by Jill Monroe
After ordering a white wine, she idly glanced up toward one of the many televisions throughout the club. This one appeared to be playing some type of athletic competition.
“If you like basketball, I can show you one of my trophies,” a male voice suddenly said.
IAN WATCHED THE MAN approach Ava. He wasn’t surprised. The guy had been checking her out since they’d walked in together.
What did surprise him was the twinge of unease he felt at seeing another man advance on her. He observed her sneak a subtle glance down at the man’s shoes. Ian smiled. The little professor had obviously paid attention to some of his comments. Maybe he should make a few more about the idiots who’d try to pick her up. A couple stumbled in front of him, obscuring his vision of Ava for a moment. The music blared.
The two talked for a few minutes, actually, the man talked to Ava. Idiot. You didn’t talk at a woman. You engaged them. Tried to make them laugh.
Ian relaxed. This clown would get nowhere. Then he saw a look of surprise pass across her face. Unpleasant surprise.
That unease he’d felt turned into a clenching of his stomach. What in the hell had the bastard said to her? Ian began to stand.
Then she nodded and they both looked around for…something. Finally, the guy leaned over and talked to the bartender, who then handed him a pen. Ian’s breath came out in a disgusted hiss. He saw Ava recite something and the man wrote it down on a napkin.
Idiot. This guy didn’t deserve her phone number if he didn’t come prepared. And what had he said to her to manage to get her number? Maybe she didn’t realize she was supposed to be selective when handing out her digits. Then he watched as the jerk kissed her temple and walked away.
That’s right buddy, you just keep on moving. Ava was way out of his league.
The jerk was lucky he’d only kissed her temple.
Ava hopped off the bar stool, then lifted her wineglass and walked toward him. Ian liked the way the woman moved. Her hips rolled with the grace of someone not afraid of her body. She smiled, and his breath caught in his chest.
“I think I did okay,” she said, her voice brimming with excitement. “Strange, awkward customs, but I could get the hang of it. What’s traditional here? Thumbs-up? High five?”
“Ladies’ room visit to scrub off the side of your face,” he muttered under his breath.
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “And I see what you mean about corny opening lines.”
“What did he say?” Ian asked, resentment making his words rush. If that man had said something crude to Ava he’d go over there right now and show him how a lady should be treated.
“Oh, something about showing me his trophies. It was mixed in with a sports reference so I didn’t really understand all of it. But the gist of it was to try and be impressive and hint that all his trophies would follow suit.”
Ian tasted something bitter in his mouth.
“He asked for my phone number.”
“Yeah, I gathered that by all the fumbling around.”
Her eyes grew sharper. “Okay, I can tell by your voice you’re going to tell me he did something wrong. I checked out his shoes. They looked okay to me.”
“He didn’t have a pen. It looks unprepared. Incompetent. From the moment a woman notices a man, she’s judging him. No woman wants to invest a lot of her time and energy into someone who will turn out to be a dud. You coming without a pen leads to questions like, ‘What else will this guy forget?’”
Ava nodded. “Or, how incompetent will he be in bed?”
“Exactly.”
She drew a deep breath. “Fine. I think I’m ready to return to the bar.”
“What?” He hadn’t expected he’d have to step back and watch her be approached by other men again. He opened his mouth to stop her, then—
Why did he care if some slob hit on her?
It wasn’t as if he wanted her for himself.
He took a swig of beer, but it no longer tasted good. In fact, it was like lead in his stomach. He’d spent too much time alone and in too many dangerous situations not to trust his instincts and lie to himself now. Yeah, I do want her for myself.
Hell.
“Do you not think I should try again?” she asked, her fingers on his back.
Hmm? Oh, yeah. He’d just yelled “what” like a lunatic. Instead he offered another reply. Nodding, he said, “Sure, go back. Try some of those body language seduction techniques you talked about in the book.” That should keep her busy. Ava didn’t know how to talk to a man in a bar. Sure, he’d grant some of her ideas worked in a small way in a one-on-one situation over dinner, but here? Dim bar? Filled with drunk guys? No way. Subtle was not the answer.
