Lord of Rage

by Jill Monroe

  Ian nodded, then returned his attention to his light gauge or whatever he was fiddling with. His movements were choppy, his motions clipped.

  That was more like it.

  “But this is the Hero Send-Off. The Dravonian culture has died off now, but we know a lot of their traditions by their extensive cave drawings discovered in eastern Europe.” She found herself fingering the props as she watched him finish with his equipment.

  “We suspect that the Send-Off developed during times of war, when clashing tribes fought over territory. But with the domestication of some plants, the tribes began to merge, and the women’s traditions for sending off their men moved to right before the last prewinter hunt.” Ian completed his tasks, and walked toward her. Reluctantly, almost as if he didn’t want to get near her.

  She’d take that as a good sign. “Of course, the hunt was not as dangerous as going off to fight, but who could blame the men for not wanting to lose out on that particular practice?”

  Ian shook his head, his brown eyes scanning the scene she’d set. “No, I can’t see any man wanting to give all this up.” Then his gaze returned to hers. Heated and curious—her favorite combination.

  She had his attention now. Ian was clearly intrigued about what kind of send-off the women would give their men. “Can you take pictures in the hut I made? I think any shots in there would be more effective in explaining the atmosphere to readers.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Good. Though I don’t want it to seem like I’m discounting the dangers of the last hunt. It was far more dangerous than others. The men would be competing for game with other predators, and the meat would be so important to sustain the tribe through the winter.”

  A smile tugged at Ian’s lips and her heart did a tiny flip-flop. “Told you something more was needed than just fruits and nuts,” he teased.

  “Yes, the men’s contribution was very important. Step inside the hut, and I’ll show you how the women prepared their men.”

  The laughter left Ian’s eyes. Yeah, that will show you to try and tease me.

  With a shrug, the robe Ava had been wearing slipped off her shoulders. The air was cool against her nearly naked skin. “The idea was to surround the man with his favorites. His woman would greet him in what she knew he liked to see her in. I didn’t know for sure what you preferred, but you seemed to enjoy my loincloth.”

  Ian’s breath came out in a hiss as the robe fell to the floor. She adjusted the straps at her hips. She’d paired it with a matching beaded top, replacing the paint from a week ago. “If you were facing danger tomorrow, maybe even death, is this what you’d like to see me in the night before?”

  Ian nodded, not able to take his eyes off her body.

  Satisfied with his reaction, Ava sank to her knees and crawled into the hut she’d made. Ian followed, keeping his distance. A pretty impressive move when her makeshift hut was less than four feet wide.

  Her voice dipped low. “The whole point was to make him feel important. Loved and yet invincible. As if he could face and conquer anything come the next sunrise. The woman would take away all his worry, to give him the opportunity to relax, not to think. Whatever her man most desires before he heads off to the hunt.”

  “You know, if you want, I could go get us some steaks.”

  Ava laughed low in her throat. She saw the naked desire on Ian’s face now. She met his eyes. “Although it seems only beneficial to the man, the woman enjoys it, too. This might be her last night with the one she loves. How better than to spend it in only…pleasure?”

  “None better.”

  “Let’s start with the oil.” She uncapped the bottle, and poured a generous amount in her hand, warming it between her fingers.

  Ian’s eyes followed her every movement, and he licked his lips.

  “Aren’t you going to join me?”

  His gaze met hers. “What?”

  “I think these pictures would be more effective if they show me demonstrating on a man’s body.”

  “I have to take the pictures.”

  “Isn’t there some sort of autosnap? Come here. How are you supposed to write it without experiencing it yourself? When you think you have a good shot, set it up, then come back.”

  He paused for a moment, then he nodded. “That might work.” He turned his gaze to hers, and she almost gasped at the look of anguished desire displayed in those brown depths.

  Ian had the distinct look of a man who didn’t want her to touch him. She could only guess he was a man used to being in charge. Too bad. Last night he’d driven her to distraction. That’s what she wanted to give him this morning.

