by Jill Monroe
She opened her eyes and smiled. “It’s kind of sweet and earthy,” she said as she placed the stick on an ornately carved holder. “Patchouli is thought to alleviate anxiety, so it might be a good scent for first-time lovers.”
She kept bringing up the topic of first-time lovers, which always brought the prospect of the two of them being first-time lovers.
Ava reached for a vial beside her. “This is ylang-ylang. That means wilderness, and is used as a true aphrodisiac in the South Pacific.” She rubbed a small drop of it on the crease of her elbow.
“Every aroma takes on a whole different personality when on the skin. It mixes with our own natural scents and musks and creates something totally unique.” She shifted toward him. “Smell.”
He’d kissed this woman. Stroked her skin, cupped her breast, but there was something about lowering his head to breathe in the scent of her that was wholly intimate and erotic.
Ian wasn’t up on his scents. He couldn’t tell you the difference between jasmine and lavender, but he could say that what Ava rubbed on her skin made him think of nothing but raw lovemaking.
A slow smile curved her full lips. “Powerful, isn’t it? Ylang-ylang boosts the attraction between a man and a woman. Enhances energy and open-mindedness.”
His imagination sure wasn’t having any trouble. Right now his mind was coming up with all kinds of energetic scenarios from pushing Ava back against that pillow to—
“Vanilla is particularly attractive to women.” She reached for a brown bottle. “This is pure vanilla extract that you can find in any grocery store. Not good to taste, but if you were to put some on your neck, I would keep getting closer and closer to you as the evening progressed.”
And here he’d been wasting all this money on expensive colognes.
“So do you think this will work for the book?”
All Ian could do was nod.
MIRIAM WATCHED AS JEREMY stretched in her bed, the sheets twisting around his flat stomach. She’d taken the day off. In fact she’d taken two. Unheard of. Now she was lazing around in bed past noon. What was with her?
Jeremy. His kiss. His hands on her body. His mouth on her skin. He was sexy, funny and…
And young.
She’d ask herself what did she think she was doing, but the tenderness of her breasts and the achiness between her thighs was a pretty good reminder.
She’d never been with anyone younger than her. Not even by a month. She didn’t need to consult Dr. Freud to know it stemmed from watching her father date women who were less than his age. First five years. Then seven. Finally fifteen.
Damn, was she using Jeremy? Using him to make her feel good about getting older? About gravity? About a lot of things? Was she that far off from her father?
Jeremy rolled over, reaching for her in the dark. Grasping her breast. He smiled in his sleep as her nipple hardened against his palm. That wasn’t the only thing hardening.
Even half-awake, he’d explored the terrain of her body with ease. His mouth had sought the sweet spot below her ear where she loved to have him kiss. Lick.
The way he made love to her was beautiful. The way he made her feel, amazing. She didn’t want anything ugly between them. Anything that remotely resembled the kind of relationships her father had had with his younger women.
“Jeremy?” she whispered. If he didn’t wake up, she could postpone this little conversation until morning.
He lifted his head. He smiled at her sleepily. “Is something wrong?” he asked, automatically reaching to comfort her.
She scooted away from him, as if she didn’t quite trust herself to get through this without dropping the whole subject so she could make love with him instead.
Okay, here it goes. “What do you see happening here?”
Jeremy nodded, as if he’d suspected this would occur. The mattress squeaked as he sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“A guy driving halfway across the country doesn’t exactly speak one-night stand,” she said quickly.
“The way you hightailed it out of my hotel room back home tells me you aren’t looking for anything long-term.” His tone had changed. Slightly negative.
Why should she be surprised? They’d shared a weekend of no-strings sex. Weren’t twentysomething men supposed to be into that? And bonus, she’d left him before there could be any weird, awkward parting moments. There’d been no faux “Let’s keep in touch” or uncomfortable hug. Leaving that way had done them both a favor. Right?
“It was best that way,” she said quietly, dropping his gaze.
“For you?” But he wouldn’t let her block him out. He reached for her hands, his body on edge. “Miriam, I was worried sick. I didn’t even know if you’d made it home safely.”
Something warm and gooey formed around her heart at his words. Yuck. She was a grown woman. Ran a business. She could take care of herself.
And yet, that yucky gooey feeling wasn’t all that bad. It was kind of nice to think someone cared whether or not she was stranded by the side of the road. She couldn’t help it. She smiled.
“I never thought you’d worry about me.”
Some of the tension he’d carried in his shoulders relaxed. His lips turned up in a smile. “Well, I did.” His gaze captured hers for a moment, and he swallowed.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. Wondering what you were doing. When I forgot about the blind date my sister had set up, I knew I had to figure out what was going on between us. I’d never stand up another person. I felt terrible.”
Miriam didn’t. The idea of him being with another woman made her stomach clench, and she’d never been the jealous type. Not once. She’d read enough articles in her magazine to know jealousy was not a productive emotion. But then she’d never been so attuned to a man’s every movement as she had been that weekend. And still was, based on their latest performance between the sheets.
