by Jill Monroe
A tiny smile tugged at her top lip. “Women with Ph.D.s are twice as likely to have a one-night stand as those with a B.A.”
Which made him wonder about Doctor Simms.
That’s when it hit him. The humor, the passion, the respect she had for all these people she’d met and cultures she’d studied…none of that was in her book. It was dry and dull.
Which she clearly was not.
Her passion, her personality, Ava…that’s what would sell this book. Every word, every image had to evoke the enthusiasm and excitement and utter zest that was Ava.
This wasn’t going to be just reviewing her notes and taking a few pictures…he’d need to spend real time with her. Earlier he couldn’t wait to get out of this assignment. He’d been restless to set off again, to do his own story, live life on the edge as he wanted.
But now something was different. That edgy impatient restlessness led him to Ava, which led him to wanting to stay. And that was the first thing that had ever scared him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IAN PAID FOR DINNER. It had been a struggle knowing what to do. He’d run across some women in the past who’d felt it was insulting for a man to pay for their meal. Unlike his mother, who’d raised him to believe men paid for everything. That, in fact, all men should pay.
Ava just seemed to be clueless about what to do when the check arrived. Something he found oddly…endearing. She nodded to herself when he placed his credit card on the bill, as if mentally making notes of his actions.
Now they were walking back to her warehouse apartment. The foot traffic along the canal had increased so their pace slowed. He wasn’t much for leisurely strolls, but Ava was definitely the kind who stopped and smelled the flowers. And she could probably tell him some new tormenting fact about how women strung them together to frame their nipples, or rubbed the blooms along a man’s…
What the hell was happening to him? Sure, he’d been covering some out-of-control stories for a while and it had been a long time since he’d been in the company of the opposite sex, but his physical reaction toward Ava was unlike anything he’d experienced before. It was as if every word from her kissable lips and every stretch of her sensuous body was specifically designed to make him think of nothing but stroking her lips with his. Caressing her skin. Palming her breasts. Making love to her fast. Or slow. Whatever. However. Just as long as the action between the sheets lasted for hours.
That’s when it hit him. It was all designed. Her every move. Her every supposedly subtle, yet utterly sensual maneuver had been intended to keep his mind on one thing and one thing only. Sex. Not that it was a hard task, but to have his easily led thoughts manipulated in that direction… He stopped walking and just stared at her. He was irritated and impressed all at the same time.
Ava stopped and turned around to look at him. “Everything okay?” she asked, the scent of cinnamon slyly hitting his nose as her hair swirled around her head.
“You’re using the book stuff on me.”
She crooked an eyebrow. “Is that what I’m doing?” she asked, her voice innocent. Her eyes…nothing close.
He shook his head ruefully. Knowing she’d played him for the past hour didn’t detract from how sexy she was. How sexy he found her.
“Was it working?” she asked, her tones now sensual and low. And his body responded once again.
“No,” he told her.
Her lips curved into a smile. “Good,” she said with a nod. “That was only level-one stuff anyway. I’ll just have to ramp it up some.”
Hell, he was going to die.
JEREMY LOOKED AROUND her office and whistled. “You didn’t tell me you were in charge. Impressive.”
Yeah, well, there isn’t a lot of talking involved when a man’s tongue is in your mouth.
Miriam schooled her features to look cool and professional. “What a surprise to see you here, Jeremy.”
He quickly shifted his glance her way, the smile on his face fading. “But not a good surprise, huh?” he asked, his disappointment obvious in his voice.
He caught on fast. Not so surprising since he’d so easily interpreted her every quick intake of breath or delicious sigh in bed and understood exactly what she wanted.
She moved so that she sat behind her desk. She needed that barrier between them. “I wasn’t expecting to see you ever again.”
Now all traces of that sexy open smile of his vanished. “That was pretty obvious by the way you left the next morning without a trace.”
She would ignore the hurt she saw in his eyes. Get this over quickly. No need to prolong anything. “Then why are you here?” she asked.
He slowly moved toward her desk, drawing her eyes to his tall lean body. She’d stroked and kissed every part of that provocative body of his. Earlier she’d chalked up her momentary loss of judgment where Jeremy was concerned to the strange situation.
She had been on vacation.
She’d been stranded.
He’d played the role of knight coming to her rescue.
Of course she’d fallen into his arms. She could still feel the heat of him as he’d brought her a drink in the town’s garage. He’d made her laugh because he’d placed a straw in one of those fluid-replenishing sports drinks.
“Thought you might be thirsty,” he’d said. And she was. Oh, she’d been thirsty for just what Jeremy had to give. He’d sat with her the whole time the mechanics worked on her car.
Listened to her and laughed at her stories over dinner.
