above her. Something sparked inside those jaded eyes of his, and the firmness of his lips softened. Grew more sensual. For the first time, she felt crowded in her apartment.
“Oh, really?” he said.
She gulped. “Yes, really.”
“This book is supposed to be about passion,” he said, his voice soft, like warm honey. “Fire. The words and pictures should put a fire in your blood. Bring a woman and a man closer. Sharing the deep-rooted coming together of men and women from the beginning of time eternal. From all over the world. It should connect. It should be elemental. Raw. Man. Woman. Sex.”
Ava swallowed. Her blood felt heated, and yet she shivered.
Okay. So maybe this man got it. Her heartbeat quickened with each word from his mouth. With every firm declaration he stated, a picture formed in her mind. A picture of bringing woman and man closer. Of bringing Ian closer to her. Elemental. Connecting and raw.
She took a deep breath. Bad move. He smelled good. Real good, like the rain forest after a heavy downpour. Earthy and clean.
Pheromones. That’s all it was. Ian Cole exuded pheromones she just happened to respond to. It was science. It wasn’t emotion. Now was the time for her to think logically. To be fair, he’d conveyed the concept better than she had, and it was her creation.
Now that made her mad.
“What you have is more along the lines of ‘insert tab A into slot B’ with a lot of history thrown in to make sure you’d rather mow the lawn than spend hours making love to a sensual woman,” he said. His words were laced with amusement.
Though to her they were like a splash of cold water to her heated skin.
Okay, she was not about to have her project be just another in a long line of screwups because of a little estrogen. Maybe Miriam’s idea of bringing in Ian Cole would work. He might have something to add. But there’d have to be some ground rules, and she’d have to make the final decisions.
“Maybe we can try this,” she hedged. Ava tapped her foot. What she needed was some brainstorming, paradigm shifting. She’d planned on this project being solely her creation, she’d not factored—
“Don’t you want to cover yourself up?”
Ava shrugged, and looked down at her body. She’d been so used to walking around nearly naked from one setting to another, she’d almost forgotten she wore little else but paint and a loincloth. Most cultures didn’t have a fully-clothed policy the way her homeland did. It wasn’t uncommon to go topless.
Was Ian a prude?
His gaze never left her face.
Come to think of it, when she’d opened the door to him earlier, there had been a sudden leap of something in his eyes, something base and hot. His jaded exterior had quickly masked that.
Once or twice it had seemed his gaze drifted downward, but he quickly raised his eyes right back up to meet hers. Or he looked at her high ceiling. Or her statues.
This was something telling. Ian Cole wanted to avoid looking at her body. Now this was good to know.
Maybe he did share that erotic picture his words had conjured up in her mind.
IAN KNEW HE WAS IN TROUBLE the moment her eyes turned assessing. Damn it, he was usually much better at hiding his naked interest in a woman. But then, that was the problem. Ava stood before him basically naked. His body liked it. He liked it.
He watched as Ava glanced at her paint-covered body. Some of it erotically smudged right now. She tilted her head and he made eye contact with the brilliant green of her eyes.
Keep looking up, buddy.
“Why?” she asked, her voice not sounding confused or innocent. Just curious.
Why what? He’d forgotten what they were talking about. And he had a sneaking suspicion
he was the one who’d started this particular vein of conversation. “Uh…”
Trying to get her into bed while they worked on the book was a bad idea. If he had to work without sleep to get this book written quickly, that would just have to be the price he paid. Hell, he’d go without food, too.
Had he just decided to sleep with Ava Simms? When had he decided that?
About two seconds after spotting her.
That was a bad idea. Really bad. He’d list the multitude of reasons right now. Except none really came to mind at the moment because a nearly naked, gorgeous woman stood before him. How was a man supposed to work in these conditions?
This woman must be covered as soon as possible. Cover. That was it. That’s what he asked about. “Don’t you want to put something on?”
She shrugged again. “Not really. And this way I can show you some of the pattern work.”
