Lord of Rage & Primal Instincts (27 page)

“Let’s get out of here,” he ordered, his voice deep and seductive.

“I still have my drink,” she told him, not the least bit thirsty.

His eyes grew alarmed. “Leave it. I’ll buy you another. That’s a modern dating tip. Never leave your drink unattended then consume more.”

“It seems such a waste.”

“I’ll show you what’s going to waste.” Ian lowered his head, his lips lightly brushing hers. “Still thirsty?” he asked against her mouth, his breath a warm caress against her cheek.

She shook her head.

“Good.” He reached for her hand again, leading her through the couples and weaving between the tables until they were outside.

The cold chill of the winter air nipped at her skin, but she didn’t feel a thing. That light teasing kiss Ian had given her had heated her from the inside, and she was ready for more.

The Bricktown sidewalks teemed with activity. The bright streetlights illuminated their path as they made their way amongst the other late-night revelers. The street vendors had gone, replaced by rickshaws. A police officer patrolling on his bicycle rode past as they walked toward her building.

Any other night she’d want to take it slow. Enjoy the ambiance and people watch. But this wasn’t any ordinary night. Tonight Ian held her by the hand, and she was ready for him to demonstrate the promises his body had made to her on the dance floor.

Everything about him suggested he’d be an unselfish lover. And could there be anything sexier than a man who cared about his woman’s pleasure?

In what felt like way too long a walk, they approached her apartment. In the shadows he pulled her into his arms. Ava stretched, looping her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair. Their gazes locked briefly in the moonlight.

“You want me to tell you how I kiss a woman, Ava?”

No. She wanted him to show her. Right now.

“I touch her face. Cup her cheek. Then I let my hands slide down her shoulders. Her arms. Just a gentle glide. Make her feel comfortable. Let her know I’d never do anything she doesn’t want me to do to her body.”

His actions, followed only seconds after his words, was utter seduction, drawing out her anticipation, making her ache to feel what he described.

“I stop at her waist. That safe spot between your hips and your breasts is pure temptation. I can move my hands up or down and be in heaven.”

When had he stopped talking in the abstract? Now he was talking only about her. How parts of her were heaven to him. Some of those parts started to get really excited about the prospect.

“What shall it be?” he asked, his gaze lowering to her lips for a moment before returning to her eyes.

He didn’t wait for her response. His fingers cupped her hips and he drew her closer. The tips of her breasts brushed his chest, her nipples hardening at the contact.
Her eyes drifted shut for a moment at the exquisiteness of the sensation. As a scientist, she’d studied gender response, researched the origins of customs related to sex and observed the intricate human behaviors that led to it, but experiencing her own response to Ian was intense.

His head descended, but instead of finding her lips, the firm softness of his mouth drifted along her neck. Tingles shot out to everywhere in her body.

“Remember you asked if I were up for the challenge? Could I give you pleasure here?” His breath sent a shiver down her sensitive skin.

His lips slid a slow path down her neck. Across the exposed area of her collarbone. She sucked in a breath when he followed with his tongue.

Yes. Ian Cole was definitely up for the challenge.

His hands caressed her through her shirt, running up and down her back. Shivers of sensation crisscrossed her spine.

“A less patient man might go straight for your mouth. A hard, hungry kiss to show you how hard and hungry I am. But I won’t do that.”

“You won’t?” she asked, unable to mask her disappointment.

“No, a woman like you appreciates a man willing to take risks, not give you what you expect.”

Ian kissed both of her closed eyes. The tip of her nose. Each time she sensed his lips getting closer to hers, she raised her mouth, tried to finally feel his lips.

When he began kissing her forehead she’d had enough. Ava opened her eyes to see Ian smiling at her. Gentle, as though he knew he’d been driving her crazy, but his eyes were dark, so she understood he had been waiting, just like her.

“Kiss me, Ian.”

“Just waiting for the invitation.” He lowered his head and his lips lightly touched hers. Brushed hers for a moment. Then his lips firmed and he kissed her. Passion ignited between them. Burned. Ian kissed her as if he’d rather kiss her than breathe.

Her fingers twined in the hair at his nape. Her heart pounded. The blood rushed in her ears. Ava pressed her body close.