He’d offered to walk her to the door of her hotel room. Just to make sure she was safe. She was only going to thank him and wish him good-night. But she’d been hungry to know what his lips tasted like.
In fact, she was still hungry and still thirsty. Her breath shallowed. Her heartbeat quickened.
“Thought by now you might have changed your mind about seeing me again,” he said. His voice was a sensual caress against her skin. Just a hint of an accent. His blue eyes willed her to rethink her decision to not see him again.
Of course she’d changed her mind. She’d gone back and forth about ten thousand times.
Look away. But her eyes fell across the magazine covers.
Go For It
Take Charge
Do What You’ve Been Dying To Do
Miriam stood, her breasts only an inch from Jeremy’s chest. He smelled good. Like fresh air, lime and hungry man. Hungry for her. Good to know she’d left an impression on him.
She ran her fingertips up his arm, and his eyes heated. “How about dinner?” she asked.
He lifted an eyebrow. “How about takeout?”
AVA SMILED AT IAN. She should probably feel bad about torturing this man. At least she was hoping it was torture. Strangely enough, all her stealth-seduction practices hadn’t been so easy on her. Playing the subtle flirt took a lot of energy. And it was hell on her body. She’d spent that last half hour in first-stage arousal.
She turned and began walking again, knowing he’d be beside her. She liked that he’d caught on so quickly. She liked smart men.
“You don’t even feel guilty about trying to drive me nearly insane this whole time?” he asked, as he matched his stride to hers.
“Would kind of miss the mark if I were.”
Earlier today, she’d been concerned about this project. Greeting this man nearly naked and covered in paint had clearly been the wrong direction this morning. But she’d managed to work it to her advantage.
“You’re taking this book seriously now though.”
She saw him smile. “Oh, yeah. Was I that obvious in your apartment?”
“It was very clear you didn’t want to be anywhere near this project. Not your style?”
He shook his head, a dimple forming in his cheek. “No. But I warn you, you won’t be able to fool me so easily next time.”
She smiled. Liking that about him, hoping he’d keep working under that assumption. “Good. I wouldn’t want you easy.”
They walk
ed together silently, enjoying the stroll around the canal. Although she’d been in her new home for a week, she hadn’t taken the time to explore the beautiful Bricktown area. The flowers and trees surrounding the canal were lovely, and quite surprising to find in the middle of a busy downtown area. The sun was setting, and the various businesses had turned on their lights, many reflecting in the water. A family of ducks paddled by, swimming toward two children tossing bits of tortilla into the water.
“It’s pretty here,” she said.
Ian shrugged. “Sure.”
Her instincts about this man were right. He was wound tight. “You know, in ancient England, men would collect flowers and wind them into garlands. They’d spend hours examining the blooms, making sure each petal was perfect. Then with great enthusiasm, the knight would place his unique creation on top of his beloved’s head.”
Ian made a scoffing noise. “That sounds like something a bunch of women cooked up and told men they enjoyed doing.”
“You seem awfully cynical about the opposite sex.” Now this was interesting. Could this be an actual insight into the man? Good, this could be something to use later. For the book or on the man, she wasn’t quite sure which.
He stopped and turned toward her. They were under a bridge, and the lights cast amber shadows around his face. “We’re talking about knights, right? Armor, lances, raiding castles. You might want to go back and research the whole flower thing.”
“It’s well documented.”
His lip crooked upward. “Men…spending hours selecting flowers? I don’t even give that much thought to my socks. And I’m wearing them. What probably happened was that the knight was on his way back to the armory after a hard day’s battle keeping everyone safe. That’s when he saw some slacker dumbass knight with a bunch of flowers heading toward his woman. He couldn’t let that happen, so found some vendor with a cart selling flowers.”
“Oh, really,” Ava said, flashing him her best skeptical look, the one she’d seen her college professors use a thousand times. All the while she tried to hide her smile.
“The vendor was probably so bored from trying to sell flowers to a bunch of dirty knights that he fidgeted those blooms into a string, or ‘garland’ if you will.”
She couldn’t stop her laugh. “Did you just use air quotes?”
“Shh. You’re messing up my story. And I’m on a roll because here’s the best part. He speeds past this other knight, and then tells his woman he spent hours selecting the right blooms for this twisted-up mess. He even has her thinking garland is attractive. That women actually want garland. Desire it.”
“No, your theory doesn’t float because now he sets up a standard that he has to beat and that all his sons and grandsons have to meet. They have to actually collect flowers and make garland.”
“Not necessarily, because he passes along the DNA that allows his heirs to make up their own BS stories with enough convincibility that women think they’re hot.”
“Convincibility is not a word.”
Ian held up his hands and took a few steps back. That sexy dimple appeared in his cheek again. “Hey, no need to get testy just because I blew your whole men-and-flowers scenario out of the water.”