It had been his experience that most women had at least one body part they felt self-conscious about. He wouldn’t have complained if his former girlfriends had wanted to parade around in next to nothing. It’s just that they hadn’t. In fact, he’d seen them go to Herculean efforts to cover their thighs with a sheet, or hips with a towel.
It was all ridiculous. Women were beautiful. The key was to find that one part they hated, and then issue compliments. It never failed.
But this woman seemed to have no problem parading around in barely anything.
She lightly touched a rounded circle of blue on her arm. “You see, the woman begins by painting the color blue on her body. This represents the sky and water. Sky and water play a large role in the lore of many cultures around the world.”
He nodded, his gaze shifting from her face to her arm. Don’t look to the right. Although he already knew what he’d see. Her beautiful breasts painted yellow.
“Now did that bother you? That insertion of a little history?”
Not a bit. He shook his head as his mouth watered.
“That’s the approach I think we should take.” Ava trailed her fingers along the green lines crisscrossing on her thighs. “The green represents the earth. New and unknown. Ready to be explored.”
He grew harder as she touched and stroked her skin. His fingers ached to do the same. To trace the green lines, to smudge the blue paint on her body.
“Yellow is the past. The Wayterian people don’t place value on virginity, so a woman may have had several lovers. Do you?”
“Do I what?” he asked, suddenly feeling as if he’d been jerked out of a sex fantasy.
“Place value on virginity?”
“I’m not one if that’s what you’re asking.”
A smile curved along her lips. “Good. I wouldn’t want you cowering in the corner.”
She was laughing at him.
Toying with him, in fact. He should be irritated. Instead he found himself turned on more. Well, two could play that game. He deliberately lowered his eyes to her yellow-painted breasts. “That’s a very bright color.”
“The Wayterian women coat the yellow paint on their breasts. Once the new husband and wife are alone, she takes his hands and places them on her breasts.”
Her nipples hardened before his eyes. She might be toying with him to get a reaction, but she wasn’t immune to him, either.
“The paint never completely dries, so some of the color gets on him, as well. Together they wash the paint, the past, away. They become one, joined by sky, water and earth.”
Ian closed his eyes for a moment, imagining washing the paint off this woman’s body. And Ava washing the color from his skin. Erotic and charged. It was perfect for the book.
“I think this ceremony is beautiful.” Her voice lost its challenging playfulness of earlier. “I’m always moved by the meaning behind the acts.”
And surprisingly, he was, too.
She swallowed, and took a step away from him. “Well, since you’re familiar with this particular rite now, I’ll just hop into the shower and remove the paint. I won’t be long and then we can get started.”
Ian raised his hand, not bothering to hide the look of disbelief he was sure was on his face. “Wait a minute. Are you about to go and take a shower leaving a man you’ve known about ten minutes alone in your apartment?”
For the first time since she’d opened the door, Ava looked unsure. She shifted her balance, and crossed her arms. “I, uh, guess that I was.”
“Lady, you’ve been out in the wild too long. You can’t be so trusting.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “You’re Miriam’s brother. It’s not like she’d send a serial killer. It will only take me a few minutes.”
He couldn’t picture sitting calmly on her couch waiting while she showered. Imagining her naked. And wet. He almost groaned.
No. Not going to happen. He had to get out of there. “I’ll check in to the hotel while you’re getting ready. I’m going to grab a bite to eat. The sandwich on the plane could pass for a hockey puck.”
“Oh, I’m getting hungry, too. Why don’t we meet at one of the restaurants down on the canal for a late lunch? You up for Mexican?”
He was up for anything about now. “Sounds good.” Ava turned on her heel, and once again he got a view of her great ass. “I’ll pick you up from here.”