Ian broke off the kiss. The heaviness of their breathing filled the night air. She moaned in disappointment.

“Ava, I haven’t shared with you the last tip,” he said.

Her lids lifted and she looked into his eyes, clearing away the confusion his kiss caused. “What?”

He dropped his arms. “Always leave them wanting more.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Good night,” he whispered.

After making sure she entered her building safely, Ian turned swiftly and headed back down the sidewalk in the direction of his hotel.

Her whole body ached with sexual frustration.

Irritation.

Aggravation made her movements jerky as she let herself into her apartment.

Annoyed—yes. Disappointed—for sure. But secretly impressed by his ability to turn the tables on her—yes, she was that, too. “Well played, Mr. Cole. Well played.”

A
VA
S
IMMS WAS ONE HELL
of an adrenaline rush. Still, kissing her was not one of Ian’s best moves.

Actually, it had been a great move.

But walking away before he suggested something stupid like continuing their research up in her bedroom was his best move of the night.

Ava possessed the kind of lips that invited a man’s eyes. A call to investigate. Luckily, that fit right in with his chosen profession of journalist. He could easily spend the next few weeks working on her manuscript all the while exploring the woman. Studying the way her body matched perfectly to his. Or discovering new ways to have her make those sexy little sounds she’d made when their kiss deepened. Her soft moans fired something in his blood.

He could better use his time examining why she made him uneasy. As a reporter, Ian trusted his instincts when they warned him something wasn’t exactly as it appeared. And Ava Simms was definitely not the almost-mild-mannered anthropology professor she seemed.

Somehow he knew she’d been expecting him to make a move on her, had been building every moment they had together to that point. It was as if she had something to prove about the validity of her theories and ideas, and he was the guinea pig.

Normally, if a smart, desirable and beautiful woman wanted to test her sexual ideas on his body, who was he to get in the way of science?

But he didn’t usually
work
with smart, desirable women. Mostly it was a bunch of smelly angry guys alongside him in the field, if he worked with anyone at all. Quite frankly, he didn’t have the skill set for this scenario.

Which was maybe what his sister liked about sending him here to Oklahoma. Miriam, she had a sadistic streak in her where he was concerned. Probably payback for the time he gave all her Barbies buzz cuts before he’d allow them to play with his G.I. Joe. Could be the fact her face was plastered across Do Not Allow into the Country posters in at least one South American country because of him. Or maybe it was for allowing her to do all the heavy lifting as far as their mother was concerned. Probably all three.

His sister wouldn’t like the idea of him getting involved with Ava. That, of course, would have been incentive in itself, but he’d long since grown up and quit trying to shock Miriam. She was the only person in this world whom he knew who actually gave a crap about him, and he loved her for it.

Loved her so much that he’d be up at six o’clock in the morning in Oklahoma completing a full edit on a sex book that should be titillating but wasn’t. That was until he pictured the author.

Which brought him back full circle to Ava.

Damn. His body reacted just to the thought of her. Knowing she was trying out all her theories and techniques on him didn’t prevent them from working on him. Since he’d met her, he’d been surrounded by images of sex. Not to mention the scents that also made
him think only of sex. And now he had to read about it. And damn if that infuriating aroma of cinnamon didn’t turn him on.

Maybe she did have something with that flower garland story. He had to admit he’d much rather twist a bunch of carnations together than tell her just how much work her
Recipe for Sex
needed. That quick read-through he’d given it on the plane hadn’t revealed all the problems.

He should probably try to figure out why he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. This was work. It wasn’t personal. He’d never been one not to tell it to someone straight. His career was based on just the facts.

Yeah, he should probably scrutinize those feelings, but he wouldn’t. He preferred to keep his emotions in the shallow end of the pool. A lesson learned early, and one that had never failed him.

T
HREE HUNDRED AND
twenty-seven manuscript pages.

Three hundred and twenty-seven manuscript pages she’d written in a frenzy of anguish and drive. Nineteen-hour days, restless nights and little food had been Ava’s life until she had finally typed
The End.
She’d poured her heart, as well as every other body part she possessed, into
Recipe for Sex.

