Lord of Rage & Primal Instincts (26 page)

Ava only wanted Ian.

And to know he wanted her.

He’d teased her about some of the universal flirting techniques she’d postulated. But scientists had been studying them for decades, and she’d show him just how easily they worked. Right now. On him and no other.

After ordering another drink, she rounded her shoulders and positioned herself on the bar stool so her breasts were at their most perky, and her hip-to-waist ratio looked proportional. Subconsciously all men noticed that.

Then she tilted her head to the side, making her hair fall over her cheek. With a flourish, she tucked the strands behind her ear. Then slowly, she raised her eyes toward Ian. She knew he would be looking. She still felt his gaze on her. A sixth sense passed down from one generation to another.

Their gazes met again. The tiniest of smiles played about her lips. Then Ava quickly looked away. She adjusted her hair again. Counted to three. Then glanced his way once more.

He’d been waiting for her. His shoulders tensed. His lips thinned.

Ava held his gaze with her own. Held it. Held it until it became just a tad uncomfortable. Counted to three, then dropped her eyes.

She took a sip of wine from the fresh glass the bartender had placed before her, the coolness of the white liquid not putting a dent in how hot she felt. She was supposed to be demonstrating to Ian the power of flirting. Not succumbing to his dark glances.

Ava crossed her legs and angled her body more in line with his—showing affinity. One more coy glance ought to do it. She lifted her eyes.

Slam.

He was standing, facing her. He’d been sitting the last time she’d looked in his direction.

Every part of this man was focused on her. His body was aligned to hers. His eyes, unwavering, never left her face. Anyone seeing his behavior toward her would see the primitive male claiming what was his.

Ava’s nipples tightened. Her skin tingled. With a small nod, he moved toward her. His eyes never left hers as he wove his way between the tables and other patrons of the rapidly filling nightclub. The music pounded around them, the sound reminding her of a tribal drum beating a call. Her response to this man was primal and instinctive.

“Hello,” he said as he approached. This man didn’t need a corny line.

“Hi,” she said, meeting his gaze.

“I’ll give you my number, but only if you promise to stop flirting with me,” he said, his tone lightening, that dimple in his cheek appearing once more.

“I
S THAT WHAT
I
WAS DOING
? Flirting with you?” she asked, chuckling.

This was fun.

She’d only spent a few semesters of college on campus. The rest of the time was spent on internships or practicums. When she had lived among her fellow college students, she’d been studying so much, she’d never had a chance to go for the club scene.

Ian signaled the bartender for another drink. “You know it is. And you still are.”

She giggled then sighed inwardly. The female giggle was a flirting classic; one she particularly thought made her seem utterly vacuous. And here she was doing it. Damn instinct.

But men seemed to like it. Certainly Ian did because he began to finger the stem of her wineglass as he smiled down at her. Palming an object, particularly one that belongs to a love interest, definitely signaled his interest.

And also made her think of him touching her. Made her wonder what his hands would feel like on her body. Would he be gentle and seductive? Or heated and filled with passion?

Might as well go for it. She flashed him another classic—the half smile. “You’re right. See, I told you it
worked. It got you over here. Now, you’re supposed to impress me.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“So, was that your best line?”

He shrugged. “Usually works.”

Ava bet it did. She couldn’t imagine it would be too hard for this man to have any woman he wanted. She planned to make him know
she
was the woman he needed at that moment. But disguised of course. Under the guise of “research.”

“Now we’re at the preening stage,” she told him as the bartender landed a bottle of beer in front of Ian.

“Aren’t I supposed to teach you about the local dating customs?”

“I learn best by doing. Why don’t I demonstrate this stage, and you tell me if I’m doing anything wrong. I’ll do stuff like toss my head, flip my hair, maybe dangle a strand around my finger.” Ava demonstrated the moves as she spoke, thrilled that Ian’s eyes clocked her every gesture.

Ava watched as he took a swallow of his beer. Who knew watching the way a man’s throat moved as he drank was sexy? She’d never read this before. This definitely should be noted. “How’d I do?” she asked, as she reached for her purse. “The hair thing seems to be most effective worldwide.”

He made some sort of noncommittal sound. What kind of confirmation, or nonconfirmation, was that? At some point, some less noisy place, she’d have to talk to him about clear, concise communication. It was imperative in research, and sometimes his signals were damned confusing.

“So do you plan to tell me what I’m supposed to do next?” he asked.

Her brow creased, and her voice lowered as if she were about to tell him a secret. “Actually, I think the man’s next moves are somewhat tougher. You have to show how big and powerful you are. You’ll be a little bit louder than I am. Your motions will be broader, demonstrating the strength of your hands and arms.”