Ava laughed. “Are you going to be this doubtful about all the customs I’m putting forth?”
“I’m just glad I’m here to make sure you don’t send the men down the wrong path.” Then with a wink, he turned and began walking again.
“Just so long as you know you’re wrong,” she told him as she joined him. She could spot her apartment now, and despite knowing how wrong he was, she was interested to hear what other theories he was going to try and debunk.
Fifteen minutes later, Ava emerged from her bedroom, barefoot and with a box full of scrapbooks and photo albums. She’d spent time in so many cultures where shoes were not worn, she felt confined in straps of leather, no matter how cute.
She found Ian staring outside her large picture window at the canal below. One of the yellow boats floated along the river. This was her first opportunity to really study him unnoticed. He was a man who observed everything. Probably from his journalistic training. He’d notice her examining him. More than likely he’d use it to his advantage.
Strange. She didn’t think they were at war or anything. But there was definitely a tension between them. Both of them were wanting to win. Win at what, she didn’t know.
He looked good, relaxed in the khaki pants and polo shirt. Ian was a lot different from the usual men in her circle. Who was she kidding? He was totally different from the academic types. Professors had a reputation for being boring and staid, but really that was an unfair stereotype. Usually they were just so focused on one subject they could talk of little else.
Ian seemed like a man who could focus, too. Only the difference was that he could focus on lots of different things at once. She liked that he cared enough about his sister that he would clearly involve himself in something he thought he’d loathe because she asked him to. She knew her brother would do the same for her.
She also liked how he quickly dropped his bias toward her project and even challenged her to think about this book in ways she hadn’t thought of before. A man who challenged her mind was definitely very sexy.
Her body reacted, and she closed her eyes for a moment to enjoy the sensation. She’d be making love to this man. Ava didn’t know when, but the fact that it would happen was a certainty and she planned to savor the delicious buildup and tension that existed between a man and a woman before they succumbed to the call of their bodies.
So she’d admire Ian’s body. And his mind. For now. As for later…
“It’s a great view, isn’t it?” she asked.
Ian turned, and his eyes darkened when he saw her. “It certainly is,” he said.
She smiled, then turned toward the brown couch in the middle of the large front area of her apartment. She patted the seat beside her, indicating she wanted him to sit down.
He tossed aside a decorative pillow and sat. Once again she took some time to appreciate the moment. His bigness, his strength, the heat emanating from his skin. Nature had made her desire these things in a man. Who was she to deny it?
There was a principle she wanted to impress in her book, and that was showing women and men how to appreciate the strength and power of the feminine. Somewhere along the way, that positive reception seemed to have gotten lost. A whole wealth of pleasure and completion awaited the senses when male and female united.
She opened her photo album. “My photography is pretty crude, but this is an interesting union ceremony. Eligible males and females are lined up. Men on one side. Women on the other.” She pointed to the rows of people, their muscles tense with nerves, their expressions anxious.
She turned the page, and pointed to a building made of bamboo and leaves. “The elders emerge from a spirit hut after several days of fasting and prayer. Then they join a couple based on what the spirit tells them.”
Ian shuddered. “That’s awful. No wonder they look as if they’re about to face death. The spirit could give a man some woman who’s constantly asking what he’s thinking about. Or invites him to a musical.”
Not taking the bait, mister. She shrugged instead. “It seems to work. Separation doesn’t happen very often, although after a year, the couple can petition the elders to dissolve the union. But they have to wait another two years for another ceremony. They’re only performed every three years. And two years is a long time to wait and be alone.” She turned the page to show newly formed couples holding hands.
She’d spent two years off and on with this particular tribe, one of the last of its kind. “Look, here are some of their children a year later.” She loved looking at the proud daddies holding new infants at the naming ceremony.
“But to spend your entire life with someone you don’t even know. To put that kind of faith in someone else to choose for you.”
“Almost every culture in the world at on
e time or another has had arranged marriages. It’s as if the older people don’t put a lot of faith in the judgment of the young,” she said with a laugh.
Then she focused her attention on Ian’s brown eyes. “In fact, choosing one’s own mate is relatively new.”
If Ian didn’t pick up the message she was communicating with her eyes, he just wasn’t getting it. A woman could do a lot of silent talking with her eyes. Dozens of cultures never allowed women and men to talk until introduced, but women had adapted over time so the men they weren’t supposed to talk to knew exactly what they were saying. For some societies, it was the language of the fan. In others it was with the eyes. And Ava had learned from the best.
Oh, a man might think he’s the aggressor in approaching a woman, but he’d probably been picking up the subtle cues and hints the woman had been throwing his way all along. Men in any culture didn’t like to be turned down.
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?”