Three hundred and twenty-seven pages that were now covered from top to bottom, left to right in red ink. Some of her writing had apparently been so bad he’d had to make notations on the back. With drawings. This didn’t include the sticky notes. Or the seven pages of notes he’d scribbled on a yellow legal pad.

She could almost feel his irritation in the large red X’s that annihilated every paragraph in chapter three.
The force from his pen had left an impression three pages down.

“No, no. That’s all wrong,” Ian told her for about the billionth time as he turned a page. She’d almost stopped paying attention.

He’d showed up at her apartment this morning with bagels, coffee and a determination to cross out months of her hard work with that lethal red pen of his. He’d looked innocent enough, wearing jeans and an Oklahoma Sooners T-shirt he must have bought since his arrival. Innocent for someone who was about to rip her heart out with his critique. Although
critique
was too nice a word because he’d found nothing positive.

His eyes flared a bit when she opened the door to him wearing the ceremonial dress of the Hidali.

“At least it’s more than paint,” he mumbled as he slid past her into her apartment. But she couldn’t tell if he was happy about that or disappointed.

But her attire wasn’t much more than paint as the Hidali hailed from Africa and the clothing took into account the heat, and the beauty of the flora that lent to the dyes. The colorful material was free-flowing and quite sheer.

“There’s an elaborate meal that goes with this costume. I thought we could try it at lunchtime. I’ve already prepared the food. One of the dishes has some real aphrodisiacal properties.”

Ian raised his hand. “Please. Let me at least fortify myself with coffee before you start talking about phallic symbols and food that’s supposed to make any normal man hard while you’re half-naked.”

He made decidedly for her kitchen.

There was no mention of the kiss the night before.

Not that she’d expected it. Today’s agenda was ap
parently going to be all about work. Evidently, Mr. Cole took to heart that not-mixing-business-with-pleasure axiom, because ten minutes later they were going over the manuscript together page by page. That red pen was finding things it had missed with Ian’s first read through.

Ava gasped when he proceeded to X out one of her favorite sections.

“This whole section should go. It’s dry and boring.”

She shook her head. “It is not. Certainly the Bogani people whose culture you just obliterated from the page didn’t think so.”

Ian picked up the page. “‘In ancient times, as now, in isolated communities in the mountainous region of Bogan, the men eligible to leave their mothers and fathers were gathered together in the village square where everyone dropped their heads and snored because these paragraphs would put anyone to sleep, even a boy about to lose his virginity.’”

She took a deep breath. “Maybe it’s a tad uninspired.”

He looked up from the page. “Uninspired? Ava, when we’re talking about sex, the last thing it should ever be is uninspired.”

Ava dropped her gaze. She’d acknowledge that he had a point about her writing, but not that the section needed to go. She’d sat silent for too long, and it was time for Ian to do a little compromising. “Okay, let’s rewrite that portion.”

Ian raised a brow. “We’re not targeting virgins or even near-virgins with this book.”

“Come on, Ian. You mean somewhere along the line, you wouldn’t have wanted some older, experienced woman to show you the ropes in bed?”

“Well, it’s been a long time since I was inexp—”

Ava rolled her eyes. “Oh, spare me that. Even when
you know your way around the bedroom, when you’re with a new person there are still nerves involved. Premature ej—”

“Not an issue,” he said quickly.

“You mean, you’ve never had your skyrocket in flight long before hers?”

He swallowed. His skin reddened a bit. “My technique might not have been always airtight when I first started, but now…”

“My point exactly. Readers with a wide range of experiences will be reading this book.” She refrained from rolling her eyes again. Male pride on prowess in the bedroom also seemed to be pretty universal. Here it seemed to manifest itself by preferring to fumble around in the dark rather than acknowledge suggestions.

“I know you said the other day that men don’t give other men tips to score, but surely a man would take advice from a woman.”

Ian crossed his arms across his chest, his expression confident. Overconfident. “Okay, shoot me a pointer.”

She was up for the challenge. “Hmm. The first thing a Bogani woman shows the young lover is how to pleasure a woman using only his fingers.”

“Of course she does.” He made a scoffing sound, but his eyes narrowed in interest.

“A woman can be pretty forgiving of three-pumps-and-he’s-done if she’s already had at least one orgasm. Something to keep in mind if a man wants to be invited back to the bedroom for a repeat performance.”

