by Jill Monroe
“So why call the book Recipe for Sex? That title is all wrong, by the way. I’ll brainstorm a list tonight, and give you a heads-up in the morning.”
“Why don’t I brainstorm a list and give you the heads-up in the morning?”
His lips twisted for a moment, then he grinned. “Going to be like this, is it? Fight me every step of the way?”
“As the writer, I should make the final decisions.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I was brought in to fix some of those decisions.”
“And I’ll take your suggestions under advisement,” she told him.
Ian laughed. “Glad to hear it,” he said in the tone of a man confident he’d get his way. “The title still won’t work. It sounds like a cookbook.”
“Well, originally I thought I’d just include the foods that put couples, and particularly men, in the mood.”
“Why men?” he asked.
“It’s been my experience, and I can document this with culture after culture, that men don’t often use food in their seduction.”
Now wait a minute, he made a mean lasagna. He’d be happy to make it for her. And if they managed to get a little messy and needed to clean up together…so be it.
“I can see by your face you don’t agree. In cultures where couples routinely push back marriage and family, then yes, the male will cook. In fact, most men have one ‘signature’ dish they believe is the ultimate key to the hookup.”
Ian cleared his throat. Okay, he made other things besides lasagna. “That’s ridiculous.”
She smiled then nodded. “Research only gives us generalities. Individuals can always surprise you. One thing that is a fact is a man’s sense of smell. It’s very powerful. A potent scent can stimulate blood flow to the extremities, including the penis, and can evoke all sorts of feelings.”
“In the book, we’ll use another word other than feelings for the male readers.”
“You know, straying from gentler emotions isn’t universal among men.”
“It will be for the men we’re trying to sell this book to.” And if he had to hear the word penis from her lips again, he’d have to resort to phoning this book in.
Change the subject. “Let’s get back to this smell thing. Why is it women are always wanting to smell flowers? I could care less.”
“Because that’s the wrong smell for a man. Believe it or not, the scents more attractive to men are food-related. There’s something to be said for that old saying about the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Pumpkin, for instance, elicits very strong responses from men. And the smell of doughnuts.”
“We can keep a running list of places for women to meet men. The pumpkin patch. The doughnut shop.”
“I can see you’re not taking this seriously. Let me do a demonstration.” She signaled the waitress. “Can we have some of those churros, please?”
If the waitress thought it strange Ava was asking for dessert before they’d even been served their entrées, she didn’t show it.
Ava returned her attention to him. “Have you eaten one of these? They’re delicious. Sugar and cinnamon. Mmm.”
The way she said mmm with such a level of carnal enjoyment made his stomach clench.
A moment later the waitress dropped off a platter of churros, as well as a basket of chips, salsa and queso.
“Cinnamon is another scent men respond to on a primal level. Plus the food has the added bonus of being somewhat phallic.” Her voice had turned husky, as if her very words aroused her.
She cleared her throat, her green eyes never leaving his.
“I think it’s most effective when a woman teases her face with the food a bit, running it along her chin. Her lips. Makes men think of a woman running her lips along his—”
Her words didn’t drift off. He cut them off in his mind. He knew exactly what seeing a woman with something like a churro, seeing Ava do with that churro, made him think. It made him think of her lips on his erection.
“The key is to keep the man in a steady state of semiarousal at all times.”
Semiarousal? He’d just gone from zero to performance status in about half a second.
She dropped the churro onto the platter. “You see? Food is one very important ingredient for sex. You show me a man whose mind doesn’t immediately turn to a blow job at the sight of a woman eating a banana or carrot— I’ll show you a man whose balls haven’t dropped yet.”
Or one who wasn’t into women. He turned to face Ava, whose expression was teasing. “Okay, you have a point,” he admitted, speaking around the lump in his throat.
She smiled, bit off the tip of the churro with gusto, then tipped it his way. “Bite?”
“No, thank you.”
The scent of cinnamon drifted back to him. Was that the food or the woman? And more importantly, was she wearing it on purpose?
“Food-sharing is also very erotic. The significance more than likely dates back to when humans were in survival mode. To share your food literally meant to share your life. Now, eating from your lover’s hand reveals an innate trust. All this academic talk, I’m not boring you am I?”
Hell, no. If the classes he’d taken in college had been half this interesting, he might have stayed to finish his degree. He shook his head.
“Good. Do you like churros, Ian?” her voice husky again and full of playful invitation. He nodded.
Once more, she tipped the food in his direction. “See how sexy, almost carnal it can be to eat from my hand? It’s especially effective if you’ve never kissed your partner.”
She used the food to trace his bottom lip. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t do a thing.
“To have your lips touch where just moments ago hers had been. Her tongue, her saliva…it’s like sharing a passionate kiss. A prelude of more to come.”
He bit down on the food, tasting the sweetness. Tasting her. Satisfaction was light in the greenness of her eyes. And he felt as if he’d just bitten off more than he could chew…?.
CHAPTER SIX
KELSO. SO JEREMY HAD a last name. The Jeremy who should be in Oklahoma but was now apparently in her outer lobby. Miriam cleared her throat.
