He tossed aside a decorative pillow and sat. Once again she took some time to appreciate the moment. His bigness, his strength, the heat emanating from his skin. Nature had made her desire these things in a man. Who was she to deny it?
There was a principle she wanted to impress in her book, and that was showing women and men how to appreciate the strength and power of the feminine. Somewhere along the way, that positive reception seemed to have gotten lost. A whole wealth of pleasure and completion awaited the senses when male and female united.
She opened her photo album. “My photography is pretty crude, but this is an interesting union ceremony. Eligible males and females are lined up. Men on one side. Women on the other.” She pointed to the rows of people, their muscles tense with nerves, their expressions anxious.
She turned the page, and pointed to a building made of bamboo and leaves. “The elders emerge from a spirit hut after several days of fasting and prayer. Then they join a couple based on what the spirit tells them.”
Ian shuddered. “That’s awful. No wonder they look as if they’re about to face death. The spirit could give a man some woman who’s constantly asking what he’s thinking about. Or invites him to a musical.”
Not taking the bait, mister. She shrugged instead. “It seems to work. Separation doesn’t happen very often, although after a year, the couple can petition the elders to dissolve the union. But they have to wait another two years for another ceremony. They’re only performed every three years. And two years is a long time to wait and be alone.” She turned the page to show newly formed couples holding hands.
She’d spent two years off and on with this particular tribe, one of the last of its kind. “Look, here are some of their children a year later.” She loved looking at the proud daddies holding new infants at the naming ceremony.
“But to spend your entire life with someone you don’t even know. To put that kind of faith in someone else to choose for you.”
“Almost every culture in the world at one time or another has had arranged marriages. It’s as if the older people don’t put a lot of faith in the judgment of the young,” she said with a laugh.
Then she focused her attention on Ian’s brown eyes. “In fact, choosing one’s own mate is relatively new.”
If Ian didn’t pick up the message she was communicating with her eyes, he just wasn’t getting it. A woman could do a lot of silent talking with her eyes. Dozens of cultures never allowed women and men to talk until introduced, but women had adapted over time so the men they weren’t supposed to talk to knew exactly what they were saying. For some societies, it was the language of the fan. In others it was with the eyes. And Ava had learned from the best.
Oh, a man might think he’s the aggressor in approaching a woman, but he’d probably been picking up the subtle cues and hints the woman had been throwing his way all along. Men in any culture didn’t like to be turned down.
The stiffening of Ian’s shoulders proved he’d caught on to the message she was sending through her gaze. What would he do now? Would he take her up on it?
“Well, it probably beats speed dating,” Ian said after a downward glance at her lips before he returned his attention to the photo album. His brown eyes were tinged with desire.
She racked her brain trying to find a reference, and failed. “What’s speed dating?”
“You haven’t heard of it?” he asked, his voice incredulous.
She shook her head.
“Actually, it’s not much different than this tradition here, the men and women are lined up, but then the men move from woman to woman in a row, spending about five minutes with each. Then both the men and women mark on a card whether they want to see a particular person again. If both people mark yes, then the organizers will exchange their information.”
“Wow. I can’t decide if that’s a really great idea or a really bad one. Sexual attraction does happen almost instantaneously.”
“Internet dating is even worse.”
“Internet dating?”
Ian turned on the couch so that he faced her. “You haven’t heard of that, either?”
For some reason, she was feeling almost defensive. “Most of my life has been spent out of the country.”
“But you went to college.”
“Sure, but my course work took me right back in the field mainly. I only lived one semester in the residence halls, but spent most of that time in the library.”
“What about before that?”
“With my mom and dad at sites.”
“So, you’ve never been to a prom, never cruised, never hung out at the food court of the mall?”
She shrugged. “What’s the big deal about that?”
His breath came out in a huff, ruffling his hair. “You know so much about cultures all around the world, but you’re clueless about your own.”
She blinked up at him in surprise. “I’m certainly no shy virgin. I’ve dated plenty.”
“What, other students? That’s easy. I’m talking about meeting people. That’s hard. You’re going to be selling this book to people who have hung around the grocery store looking for others buying single-portion meals. I think you need to experience a little of their life to be able to write for them.”
This sounded like another session of him debunking her theories. It also sounded very exciting. “Okay, I’m game. When do we start?”
“Right now. Where’s your phone book?”
“Under the cabinet by the phone. Why?”
Ian shot off her couch and grabbed her Yellow Pages. He ran his finger along the page as he spoke. “Bricktown is a happening place. Surely there’s a— Found it.”
“Found what?”
“Club Escape. Ava Simms, you’re about to have your first experience in a singles’ bar.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
MIRIAM USHERED JEREMY out of her office quickly. They’d almost made it to the bank of elevators when her assistant rushed toward her.
“Thank God I caught you. It’s…your mother.”
Miriam’s shoulders sagged. She closed her eyes briefly, dragging in a breath. Jeremy obviously sensed something because he took a step toward her, and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. The tip-off must have been the alarmed glances between her and Rich. Or more likely, her body’s natural bracing stance for the emotional combat sure to come.
Whatever it was, she appreciated the gesture. His hand, warm and solid, actually felt comforting and well, nice.
Rich cut a glance toward Jeremy, then back to her. “I could tell your mom you’ve already left for the day.”
Like the former Mrs. Cole would believe that. When had Miriam ever left work—she looked down at her watch—before seven? She shook her head. “No, she’ll just track me down on my cell.”
Rich nodded. “I’ll tell her you’ll be right there. She’ll be on line two.”
Miriam turned toward Jeremy. “I’m sorry about this, but it’s something I can’t get out of. You don’t have to stay—”
He shook his head and smiled. “No, I’ll wait,” he said, as if there was never any question that he would.
She raised a brow. “This may take a while. In fact, it probably will. You could go back to your hotel. Leave your number, and I’ll call you—”
“Miriam, it’s okay,” he said, his voice reassuring. His blue eyes supportive.
With a tight smile, she turned and headed back to her office, sighing heavily.
Miriam’s mom was what some people would call a gold digger. She was smart, pretty, talented and above all—ruthless. Instead of using all that power to carve a career out for herself, she latched onto rich and successful men.
Miriam and Ian’s father had been her first husband, but she’d left him, as well as the rest of her family, to marry a rich rancher in Montana. Today she was married to some obscure painter and living overseas, no doubt funding his work now that she was a very wealthy woman.