That overconfident expression he’d worn slipped a little. “Maybe you do have a point about this section.”

Oh, yeah, she’d show him. Reaching for her remote, she turned on her stereo and selected music from the Bogani region. Her apartment was soon filled with the
sounds of drums. Primal. Like the steady rhythm of a heartbeat.

Then she reached and took that hateful red pen from his fingers and dropped it to the floor. “The Bogani are a close-knit, family-oriented culture.”

He mouthed the word
boring.
So she reached for the thick stack of pages comprising her printed manuscript. “Obviously you can improve upon my writing, but you need to actually experience this to truly understand what I’m trying to convey.”

He cocked his head. A study in disbelief.

“I wouldn’t have understood a singles bar until I experienced it.”

Ian let her tug the papers from his hand easily. “I’ve already crossed this section out.”

“I’m putting it right back in. The way the Bogani men learn to pleasure a woman will not only be helpful to less experienced men who might be reading the book, but could also be a fun role play. Dual purpose.”

“Role play?” he asked. “Now that’s some inspiration.” His eyes let her know he was more than curious about her next move.

That next move led to her couch.

“You won’t need your laptop, either,” she told him as she reached for his hand and drew him away from the kitchen table he’d commandeered for the butchering of her masterpiece.

“The Bogani people frown on couples separating, and believe pleasure in the marriage bed makes for a happy union,” Ava told him as she tugged him into her front room.

“Sometimes not even
that
can save a marriage.”

Mr. Cynicism was back. Good. She liked demonstrating her techniques to him best. Made it all the sweeter
when her point was successfully proven. “True, but it’s never a reason for a breakup. That’s where the widows come in. Some say they make the bed play work. Plus they’re going to save this section from your red pen. And this time, it won’t be dull.”

“Been giving this some thought?”

“Actually it just came to me. Sit.”

Ian made himself comfortable against the cushions of her couch while she kicked off her sandals.

“When a man has proven he can support himself and leave his parents, he’s also free to be chosen by one of the widows to show him how to pleasure a woman,” she sat beside him on the couch, his jeans-clad thigh brushing along her bare skin.

“She’d have to choose the man she’d tutor carefully, for he’d pay a yearly tribute to her until his death. It’s actually a nice little social system. It ensures that women without protectors are provided for, while potentially removing one of the major barriers to marital happiness.”

“Are there jealousies?”

Ava shook her head. “No. Once he marries, he and the widow don’t see one another again. If the widow has done her job well, the wife has nothing but praise for her. Bogani place high importance on monogamy. Although the widow walks a fine line. She knows she’s there as a teacher, and strives to make the process without intimacy.”

“How does she do that?” he asked.

“By never making eye contact. By never talking about anything other than how to pleasure his future wife. Every touch, every caress, every new sensation is all encased in the future.”

Ava deliberately lowered her gaze. Now she’d show
him how lovers could role-play the Bogani teaching times.

“Boys and girls were usually separated from one another, learning the skills needed to keep their tribe thriving, so when they eventually make it back together, there’s a lot of curiosity and shyness. So the first thing the widow teacher would do would be to make him feel comfortable with a woman’s body. Receiving her touch and giving his. That first meeting he’d usually only stroke her.”

Without looking up, she lifted his hands to the bare skin of her shoulder. He was warm and solid, and even with the barest of touches, not pulling off the inexperienced young man illusion very well.

“She’d instruct him how to run his fingers gently along her exposed skin. Softly caressing all the erogenous zones on a woman. Her neck. Her ears. How to sink his fingers into her hair, stroke her scalp. A lot of this can be missed in today’s rushed lovemaking.”

Ian followed her instructions perfectly. Deliciously. Her skin grew warm under his fingertips, achy for more of his touch. With shaky knees, Ava stood, still not meeting his eyes.

“Then she’d lead him to the small of her back. With even the lightest pressure there, the muscles loosen and it feels so good.”

She sucked in a breath when Ian’s fingers eased the tension that had gathered in that spot after seeing her book covered in red.

“The more relaxed a woman is, the easier her blood is flowing through her veins, the quicker it is for her to reach her peak.”

“Are you feeling relaxed, Ava?”