She stopped and glanced at him over her shoulder. “Is this about the shower thing? Don’t worry, I don’t need an escort to keep me safe. Besides, you looked pretty trustworthy to me.” Trustworthy. Trustworthy? No one had ever accused him of being trustworthy before. Like a teddy bear. Or a cute puppy. That was almost insulting. Ian straightened his shoulders. He was dangerous. A man of the world. Wanted by the law in three countries. At least. He was not a teddy bear.
He’d put an end to that. “Let me know if you need some help with the second part of the ritual,” he said.
“The second part?” she asked.
“The washing off.”
Her full bottom lip curled upward, and a naughty twinkle appeared in her eyes. “I’ll let you know,” she told him.
Now why did that come out sounding like a promise?
CHAPTER FOUR
WHILE THE WATER FOR THE shower heated, Ava quickly typed in the website for Cole Publishing. She punched his name in the search fields.
“Bingo.” Over thirty results popped up on her screen. She selected the one at the top, and her screen immediately filled with his image. Obviously the picture on his bio page must have been taken a few years ago. In the photo, he had a friendly smile and the look of someone ready to tackle the world.
Much how she’d felt five seconds before she opened the door to him.
Now Ian wore that world-weary air. The stress lines around his mouth were deeper now than the laugh lines around his eyes. She’d seen his type in the airport. They huddled around their gates, ready to hit the next political hot spot.
She headed anyplace but there.
A puff of steam enticed her into the bathroom. Tugging off her loincloth, Ava stepped beneath the spray.
The warm water glided around her body, smearing the paint further. The yellows and blues fused together, turning green and pooling at her feet before sliding down the drain. Long, hot showers. Steam and heat and the scent of honeysuckle. Now this was something she had missed.
Ava reached for the soap and bubbled up a rich lather. Although the paint was easy to smear, it wasn’t the easiest to remove from her skin.
Of course Ian had offered to help. She smiled again, thinking how his brown eyes had turned darker when he’d made the invitation. Ava had seen the desire in his direct gaze. He hadn’t tried to mask it. She liked that about him.
A direct man voiced exactly what he wanted. Sought to fulfill his woman’s desires. She would have hated to take suggestions on her book from a man who couldn’t handle the naturalness of sex. Afraid of his own desires.
And of hers.
There’d been sex in his eyes. Sex on his mind. Despite the warmth of the water, her nipples hardened
as she remembered that brown-eyed gaze of his sliding down her body.
When had sex come into play? She wondered as she reached for a bright yellow sponge. When did sex not come into play between a man and a woman? Despite Ian’s obvious assumption that she was a bit on the naive side, she’d studied gender differences enough to know that one thing shared by both men and women was a charged curiosity whenever they were in each other’s presence. A curiosity about nakedness. Would he groan? Would she scream?
It all happened within the first five seconds of meeting someone new, the mind and body put that person into three categories. Yes, no and maybe.
And right now her body was thinking yes. What would sex with Ian be like? Sex had been in Ian’s eyes, which placed Ava in his hell-yes category.
If they were going to collaborate, attraction between them probably wasn’t the best situation. Far off the mark from professionalism. But then, who was she to shy away from sexual attraction?
Come to think of it, sexual tension and desire between the two of them might be a good thing. Heat might translate onto the pages, into their very writing. Craving the carnal would implicitly lace their words with an intense hunger for sex.
A shiver raced down her spine. Now this was something that would sell. She should go for it. Why not suffer for her art?
Anxious to get to work, she sudsed her arms and legs, the water and bubbles turning her already sensitive skin into taut nerves waiting to be touched. Caressed. Her skin tingled.
She reached for the soft washcloth, and twisted out the excess water. Ava stroked the cloth against her breasts, wiping away the more stubborn yellow paint. As she rubbed the cloth against her nipple, the skin along her neck and her breasts turned bumpy and sensitive. Tingles from her nipples shot downward.
She washed her other breast, then slowly trailed the cloth down along her rib cage, around her navel. The material felt rougher now against the heightened sensitivity of her flesh. She imagined Ian’s work-roughened hands on her. Imagined him caressing her the same way as the washcloth.