“Universal flirting? Great idea.” She finished off her wine, deposited her glass on the table and headed to the bar. Half a dozen male eyes following her progress. Laughing at him because it appeared he’d struck out.
None of these men knew what she looked like slathered in paint and wearing a loincloth. He did. His gut remembered. It tightened at the image.
That flashy top she wore was no match for that black miniskirt. Skirt or loincloth, he’d never get tired of watching Ava Simms’s sweet ass.
Yeah, he was in trouble.
AVA SMILED AS SHE MADE her way back to the bar. He may not know it yet, but Ian didn’t like the idea of her talking to other men. He wasn’t the only observer of life. She was a trained scientist after all, and she knew when she spotted some pre-mate-guarding conduct.
He’d already pointed out the flaws in a potential rival. Classic male behavior. Anything else? Oh, yes, there was a gleam in his eye when he looked anywhere lower than her collarbone, and his hand gripped the bottle hard when she displayed mate-receptive behaviors. All excellent signs.
At the bar, this time she sat right next to a man sitting alone nursing something on the rocks.
Ava glanced toward Ian and noticed him glaring at the back of the man beside her. Warning him off. Another good sign. Her body warmed at Ian’s behavior.
His brown-eyed gaze then met hers, and she sucked in her breath. There was heat and fire in that gaze. Something tempting and full of sensual promise. Suddenly she began telling herself maybe they didn’t have to stretch the sexual tension between them for the benefit of the book.
Maybe they could enjoy the sexual chemistry. As hot as the sensual energy zipping between them was, it couldn’t help but make it onto the pages.
Her shoulders sagged, and she angled her body away from the man nearby. She didn’t want to practice her flirting skills on anyone else but Ian. She certainly didn’t want to make him jealous by leading on another man.
Ava only wanted Ian.
And to know he wanted her.
He’d teased her about some of the universal flirting techniques she’d postulated. But scientists had been studying them for decades, and she’d show him just how easily they worked. Right now. On him and no other.
After ordering another drink, she rounded her shoulders and positioned herself on the bar stool so her breasts were at their most perky, and her hip-to-waist ratio looked proportional. Subconsciously all men noticed that.
Then she tilted her head to the side, making her hair fall over her cheek. With a flourish, she tucked the strands behind her ear. Then slowly, she raised her eyes toward Ian. She knew he would be looking. She still felt his gaze on her. A sixth sense passed down from one generation to another.
Their gazes met again. The tiniest of smiles played about her lips. Then Ava quickly looked away. She adjusted her hair again. Counted to three. Then glanced his way once more.
He’d been waiting for her. His shoulders tensed. His lips thinned.
Ava held his gaze with her own. Held it. Held it until it became just a tad uncomfortable. Counted to three, then dropped her eyes.
She took a sip of wine from the fresh glass the bartender had placed before her, the coolness of the white liquid not putting a dent in how hot she felt. She was supposed
to be demonstrating to Ian the power of flirting. Not succumbing to his dark glances.
Ava crossed her legs and angled her body more in line with his—showing affinity. One more coy glance ought to do it. She lifted her eyes.
Slam.
He was standing, facing her. He’d been sitting the last time she’d looked in his direction.
Every part of this man was focused on her. His body was aligned to hers. His eyes, unwavering, never left her face. Anyone seeing his behavior toward her would see the primitive male claiming what was his.
Ava’s nipples tightened. Her skin tingled. With a small nod, he moved toward her. His eyes never left hers as he wove his way between the tables and other patrons of the rapidly filling nightclub. The music pounded around them, the sound reminding her of a tribal drum beating a call. Her response to this man was primal and instinctive.
“Hello,” he said as he approached. This man didn’t need a corny line.
“Hi,” she said, meeting his gaze.