  His arms slumped to his sides and he crawled toward her.

  “You’ll need to take off your shirt.”

  “Why?”

  Yeah, that was her question. Why all the reluctance? “Is there a way I could give you a massage with your shirt on?”

  With a shrug, Ian lifted his shirt over his head, and tossed it out the opening of her tent.

  It was her turn to be reluctant. Ian had the kind of body that drove women to create ceremonies like the Send-Off. He was a man who lived in the field, worked hard with his body, and it showed. He didn’t have the bulk of someone who worked for those muscles in a gym. No, his body was lean strength, tight stomach and hardened pecs. A light smattering of hair led temptingly lower.

  Her fingers itched to touch his skin. Caress his muscles. She swallowed over the hard lump in her throat. She knew her body must be flashing all the signals of an aroused woman. She felt the blush above her breasts. Knew her nipples were poking at the material of her top.

  His gaze turned heated, and she saw his hands fist and flex at his side.

  “It’s okay, Ian. I’ll make sure you enjoy this.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he stated. This was no soft utterance or muttering under his breath. It was that amazing honesty from yesterday. His words made her burn.

  Ian was done hiding his desire and also obviously through with masking his reluctance, too. Could his hesitation be rooted in the same reasons as her own proactive gestures of last night?

  They wanted each other, but were both clearly cautious. She’d never shied away from anything, and she doubted the alpha loner in front of her had, either. Why now?

  As a researcher, she’d love to ponder and contemplate the reasons until she came up with a reasonable answer. As a woman, she just wanted her hands on his body.

  “Your pants, too.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s going to get really oily in here, do you want that on your khakis?”

  Ian’s fingers moved to the button, and unhooked it. Then he found the zipper, his eyes never leaving her face. But she was too curious, so her gaze slid downward. She sucked in a breath as she realized something about Ian. He didn’t like to wear underwear.

  The pants slid down his legs, revealing a deep tan with none of the telltale marks of a man who wore trunks when he swam. Already semierect, he was impressive to behold.

  She recognized her age-old womanly response. Her lips parted. Her breasts felt heavy.

  His pants soon joined his shirt outside the material walls. Ian turned, presenting her his back. Smooth and tanned and muscled, it matched the rest of his body.

  The skin of his shoulders quivered as she placed her oil-ready hands on him. His hot flesh felt right beneath her fingertips. “You seem tense,” she said.

  “Getting tenser by the moment.”

  She smiled, her skin becoming more sensitive as she grew aroused. Ava began to rub and knead his flesh. “There’s no record that the Dravonian women had any special techniques. I think they just did whatever made the man feel good. Does this make you feel good, Ian?”

  “Yes.” His voice was low and huskier than before.

  Done with his shoulders, she poured more oil into her hand. She slid her hands down his spine, watching him flex and move under her ministrations.


  She cupped the firmness of his backside. He had the perfect butt, and his muscles grew more taut as she worked him.

  “This doesn’t seem to be doing the trick of relaxing you. Maybe this will help.”

  Ava reached behind her and tugged the bow at her neck holding the halter top in place. The bow between her shoulder blades was more tricky with her fingers so slippery, but she managed to get it undone, too.

  Her top fell to the protected floor with a whoosh. Ian shifted around to see what had fallen. His eyes widened at the sight of her nearly naked body.

  Ava’s nipples hardened further under his gaze. She poured more oil into her hands and rubbed it all over her breasts, loving the slick feeling against her sensitive flesh.

  “I suspect that after a while the woman did something like this.” Ava cupped her body to Ian’s back, rubbing her oil-glazed body against his skin. The sensation was amazing. Unlike any she’d felt before.

  She began to run her fingers up and down the sides of his body. His thighs. His ribs. With each stroke downward, his frame jerked as she found her fingers closer and closer to his penis.

  She would have loved to have done this last night. Touched him for real, instead of in her imagination.