“So, this trip is to get me out of your system?”
“The timing was right to see what we have. I’m between jobs right now.”
Yes, of course he was. Dad’s women never seemed to keep a job for long.
His hand settled on her thigh, sending shivers along her skin, and the fact that he didn’t have a job wasn’t such an issue at the moment.
“But given the last two days, it might take a long, long time before I get you out of my system.” His hands cupped her hips and he lifted her to straddle him. He was already hard and ready for her, and her nipples tightened in anticipation of his touch. Jeremy was a breast man.
His fingers slid into her hair, and he gently drew her head toward him. “This can be whatever we want it to be,” he whispered against her mouth.
TONIGHT IAN WAS TAKING her on a date. With him and nineteen other men. They were going on something called a speed date. Once again she had researched what she should wear, but the predominant answer was “business casual,” and that was even more difficult to fathom than going out to a nightclub.
Finally she opted for a black calf-length skirt with a bit of a kick pleat at the bottom. Her top was a salmon-colored scoop-neck blouse with a business jacket in case she got cold.
She did a quick turn for Ian when she met him outside the Bricktown restaurant where the event would be held. “How do I look?”
“My sister would approve.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “But you don’t.”
“Maybe I prefer paint.”
Her skin flushed as she remembered the way she’d first presented herself to Ian. He’d liked what he’d seen and she reveled in it now. Suddenly she didn’t want to “date” anyone. Even if it were for seven minutes at a time.
Right now she just wanted to get to know Ian better. Away from her book. Away from customs. Just the way normal North American men and women met one another.
Unfortunately, speed dating seemed to be the way they did it. What a strange social rite. “How did this whole system develop?” she asked as he opened the door for her.
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“Look at us. We spent a lot of our time in school, then out in the field with our careers. A person wakes up one day and realizes they forgot to date. So here’s the most efficient way to meet people who might be about your same age, experience and education, who have the same problem.”
Ian led her into a banquet room with a large sign proclaiming Speed Daters Welcome.
“Men on the left, women on the right,” came the loud voice of a woman standing on a chair and calling to them from the other side of a bullhorn.
“Have fun,” Ian said as he made his way to the left, and she joined a group of women dressed similarly to her. Whew, she hadn’t blown that.
“We’ll take a few moments to get everyone checked in with their name tags in place. There’s wine at the front of the room, may I suggest you partake of it?” said the woman with the bullhorn.
Several of the people laughed and made their way toward the wine table. Five minutes later, she was in her seat, sporting her name tag, as well as the number eighteen, just in case the man couldn’t remember her name. She had a score sheet and a pen, and was armed with strict instructions not to write anything down until after she’d been on all the dates.
“When I blow my whistle, the men move to the left. Please do this quickly as we only have the room until nine. Let’s begin.”
A nice-looking man of about thirty or so sat across from her first. He had a sweet, friendly smile. “Hi, I’m Zach. So, do you want to have children in the future?”
Ava found herself longing for the whistle.
Luckily Ian was her fifth “date.”
“How is it going?” he asked.
“This feels more like a job interview than dating. I’ve been asked about my religion, my sexual health and my politics.”
“Well, you’re interviewing each other for the job of significant other.”
“Sounds inspiring.”
“Do I detect a note of disdain? From the woman who has no problem with a bunch of men wearing penis carvings around their necks, this, this is what you find unusual?”
“It’s so clinical.”
“Remember what you said about how most problems between a man and a woman could be solved with just a simple conversation? Think about how easy it would be if you had all potential dating land mines already out in the open?”
She hated to admit it, but he did have a point. And using her own words against her. How irritating.
The whistle sounded and Ian stood. He was successful. He was smart and funny, and in his chinos and long-sleeved polo shirt he was amazingly handsome. The epitome of what a twenty-first-century woman should want.
And although she sometimes dabbled in ancient cultures, she was all twenty-first-century woman tonight. She’d much rather spend the next seven minutes and the seven minutes after that talking with Ian. Laughing with Ian. That initial physical attraction she’d felt for him was beginning to deepen. She was beginning to want more.
She suffered through the next few men, all decent guys, but biology did strange things to a person. Not one of them seemed as interesting as Ian. Her body had found her bedmate for the time being. It just took her mind a bit to catch up.
Finally the last whistle sounded and they were free to fill out their cards. She only marked Ian’s name and number. They were free to mingle for a few minutes longer while the organizers compared cards and readied contact information. She opted for another glass of wine.
One of the organizers came by and handed them each an envelope. “How’d you do?” he asked.
Her sheet was blank. “Not one request. I must have been putting out the wrong vibes.”
He flashed her an incredulous look.
“I didn’t even score your number.”
“You already have my number.”
“How’d you do?”
Ian folded the piece of paper and tucked it into his back pocket. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Ian.”
“Fifteen.”
“Fifteen?” she asked loudly, her voice drawing the attention of several of the other daters.
Ian laughed. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to your apartment.”