“Thanks, Rich. Give me about five minutes then send him in.”
Miriam stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. Ahh, if only smoothing out the wrinkles of her life could be so easy. She was avoiding this person. Had done an admirable job of keeping him from her mind. Mostly. Why’d he have to show up?
The covers on her wall mocked her.
The Mistake You’ll Always Regret
Forget Your Forbidden Fruit
Are You Replacing His Mother?
Miriam scowled at that last cover. Okay, she was being ridiculous. None of those headlines even had anything to do with dating younger men. There was no reason to panic. She was a grown woman, had responsibilities and lived up to her commitments.
So she’d had a one-night stand.
So her one-night stand had decided to show up unannounced. She could handle this. Handle it with style and grace and confidently explain to Jeremy that the one-night man did not linger. Long-distance relationship?
Shoot. Why’d her mind have to wander in that direction?
There were rules about long-distance relationships and she’d made sure of it. She flipped to the review copy of the article she’d recommended for The Rage. The sidebar had a few “quick-read” suggestions.
Loving Your Long Distance and Keeping It that Way
1. Don’t look for them to last.
Okay, really no problem there.
2. Make frequent-flier miles your best friend.
She had some just itching to be used.
3. Communicate clear expectations.
Obviously she’d already failed in that area, otherwise there wouldn’t be a twentysomething man waiting for her in the outer lobby.
4. Be especially creative.
Actually, she and her twentysomething lover already had that down.
Yes, but when had they been?
All excellent points of policy.
There was a brief knock on the door, and then Rich efficiently ushered Jeremy into her office, quickly closing the door behind him. And there he was. Jeremy of the now-known last name. Jeremy Kelso, who could rock her world eight times in a night.
Her breath hitched, and her hands grew clammy. She was disgusted with herself. Miriam Cole was about to fall into the worst cliché, and she allowed herself to be mentally sucked back into the past.
Suddenly, she was on that nearly deserted, dusty-red highway in Oklahoma. Hot, tired and stranded. An old, beat-up truck had pulled up beside her.
For a moment she felt only sweet relief. She wouldn’t die out in the middle of nowhere. Then every article in her magazine ever written about women alone and out in the middle of nowhere flashed through her mind. A car, let alone a pickup truck, happening upon her was far worse than being out here by herself.
“Need some help?” asked the lone occupant after he slowed to a stop.
Miriam flashed him what she knew worked on the dating scene as the polite brush-off smile. “No, no. I’m fine.”
The man leaned across the seat, but his face was still hidden in the shadows. “I could give you a lift into town if you need it.”
Get into the car of a complete stranger? What did she look like, an idiot? This was exactly how people got abducted. Killed.
“Thanks, but no,” she told him firmly as she reached for her phone. Cell phones were excellent man-conversation blockers in the dating world. Surely it would serve the same function now.
“Oh, that won’t work here. The mountains stop the signal.”
Miriam turned away from the stranger and took a breath. Her ruse hadn’t worked. She wasn’t in her element here in the middle of nowhere. In Manhattan she knew how to take care of herself. But here she had no Mace and no cell phone. She felt practically helpless.
“Look, you’re clearly in trouble. Hop in and I’ll take you into town.”
Miriam didn’t hop into trucks. She glided elegantly into cars. With sophistication and great shoes. She took another deep breath and faced her would-be rescuer or killer. “How far is it into town?”
“About five miles.”
She sighed in relief. She jogged two miles in the park every day. “I can walk. Thanks again,” she said, clearly a signal to the driver that his help wasn’t needed and he could move on.
“Have a nice day,” he offered, moved back in front of the wheel and put the truck in gear. He drove away with a kickup of dust.
Miriam slumped against her car. Okay, so probably he wasn’t a serial killer or anything bad, but that didn’t mean a woman should be reckless with her safety. So she waited another five minutes then headed down the road, and vowed never to rent a car and trek in unfamiliar territory again.
Fifteen minutes into her journey, she spotted the truck a second time. Coming back toward her. Her stomach clenched and her legs tightened. There could be no reason for him to be back out here.
The driver was on her side and she could clearly see him. He’d pulled right up beside her on the wrong side of the road, and she glanced in his direction. In a bar, in a boardroom, she wouldn’t have hesitated to give him her number. Dark hair, beautiful eyes…delicious smile. This was even more dangerous. She quickened her pace.
“I understand you not wanting to get into the car with a stranger, but I don’t feel right about you walking into town by yourself. So I’ll just follow along behind you.”
She stopped and stared at him. “Let me get this straight. You’re going to follow me into town…just to make sure I get there safe?”
With a nod, he did a three-point turn in the middle of the road and drove slowly behind her as she indeed walked all the way to town.
Her car had bailed on her. She’d been stranded and left without any way to contact the outside world…and yet Miriam had never felt safer.
And now, here in her office, Jeremy Kelso smiled at her. That same smile that had won her over in the garage as she waited for her rental to be towed into town. That same smile that made her open up and talk with him over dinner. That same smile that made naughty promises that his body kept all through the night.