  The oil was working its magic. His skin glistened in the candlelight. Finally the slickness became too much and he fell, his arms barely bracing both of them.

  “Roll onto your back. I think it’s time to massage your front,” she urged.

  Ian circled to his back, bringing her along with him. “Never understood the appeal of oil-wrestling until now,” he said. “What?”

  Ian shook his head. “I’ll explain it later. I like what you’re doing now.”

  She smiled, and poured more oil into her hands, rubbing to heat up the liquid. Then she smoothed it onto his chest, running her fingers along his collarbone, his nipples and the muscled lines of his stomach.

  When she settled on his hips, his cock jutted forward. Her gaze lowered. His hard length was ready for anything she wanted to give him.

  Ava suddenly held a new appreciation for the control Dravonian women must have had. Her skin screamed for his touch. His caresses. His mouth on her body.

  She could only imagine how intense the experience would be for a woman who was loved by the man beside her, and her fearing for his safety. Everything, every touch, every taste, every sense would be heightened.

  She needed to take a breather, to get her riotous body more in check. “I have some sliced meats and some traditional bite-size boiled potatoes. Usually the woman feeds her man.”

  “Nice to know meat-and-potato men always existed.”

  “What?”

  Ian groaned deep in his throat. “No, ignore me. I don’t want you to feed me. In fact, I don’t want you to stop what you’re doing at all. And in case that’s not clear enough, I want your sexy little hands back on my body. Touching me. Stroking me.”

  Her hand reached for the base of his cock. “Like this?” she asked.

  He shivered below her, his face a beautiful picture of male concentration.

  “Yes,” he answered, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Ava wrapped her fingers around his shaft, then slowly raised her hand to the tip, the oil making the movement easy and smooth.

  His hips lifted, and she caressed the tip of him with her thumb. Then she lowered her hand down his shaft.

  His eyes flew open. “Ava, that feels so good.”

  She lowered her lips to give him a quick kiss. “Enjoy it,” she said against his mouth. “I am.”

  Ava began to move up and down his cock, gradually increasing her speed. The muscles of his stomach flexed and his thighs shook. His hands came up to grip her. To stop her. “Ava.”

  She shook her head. “No, let me do this. You gave to me last night. Let me give to you now.”

  The hands that had come up to stop her movements embraced her. Helped her find the rhythm he liked best. She watched his face, fascinated by the tightness of his jaw. The candlelight exposing the strength of his reaction to her touch.

  He grew harder in her hand.

  Her heart beat faster in eagerness. She knew his orgasm was near, and she couldn’t wait to watch him. The core of her ached to have him feel her, but she resisted the urge to rub her clit against his hair-roughened but oil-slick thigh. That would be strictly against the rules of the ceremony.

  Instead, she put even more effort into her ministrations to Ian’s body. She rode her hand up and down his shaft, using her thumb to tease the head of him.

  With a groan that tore from somewhere deep inside him, Ian came.

  She couldn’t wait to make him do it again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE LIGHT ABOVE THE BREAKFAST bar in Miriam’s apartment flashed off and on. “Oh, I can’t believe it. I’ve called that in. The super told me he’d fixed it.”

  Jeremy looked above his head. “It’s probably just a loose connection. I’ll take a look at it after breakfast.”

  She flashed him a skeptical look. “Don’t worry about it. I hire someone to take care of things like that.”

  He glanced upward again. “Really, I could check that in a minute.”

  “There you go again, trying to save me. Honestly, the last thing I want you doing is wasting your time here with me fixing stuff.”

  His neck reddened. How she loved that about him. It was as if he was slightly embarrassed by their reaction to one another.

  “When you put it like that…” Jeremy finished off the omelet Miriam had made him, and set the plate aside. “This was great. Thanks.”

  Miriam smiled, pleased she’d satisfied one of his hungers. “Glad you enjoyed them. Scrambling eggs is about the only domestic thing I do.”

