“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?