Ian shrugged, immediately drawing her attention to the impressiveness of his shoulders. Sturdy. Strong. In more primitive times, those flexing muscles would have proven he could protect their home from any fierce sharp-toothed prey that wanted to get her. In present-day Oklahoma, the demonstration of his brawn proved he could carry the heavy stuff out to her car.

The DJ played a new, louder song and it became more difficult for them to talk and be heard. She leaned toward Ian. “But here’s the tricky part for you. Your body is saying to me, ‘I’m powerful and tough, but I’d never, ever hurt you.’ Strength coupled with tightly wielded gentleness is a heady combination.”

He swallowed, his hands lowering to his sides. “You’ll always be safe with me. Safe
from
me…now that’s another story.”

Her breath hitched at the promise she heard in his voice. She didn’t need to be drawn into him. She was aiming for the other way around.

“I’ll try to entice you further. I’ll gaze longer into your eyes. Looking face-to-face with anyone demands a reaction. With a member of the opposite sex you find very attractive, it’s exhilarating. Does this approach work here in this situation, too?” She held his gaze, her eyes narrowing slightly, her lips slowly parting.

He shifted, coming in closer to her. Right on cue. He probably hadn’t even realized it, but he was testing the boundaries of her personal space. She felt the heat
of his body now. Saw the lights from the dance floor reflecting in his eyes.

She twisted on the bar stool, facing him. He followed suit. They’d successfully passed the preening look-at-me stage and were now in full-body synchronization. Her stomach muscles tightened.

Now on to real intimacy. “One thing that’s almost universal in flirting is a woman exposing her neck.” Ava tilted her head, allowing her hair to slide over her shoulder and down her back. “Early research suggested this was a sign of submission.”

His eyes widened.

She gently ran her fingers down her neck, traced the line of her collarbone. Her movements were supposed to draw Ian’s thoughts to following that same path. With his fingers. His mouth. But it also got her imagination leaping in that direction.

Ava cleared her throat. “But I don’t think it has anything to do with submission. I think it’s about invitation. There’s something about the gentle lines of a woman’s neck that draws a man’s eye. It’s an erogenous zone. I think presenting my neck says to a man, ‘This is a place where you can make me feel good.’ It’s a challenge.” Their gazes clashed once more. “Can you make me feel good, Ian?”

Her question was supposed to tantalize him, but teased her with images of him giving her pleasure. With his mouth. With his hands. However he wanted to make her feel good.

“Yes,” he replied. His voice was filled with a charged promise. He leaned even closer.

She felt even more of his heat.

“Now I pull back,” she told him as she scooted away from him on her bar stool. Ava turned, positioning her
chest toward the bar once more, even though she’d liked exactly where she’d been.

Confusion filled his eyes. “Why?”

Ava shrugged. This was the hardest to explain. Even to herself it felt strange. “Ancient female tests. I call it the Promise Withdrawal Cycle. It’s the promise for more intimacy quickly followed by withdrawal.”

Ian’s body stiffened. “I know exactly what you’re talking about. Women do that all the time. Why?”

“It’s a time-honed combination of playing hard to get and testing your staying power. To see if you’ll stick around. Of course, that was a lot more important when women stayed by the fire in the cave and couldn’t go out to hunt the mammoth themselves. A typical man will have two reactions. He’s either annoyed, or his interest is piqued even further. As a woman I note your expressions and your body language in less than a second. If you get frustrated, start looking around the room, I know you don’t have what it takes.”

“But if I lean closer, try harder…” His voice trailed off, but he followed up his words with actions. Ian lowered his head, his lips moved just above her ear. “Say something like, ‘Ava, I would never hurt you. I would only ever want to make you feel good.’”

His voice was a sensual caress, his words a sexy reminder of his tempered strength. She felt his breath on her skin. This man got what she was saying. A tiny thrill ran down her back. Her nerve endings reared up and she grew invigoratingly aware of his scent, the expression in his eyes and the subtle movements of his hands.

“I’ll invite physical contact. Most people think men are the true aggressors, but it’s really women who initiate that first touch. A mature man waits for the invitation, knows how to bide his time for the payoff. I might
do something like reach over and pull off an imaginary thread from your shirt.”

Ava stretched her arm, her fingers lightly brushing his shoulders. She felt the muscles tense below her fingertips. She was affecting him, and that felt very, very good.

“Now that I have your full attention, I’ll take my drink, play with the straw, bring it to my mouth.”

His eyes shifted to her lips and he exhaled a breath.

Then back again to her eyes.

His pupils were more dilated.

“I want you to think about my mouth,” she explained as she sipped her wine. The waiter had looked at her as if she was crazy when she’d asked for the straw, but she knew what she was doing.

He ran a finger along the collar of his shirt. “I never knew how hot this flirting research could be.”