Suddenly, she didn’t feel so safe anymore.
MOST OF IAN’S MEALS were caught on the road or out in the field. He lived on beef jerky and cold cans of lima beans. So, when he had the opportunity to sit down and enjoy a well-prepared meal he enjoyed it to the fullest.
Mendoza’s had the kind of casual atmosphere that instantly made him relax. From the brightly colored wooden chairs with straw seats to the scent of freshly made flour tortillas in the air, he suddenly missed his time spent south of the border. He’d loved it all. The bustle of Mexico City. The warm, tropical breezes off the coast.
Ian sat straighter in his chair. Maybe that importance-of-food-to-men stuff Ava was talking about wasn’t half-baked, because despite being in a constant state of sexual frustration since she’d stroked that churro around her mouth, he was having a great time.
She sat across from him, animated and energized, discussing all the people she’d met. Her blond hair, now dry, moved around her face as she spoke. The meal was leisurely and he was glad she continued to chat about her experiences once their food arrived.
Like him, Ava had traveled all over the world, but her stories seemed far more interesting than his. His natural reporter’s instincts were to keep her talking. And the heat he’d felt since she’d opened that door to him wearing paint and a smile finally simmered down to a low burn.
“I think the scarf dance is one of my favorites. The woman spends hours circling her body with the material.”
He’d probably never get this story out of his head. His travels hadn’t taken him to places where women adorned themselves only with scarves. But instead of some faceless, nameless woman covered solely in ribbons, he pictured only the woman sitting across from him.
Ava’s green eyes darkened. “Then she slowly unwinds each scarf from her body and binds her new husband’s body with the material. His arms above his head. His legs together at the ankles, knee and thighs.”
The scarf-removal thing he could get into…being tied up by a woman…not so much.
Ava smiled. “I can see you don’t think much of the ceremony. But the Urmanian men were fierce warriors, often scarred from battle. A young bride might be frightened of her new husband and afraid of what was to happen between them. Most of these marriages were arranged between families, and the bride probably had never seen her new husband before their wedding ceremony.”
“So wouldn’t stripping in front of a man you’ve never met be scary?”
“Well, the girls practice the ceremony for many months, so that takes away any performance nerves. Plus, the whole point of the binding is to make the new bride comfortable. There’s something very sensual about a big, strong man, a man who could easily overpower you, and bend you to his will…”
Her words drifted off, and she sucked on her lower lip. Was that a tell? He hadn’t spotted one glitch in this woman’s “sex is sex” facade. Her full lips were parted, and there was a faraway look in her eyes.
Was the woman who had greeted him half-naked and covered in paint, the woman who could converse about sex, phallic symbols and smells that broke a man’s will…did the idea of tying a man up make her pause? His stomach clenched as he waited to hear what she’d say. He might just be willing to consider letting her tie him up if he got to see her in that loincloth and paint again.
“Anyway, it’s heady thinking about him allowing you to tie him up. Explore his body. Learn the power your body can have over his,” she told him, her voice lower and reminding him of a warm wave washing over his skin.
That simmer he’d been operating under turned to boiling once more. He shifted in his seat, trying to relieve some of the pressure in his jeans.
Did she do it on purpose? Turn him on like that?
The sensual softening of her eyes disappeared and she shrugged, returning her attention to her food.
Ian scrutinized Ava as she spread guacamole onto a flat tortilla. She looked innocent enough, but she had to know. Had to know that her words made him think of her slowly taking off her clothes in front of him. Letting her bind him. Feeling her stroke him.
“The binding is an ancient art that’s quite beautiful. I think it would make for some great visuals for the book,” she said, her tone all business now. “It’s interesting how beliefs manifest themselves. The Urmanian culture did not believe a strong, healthy baby could come from unions where the woman did not enjoy sex. The man wanted his wife to feel only pleasure in the marriage bed.”
Hell, what man didn’t want to see a woman feel pleasure? There was never a sight as sexy as seeing a woman come.
She pointed her fork at him. “In fact, there is some research that suggests when a woman has an orgasm she conceives more easily.”
This had to be, without a doubt, the weirdest conversation he’d ever had. He’d usually bolt at the first hint of the word conception.
Ava speared a bite of seared pepper from the fajita skillet onto her fork. “Red and green chilies are great for sex.”
Was he going to jerk every time the professor said the word sex?
“The chilies get your circulation going. I was thinking we could include recipes that had a lot of aphrodisiacal properties. There are several that don’t have long accompanying stories, but would be fun to include.”
Yeah, he’d like to hear what this woman’s idea of fun was. “Like what?” he asked.
“Celery. Good for all your muscles. Did you know that the ancient Tragrils actually devoted celery to their god of sex and of hell?”
He felt the irony.
“Sex is all around us, has been from the very beginnings of culture.” Ava shrugged. “You could probably point at anything in this restaurant and we can relate it somehow to sex.”
This he’d like to see. “How about that guacamole you’ve devoured?” he suggested, indicating the now-empty serving dish.