Читать книгу Primal Instincts - Jill Monroe - Страница 7

“SO WHY DID YOUR sister send you? I thought she was coming herself.”

A look of unease crossed Ian’s face. Ava saw his lips move. Did he just mumble? It almost sounded like he muttered something about cowardly sisters.

“Mr. Cole?” she prompted.

“I’ll be taking the photos for the book, and revising the manuscript.” He hunched down to his equipment bag.

Bringing in a photographer was a given. The rituals she wanted to explore were also very visual. Men were very visual creatures and most cultures had adapted to that. Her book would have to include a lot of pictures to be appealing to her target males. “I thought this meeting with Miriam was to refine and make some fixes to my writing. Surely revising is too strong a word,” she prodded.

He pulled out what looked to be a light meter. Her father often used the more sophisticated photographic equipment while on a dig site.

“Mr. Cole, are you listening to me?”

“Call me Ian.”

She narrowed her gaze. This man was trying not to tell her something. Something he didn’t want her to know. She’d studied cultures from all over the world, and men from one continent to another flashed the same visual cues when wanting to avoid a direct question. Especially from a woman.

The shifting weight from foot to foot.

The suddenly moving hands.

The rapid eye movement.

Yes, Ian Cole was in full avoidance mode, exhibiting the number-one classic sign—sidestepping the question.

“Ian, when you say revising, what you really mean is—”

His gaze met hers finally. Clear, brown and full of truth. A truth he didn’t want to tell her.

“Ghost-writing. Miriam feels the pages you sent in have too much of an academic feel to them,” he said, cutting her off with a hint of apology in his voice.

At least he was honest. Disappointed, she slumped against a nearby column. The cool wood cut into the bare skin of her back, and she cringed.

Obviously she’d failed in her quest to find the creative “wow” to impress her new publisher. Maybe her only shot at a publisher. This was a disaster. No one wanted her work in the academic field. Now it seemed no one wanted her work outside of it, either.

Ava wanted to kick the wall in frustration. She hadn’t realized until just this moment how important doing this book on her own had been to her.

“Have a seat,” she told him with a sigh.

Quickly, he shifted his gear. With one direct look into her eyes he sat down. Was that concern she spotted in his gaze?

Now that she knew what she was dealing with, she could move forward. Funny, she’d never acknowledged how correctly her mother had pegged her daughter’s personality. Mom had always compared her to a triangle: didn’t matter which way she pointed as long as she was moving in some direction.

She’d never had her own apartment before. The closest thing she’d had to a home had been her dorm room. She had no idea if she’d placed the couch or the end tables in the right places, but she liked the final result, and that was all that mattered. She watched Ian look around.

He finished his examination with a slow whistle between his teeth after looking up. “Wow, this is some place. That ceiling is amazing.”

“It makes me feel like I’m not so boxed in. I like wide-open spaces.”

“Yeah? Me, too.” A smile tugged at his top lip, and his gaze narrowed.

For a moment, she met his eyes. Where had her instincts gone? She was supposed to be the expert. She should be the one to find common ground. That was how alliances were formed. And right now she sensed she needed Ian on her side to get what she wanted—to write this book on her own.

On to step two: Slowly layer in personal experiences so that it’s harder for the target to say no. Her gaze slid upwards. “When I saw the high ceiling, I knew this had to be my apartment. This used to be an old warehouse.” She pointed to the exposed ductwork, painted a warm taupe. “The nearly floor-to-ceiling window allows in great natural light, which just feels more normal to me, even though I’m living six flights up.”

“You spend a lot of time outdoors?”

Ava laughed softly. “Since I can remember. Not many hotels in the isolated regions my parents took me to. My father liked to sleep under the stars.”

“This your first time living in a city?” he asked.

Questions. Of course, she should have realized. Ian was a reporter. He’d be a man who’d ask a lot of questions. Was she slipping that fast now that she wasn’t active in the field?

Hmm. He was making her a subject. He’d apparently acquired his own approach—to remain distant.

Questions were fine. She could handle questions. Her mission was to make sure her answers steered him away from viewing her as a writing project.

“Other than college towns, I don’t think I’ve ever lived someplace with over a thousand people. To go to someplace with more than half a million people was a pretty big leap. I thought about living in the rural area of the state, then I figured, what the hell?”

His brown gaze met hers. Did she see a bit of understanding in the depths of his eyes? Clearly he was a man who understood a what-the-hell? sentiment.

“I have a gorgeous view of Oklahoma City’s skyline. The city is literally my backyard. And I have plenty of space to show off the artwork and sculptures I’ve collected from some of the places I’ve visited. Before he left, my brother installed shelving on almost every available wall space.” She loved the results.

Ian nodded, and ran his finger along the fine woodwork of the nearest bookcase. His hands were work-rough appealing. Obviously he didn’t use a phone or computer to do his research, he was in the field. Just like her.

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 sugar-coating, 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 Googled 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 forgot 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?