“Wait a minute, these were only mutual requests. You would have had to list them as wanting their contact information, as well.”
“All in the interest of research. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”
“Sounds like a male ego needing a few strokes to me,” she grumbled.
“Hey, a man’s got to take them when he can. The last woman I kissed blew me off for the sake of a book,” he said good-naturedly.
She laughed, and they walked along the canal together, the lights reflecting in the water. This being a weeknight, there wasn’t much foot traffic, and the boats that floated along the canal were docked for the night.
“Ian, after this book is over, what do you plan to do?” she asked.
He ran a hand through his hair, and looked away as if he hadn’t thought much past the book and it shocked him. “Guess I’ll head for whichever hot spot is calling and my sister wants covered.”
They walked in silence for a moment, the breeze turning cooler.
“What about you?” he asked, and for the first time she heard hesitancy in his voice.
“Maybe start working on some ideas for a new book. Send out my résumé to a few colleges. But I’d really like to take a few weeks off. Take a vacation and just look around at all of what I’ve missed.”
They rounded the corner to her apartment building. She stood on the first step and turned, staring at him eye to eye.
“Been a while since I took a vacation myself,” he said.
Ava’s heart quickened its pace. She couldn’t prevent the huge smile on her face. He reached up and cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking her bottom lip.
This was the playacting he’d been talking about earlier. The kind he said he was used to. She should look at him and say, “Ian, after this book is over, I’d like to spend more time with you.” But for some reason that scared the crap out of her. It was way scarier than telling a man you wanted him sexually.
Her eyes closed and she leaned into him. Ian met her halfway. His lips were now familiar to her. Wanted. His kiss was quick, firm and filled with promise. Then, with a final caress to her cheek, he took a step away.
“Good night, Ava.”
He stayed on her stoop until he saw her key into her apartment building. After making sure the door behind her had closed fully, Ava made her way up the stairs to the top floor slowly. She was really rethinking her decision from earlier not to self-pleasure. Her nipples tightened just from her slipping the jacket she’d worn to the restaurant off her shoulders.
In her bedroom, she let her thumbs stroke down the swell of her breasts, circling around the tips. She sucked in a breath, imagining Ian’s hands removing her bra. Ian’s fingers teasing her nipples.
But no, she’d made a decision to keep the sexual tension high, and an orgasm now would surely lessen the heat between them.
Instead she tried to focus on all things cold. Feeling a little less heated, she kicked off her shoes, slid out of her skirt and blouse and zipped up one of the ceremonial robes she’d picked up from a Polynesian island late last year.
How long she paced in front of her floor-to-ceiling bookcase in agitation she didn’t know. Her shoulders were tense, her brow was furrowed, her stomach was tight…and not in a good way. She should burn some incense. Some nice aromatherapy should really make her relax. But after a quick look through her scents, she realized every one of them was geared toward awakening sexual sensations, not relaxing.
They’d be working on the food section next. Maybe she could start preparing some of the more exotic fare.
With a smile, Ava stopped her pacing. She didn’t need to concentrate on not thinking about sex, but instead work on filling her thoughts with something completely different. She ran her fingers along some of her books, but not even those dear friends could take her mind of
f the heat in her blood. That man was a dangerous kisser.
At least she’d given as good as she’d got. She’d spotted the regretful ardor in his brown eyes before she walked away. She’d felt the hard ridge of his penis against her belly. If they could transfer all that sexual tension and passion onto the pages of her book, it would ignite. It might even make her a bestseller.
Her phone rang, and she jumped. Fewer than five people had her number, and—she glanced at the ornamental clock her brother had given her—and it was almost two in the morning.
“Hello,” she said, a little hesitantly.
“I was lying here on my bed in the dark, thinking how stupid I was leaving you after that kiss.”
Ava smiled into the phone.
“You there?” Ian asked.
“Well, I’m not going to argue with you.”
Ian laughed. “I was thinking that instead of kissing you goodbye, you would have asked me upstairs. Maybe offered me coffee.”
“Would I really make it?” she asked.
“No. That was just an excuse to get me to come up to your apartment so we could be together.”
“Do we need an excuse?”
“Ahh, good question. No, but twenty-first-century couples don’t just come out and say, ‘Why don’t you come upstairs with me so we can neck?’ We have to be way more restrained than that. Part of the pretending stuff I was telling you about.”
“But why? We’re living in one of the most liberated times and places of the ages.”
“It’s the power thing we talked about. The battle lines. You don’t tell a woman you’re falling for her. Women play hard to get. Men wait two days before calling a woman once he’s got her number.”
She swallowed. Was Ian falling for her? Or was he just talking in the abstract? Of course it was in the abstract.
“So where does the coffee thing come in?” she asked.
“Sometimes you want to break the rules.”
“So new rules were invented. Another dance, but each knows what the step really means.” Now this was making more sense to her.
“Exactly. You pretend you’re really going to make us something to drink. I pretend I’m interested in drinking it. Instead you’re in my arms.”