“I’ll give you my number, but only if you promise to stop flirting with me,” he said, his tone lightening, that dimple in his cheek appearing once more.
CHAPTER TEN
“IS THAT WHAT I WAS DOING? Flirting with you?” she asked, chuckling.
This was fun.
She’d only spent a few semesters of college on campus. The rest of the time was spent on internships or practicums. When she had lived among her fellow college students, she’d been studying so much, she’d never had a chance to go for the club scene.
Ian signaled the bartender for another drink. “You know it is. And you still are.”
She giggled then sighed inwardly. The female giggle was a flirting classic; one she particularly thought made her seem utterly vacuous. And here she was doing it. Damn instinct.
But men seemed to like it. Certainly Ian did because he began to finger the stem of her wineglass as he smiled down at her. Palming an object, particularly one that belongs to a love interest, definitely signaled his interest.
And also made her think of him touching her. Made her wonder what his hands would feel like on her body. Would he be gentle and seductive? Or heated and filled with passion?
Might as well go for it. She flashed him another classic—the half smile. “You’re right. See, I told you it worked. It got you over here. Now, you’re supposed to impress me.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“So, was that your best line?”
He shrugged. “Usually works.”
Ava bet it did. She couldn’t imagine it would be too hard for this man to have any woman he wanted. She planned to make him know she was the woman he needed at that moment. But disguised of course. Under the guise of “research.”
“Now we’re at the preening stage,” she told him as the bartender landed a bottle of beer in front of Ian.
“Aren’t I supposed to teach you about the local dating customs?”
“I learn best by doing. Why don’t I demonstrate this stage, and you tell me if I’m doing anything wrong. I’ll do stuff like toss my head, flip my hair, maybe dangle a strand around my finger.” Ava demonstrated the moves as she spoke, thrilled that Ian’s eyes clocked her every gesture.
Ava watched as he took a swallow of his beer. Who knew watching the way a man’s throat moved as he drank was sexy? She’d never read this before. This definitely should be noted. “How’d I do?” she asked, as she reached for her purse. “The hair thing seems to be most effective worldwide.”
He made some sort of noncommittal sound. What kind of confirmation, or nonconfirmation, was that? At some point, some less noisy place, she’d have to talk to him about clear, concise communication. It was imperative in research, and sometimes his signals were damned confusing.
“So do you plan to tell me what I’m supposed to do next?” he asked.
Her brow creased, and her voice lowered as if she were about to tell him a secret. “Actually, I think the man’s next moves are somewhat tougher. You have to show how big and powerful you are. You’ll be a little bit louder than I am. Your motions will be broader, demonstrating the strength of your hands and arms.”
Ian shrugged, immediately drawing her attention to the impressiveness of his shoulders. Sturdy. Strong. In more primitive times, those flexing muscles would have proven he could protect their home from any fierce sharp-toothed prey that wanted to get her. In present-day Oklahoma, the demonstration of his brawn proved he could carry the heavy stuff out to her car.
The DJ played a new, louder song and it became more difficult for them to talk and be heard. She leaned toward Ian. “But here’s the tricky part for you. Your body is saying to me, ‘I’m powerful and tough, but I’d never, ever hurt you.’ Strength coupled with tightly wielded gentleness is a heady combination.”
He swallowed, his hands lowering to his sides. “You’ll always be safe with me. Safe from me…now that’s another story.”
Her breath hitched at the promise she heard in his voice. She didn’t need to be drawn into him. She was aiming for the other way around.
“I’ll try to entice you further. I’ll gaze longer into your eyes. Looking face-to-face with anyone demands a reaction. With a member of the opposite sex you find very attractive, it’s exhilarating. Does this approach work here in this situation, too?” She held his gaze, her eyes narrowing slightly, her lips slowly parting.
He shifted, coming in closer to her. Right on cue. He probably hadn’t even realized it, but he was testing the boundaries of her personal space. She felt the heat of his body now. Saw the lights from the dance floor reflecting in his eyes.