  He stood, lifting his plate off the counter. “In that case, I wash and dry. You can sit down.”

  Wash and dry? By hand? What kind of person did he think she was? Miriam waved his comment away. “Just stack it in the sink. I have someone that comes in every morning to tidy up and prepare a meal for dinner. Takeout gets old.”

  “You’re missing out on one of life’s greatest times between two people.” His blue eyes grew darker. “Outside of bed.”

  “Takeout?”

  Jeremy shook his head. “Dishwashing. My dad insists it’s the key to a happy marriage.”

  Another knock against the institution. Besides, Miriam couldn’t fathom for a moment how dishwashing could be in any way joyful. Housework equaled drudgery in her mind.

  “I can see from your face you’re skeptical. Every night after dinner, my dad would wash and my mom would dry. They’d talk about their day, the meal, whatever. I could usually hear laughter coming from the kitchen.”

  Miriam squirmed in her chair, uncomfortable with where this conversation was leading. The illusion of martial bliss. “Couldn’t they do other things together?”

  “I don’t think it’s the same. Last year, I bought them a dishwasher for their anniversary. I think mom uses it during the day or on holidays, but for the most part, it’s them together at night.”

  Her eyes widened. What was wrong with these people? “I still don’t get it.”

  “I didn’t, either. My father told me it’s one of those tasks that your body can do on autopilot. So you talk. You’re close, and you stand side by side. The way a relationship should be.”

  This kind of reminded her of the doc’s writing that Ian had been sending to her via email. About how generations of men and women spent time together quietly, doing little more than just being together. How going through life’s journey seemed somehow easier when completed with someone you love.

  Miriam smiled at him, but for some reason felt melancholy. Wow, happy parents in a happy marriage. Who knew they still existed? Certainly none of her friends came from any intact home life.

  She was struck, and not for the first time, by how different she and Jeremy really were from each other. Oh, they connected in bed on a level that was beyond beli
eving, but out of bed?

  They were so very different, and not only the age thing. She’d graduated from Wharton, ran a company. Jeremy didn’t even have a job, and didn’t show much of an inclination to search for one, either.

  He believed in domestic bliss.

  Her business published articles on flings and long-distance relationships. He—

  The telephone interrupted her thoughts. Jeremy handed her the portable phone, his fingers caressing her hand. She decided right there and then she’d get rid of whoever was on the other end of the line. Fast. “Hello.”

  “So, tell me immediately why you are still not at work.” It was Jenna, Miriam’s best friend. Best friend and she still hadn’t told her about Jeremy. Not about the weekend in Oklahoma, and not about now, either.

  “I was due a break.” And Jeremy was the long, tall vacation she’d needed. She watched him as he straightened up in the kitchen, running a damp paper towel over the counters she’d left covered in crumbs.

  She could watch him unobserved. Jeremy looked fantastic this morning, shirtless and with his dark hair mussed. A flutter of desire began to unwind inside her. Not a bad way to start her morning.

  “I’m coming over there.”

  Miriam whirled away from the sight of Jeremy in her kitchen, trying not to panic. “No, you can’t. I mean—”

  “Miriam Cole, what is going on over there? Are you sick? Running away from the law? Have a naked man tucked away folding your towels?”

  Miriam gasped. Close. Almost naked and cleaning her kitchen.

  “You naughty girl, you have someone there right now.”

  “No,” she insisted. In full panic mode.

  Jenna snorted. “Okay, however you want to play it. I expect all the juicy details later. Hey, bring him along tonight.”

  Oh, damn. This was the night of her monthly book club meeting. It was Pride and Prejudice, and at her suggestion. She could talk about that book for hours. And despite that it provided not one, but two romantic endings, sometimes she yearned for a time in her life when she believed in love.

  Yes, she could talk about that book for hours, but she’d rather be with Jeremy. And it didn’t matter what they were doing, in bed, out of bed, he beat out Jane Austen.