Her gaze was drawn to the skin below his ear. Would he be sensitive there, like her? His mouth thinned, as if he guessed her thoughts. Good. He was becoming more in tune with her. Of course, it wasn’t as if she were trying to hide that she was thinking about sex. Sex with him.

“Over time, women developed a set of skills to test men in a very short period of time. It’s a back and forth. I make a move, you make a move. It’s actually quite sophisticated. If it’s working, you’ll know we’ll be on the same page while in bed.”

His gaze heated. “You’re making me a believer.”

“There’s only one other sure way a woman can verify she’ll be compatible with a man before sex.”

His brows lifted. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

She eyed the couples out on the dance floor. Some
moving with grace, others encompassing the more sensual movements. “We dance.”

“I’ll order you another drink.” Ian signaled for the bartender.

Ava frowned. “Why?”

“Modern dating tip. Men become better dancers as women drink more.”

Ava laughed. Not exactly the response from him that she’d been looking for—she’d been hoping he’d nearly yank her onto the dance floor so he could finally have her in his arms. But funny always worked in a man. “How many more drinks before you’re out under those flashing lights with me?”

“Oh, I’d say a lot.”

The bartender delivered another one of those green drinks and a shot of something for him. She sipped from her martini glass, loving the tart sweetness of it. Silence. It could be uncomfortable and awkward. But right now, it just stretched the anticipation, the wonder of what would happen next.

The tempo of the music changed, from hard drumbeats to soft, lilting guitar. The lights dimmed, and she imagined gliding around on the dance floor, his strong arms around her.

Something like determination molded his features. He downed his drink in a swallow, met her eyes then offered his hand.

With a half smile, she replaced her martini glass on the bar and stood. She lifted her fingers to his, and his hand engulfed hers in warmth.

He found a secluded spot on the dance floor where the lights were dimmer and drew her into his arms. Close, so she felt the heat of him, couldn’t miss the sexy scent of him. But not so close she felt intimidated by his
size. Somewhere along the way, Ian Cole had picked up how to treat a woman.

They moved to the music slowly. “You’re a good dancer.” She looked at him with surprise after his dancing protests from a few moments ago.

Even in the low light, she could see the weird face he’d made at her compliment. “My father made sure my sister and I had dance lessons.”

“Actually, that’s a good thing. I’ll give you a tip. A woman can tell a lot by how a man handles himself while dancing. His confidence. How comfortable he feels with his own body. How he moves.”

“And how are my moves?” he asked as his fingers caressed the small of her back.

The man gave her shivers.

“Not bad. But it’s more than just your moves a woman is examining. You show me something about yourself as a man by not allowing other dancers to bump into me or take up our dancing space. A woman’s mind begins to imagine. Is he adventurous with his—”

“I’ll give you a tip.” His thumb traced her bottom lip and her words died. In fact, just what had she been going to say?

He drew her closer into the heat of his body. His gaze never left hers.

“Just dance with me,” he said. “No more talking about flirting. What we should be doing. I want only this.”

Ava closed her eyes when his fingers sank into her hair, the caress against her scalp. He drew her head to his shoulder, the softness of his shirt smooth under her cheek.

He was right. With his strong arms surrounding her, the brush of his thighs against her as they moved, the last thing she wanted to do was discuss the so
cial importance of dancing. She wanted to experience the dance. And that was the first time she’d ever truly wanted to be a participant rather than a cultural observer.

The song ended, the tempo of the music quickened, and Ian led her off the dance floor, their fingers twined together. He wore the confident look of a man who had a woman exactly where he wanted her. Lesson number two for her. She finally understood the battle between the genders she’d observed earlier, and which Ian mentioned. The subtle love play that kept one partner as the lead.

She’d had the lead until the dance. She wanted it back. “Ian, I didn’t tell you the surefire way a woman secures a man’s attention.”

“One more might kill me,” he said, that sexy smile showing her he wasn’t really worried.

She drew her fingertips down his jaw, and his smile faded. “Make him know you’re a bad idea. Men always want what they shouldn’t have.”

He arched a brow. “Oh, yeah, like how?”

“By telling you the truth.” Ava tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, licked her lips and shyly met his gaze. Then she held it, angling her body toward him. All at once the shy seductress and bold temptress. “This isn’t a good idea. It might ruin everything. Our work,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

Ian leaned closer. His expression determined to know her meaning. “What might ruin everything?”

“Getting involved. Having sex.”

Ian swallowed. She almost felt sorry for him. After all, she’d brought out all the big weapons a woman possessed. She knew how to use them.

Ava wanted to make him burn. She wanted him to want her so badly he thought of nothing else.

She wanted to feel it, too.

He flashed her a sexy, crooked smile. Ahh, men must have that move ingrained in their DNA. Crooked smiles made a woman think mischievous. And mischievous suggested all kinds of naughty and delightful things between the sheets.