She twisted on the bar stool, facing him. He followed suit. They’d successfully passed the preening look-at-me stage and were now in full-body synchronization. Her stomach muscles tightened.
Now on to real intimacy. “One thing that’s almost universal in flirting is a woman exposing her neck.” Ava tilted her head, allowing her hair to slide over her shoulder and down her back. “Early research suggested this was a sign of submission.”
His eyes widened.
She gently ran her fingers down her neck, traced the line of her collarbone. Her movements were supposed to draw Ian’s thoughts to following that same path. With his fingers. His mouth. But it also got her imagination leaping in that direction.
Ava cleared her throat. “But I don’t think it has anything to do with submission. I think it’s about invitation. There’s something about the gentle lines of a woman’s neck that draws a man’s eye. It’s an erogenous zone. I think presenting my neck says to a man, ‘This is a place where you can make me feel good.’ It’s a challenge.” Their gazes clashed once more. “Can you make me feel good, Ian?”
Her question was supposed to tantalize him, but teased her with images of him giving her pleasure. With his mouth. With his hands. However he wanted to make her feel good.
“Yes,” he replied. His voice was filled with a charged promise. He leaned even closer.
She felt even more of his heat.
“Now I pull back,” she told him as she scooted away from him on her bar stool. Ava turned, positioning her chest toward the bar once more, even though she’d liked exactly where she’d been.
Confusion filled his eyes. “Why?”
Ava shrugged. This was the hardest to explain. Even to herself it felt strange. “Ancient female tests. I call it the Promise Withdrawal Cycle. It’s the promise for more intimacy quickly followed by withdrawal.”
Ian’s body stiffened. “I know exactly what you’re talking about. Women do that all the time. Why?”
“It’s a time-honed combination of playing hard to get and testing your staying power. To see if you’ll stick around. Of course, that was a lot more important when women stayed by the fire in the cave and couldn’t go out to hunt the mammoth themselves. A typical man will have two reactions. He’s either annoyed, or his interest is piqued even further. As a woman I note your expressions and your body language in less than a second.
If you get frustrated, start looking around the room, I know you don’t have what it takes.”
“But if I lean closer, try harder…” His voice trailed off, but he followed up his words with actions. Ian lowered his head, his lips moved just above her ear. “Say something like, ‘Ava, I would never hurt you. I would only ever want to make you feel good.’”
His voice was a sensual caress, his words a sexy reminder of his tempered strength. She felt his breath on her skin. This man got what she was saying. A tiny thrill ran down her back. Her nerve endings reared up and she grew invigoratingly aware of his scent, the expression in his eyes and the subtle movements of his hands.
“I’ll invite physical contact. Most people think men are the true aggressors, but it’s really women who initiate that first touch. A mature man waits for the invitation, knows how to bide his time for the payoff. I might do something like reach over and pull off an imaginary thread from your shirt.”
Ava stretched her arm, her fingers lightly brushing his shoulders. She felt the muscles tense below her fingertips. She was affecting him, and that felt very, very good.
“Now that I have your full attention, I’ll take my drink, play with the straw, bring it to my mouth.”
His eyes shifted to her lips and he exhaled a breath.
Then back again to her eyes.
His pupils were more dilated.
“I want you to think about my mouth,” she explained as she sipped her wine. The waiter had looked at her as if she was crazy when she’d asked for the straw, but she knew what she was doing.
He ran a finger along the collar of his shirt. “I never knew how hot this flirting research could be.”
Her gaze was drawn to the skin below his ear. Would he be sensitive there, like her? His mouth thinned, as if he guessed her thoughts. Good. He was becoming more in tune with her. Of course, it wasn’t as if she were trying to hide that she was thinking about sex. Sex with him.
“Over time, women developed a set of skills to test men in a very short period of time. It’s a back and forth. I make a move, you make a move. It’s actually quite sophisticated. If it’s working, you’ll know we’ll be on the same page while in bed.”
