But he didn’t usually work with smart, desirable women. Mostly it was a bunch of smelly angry guys alongside him in the field, if he worked with anyone at all. Quite frankly, he didn’t have the skill set for this scenario.
Which was maybe what his sister liked about sending him here to Oklahoma. Miriam, she had a sadistic streak in her where he was concerned. Probably payback for the time he gave all her Barbies buzz cuts before he’d allow them to play with his G.I. Joe. Could be the fact her face was plastered across Do Not Allow into the Country posters in at least one South American country because of him. Or maybe it was for allowing her to do all the heavy lifting as far as their mother was concerned. Probably all three.
His sister wouldn’t like the idea of him getting involved with Ava. That, of course, would have been incentive in itself, but he’d long since grown up and quit trying to shock Miriam. She was the only person in this world whom he knew who actually gave a crap about him, and he loved her for it.
Loved her so much that he’d be up at six o’clock in the morning in Oklahoma completing a full edit on a sex book that should be titillating but wasn’t. That was until he pictured the author.
Which brought him back full circle to Ava.
Damn. His body reacted just to the thought of her. Knowing she was trying out all her theories and techniques on him didn’t prevent them from working on him. Since he’d met her, he’d been surrounded by images of sex. Not to mention the scents that also made him think only of sex. And now he had to read about it. And damn if that infuriating aroma of cinnamon didn’t turn him on.
Maybe she did have something with that flower garland story. He had to admit he’d much rather twist a bunch of carnations together than tell her just how much work her Recipe for Sex needed. That quick read-through he’d given it on the plane hadn’t revealed all the problems.
He should probably try to figure out why he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. This was work. It wasn’t personal. He’d never been one not to tell it to someone straight. His career was based on just the facts.
Yeah, he should probably scrutinize those feelings, but he wouldn’t. He preferred to keep his emotions in the shallow end of the pool. A lesson learned early, and one that had never failed him.
THREE HUNDRED AND twenty-seven manuscript pages.
Three hundred and twenty-seven manuscript pages she’d written in a frenzy of anguish and drive. Nineteen-hour days, restless nights and little food had been Ava’s life until she had finally typed The End. She’d poured her heart, as well as every other body part she possessed, into Recipe for Sex.
Three hundred and twenty-seven pages that were now covered from top to bottom, left to right in red ink. Some of her writing had apparently been so bad he’d had to make notations on the back. With drawings. This didn’t include the sticky notes. Or the seven pages of notes he’d scribbled on a yellow legal pad.
She could almost feel his irritation in the large red X’s that annihilated every paragraph in chapter three. The force from his pen had left an impression three pages down.
“No, no. That’s all wrong,” Ian told her for about the billionth time as he turned a page. She’d almost stopped paying attention.
He’d showed up at her apartment this morning with bagels, coffee and a determination to cross out months of her hard work with that lethal red pen of his. He’d looked innocent enough, wearing jeans and an Oklahoma Sooners T-shirt he must have bought since his arrival. Innocent for someone who was about to rip her heart out with his critique. Although critique was too nice a word because he’d found nothing positive.
His eyes flared a bit when she opened the door to him wearing the ceremonial dress of the Hidali.
“At least it’s more than paint,” he mumbled as he slid past her into her apartment. But she couldn’t tell if he was happy about that or disappointed.
But her attire wasn’t much more than paint as the Hidali hailed from Africa and the clothing took into account the heat, and the beauty of the flora that lent to the dyes. The colorful material was free-flowing and quite sheer.
“There’s an elaborate meal that goes with this costume. I thought we could try it at lunchtime. I’ve already prepared the food. One of the dishes has some real aphrodisiacal properties.”
Ian raised his hand. “Please. Let me at least fortify myself with coffee before you start talking about phallic symbols and food that’s supposed to make any normal man hard while you’re half-naked.”
He made decidedly for her kitchen.
There was no mention of the kiss the night before.
Not that she’d expected it. Today’s agenda was apparently going to be all about work. Evidently, Mr. Cole took to heart that not-mixing-business-with-pleasure axiom, because ten minutes later they were going over the manuscript together page by page. That red pen was finding things it had missed with Ian’s first read through.
Ava gasped when he proceeded to X out one of her favorite sections.
“This whole section should go. It’s dry and boring.”
She shook her head. “It is not. Certainly the Bogani people whose culture you just obliterated from the page didn’t think so.”
Ian picked up the page. “‘In ancient times, as now, in isolated communities in the mountainous region of Bogan, the men eligible to leave their mothers and fathers were gathered together in the village square where everyone dropped their heads and snored because these paragraphs would put anyone to sleep, even a boy about to lose his virginity.’”
She took a deep breath. “Maybe it’s a tad uninspired.”
He looked up from the page. “Uninspired? Ava, when we’re talking about sex, the last thing it should ever be is uninspired.”
Ava dropped her gaze. She’d acknowledge that he had a point about her writing, but not that the section needed to go. She’d sat silent for too long, and it was time for Ian to do a little compromising. “Okay, let’s rewrite that portion.”
Ian raised a brow. “We’re not targeting virgins or even near-virgins with this book.”
“Come on, Ian. You mean somewhere along the line, you wouldn’t have wanted some older, experienced woman to show you the ropes in bed?”
“Well, it’s been a long time since I was inexp—”
Ava rolled her eyes. “Oh, spare me that. Even when you know your way around the bedroom, when you’re with a new person there are still nerves involved. Premature ej—”
“Not an issue,” he said quickly.
“You mean, you’ve never had your skyrocket in flight long before hers?”
He swallowed. His skin reddened a bit. “My technique might not have been always airtight when I first started, but now…”
“My point exactly. Readers with a wide range of experiences will be reading this book.” She refrained from rolling her eyes again. Male pride on prowess in the bedroom also seemed to be pretty universal. Here it seemed to manifest itself by preferring to fumble around in the dark rather than acknowledge suggestions.
“I know you said the other day that men don’t give other men tips to score, but surely a man would take advice from a woman.”
Ian crossed his arms across his chest, his expression confident. Overconfident. “Okay, shoot me a pointer.”
She was up for the challenge. “Hmm. The first thing a Bogani woman shows the young lover is how to pleasure a woman using only his fingers.”
“Of course she does.” He made a scoffing sound, but his eyes narrowed in interest.
“A woman can be pretty forgiving of three-pumps-and-he’s-done if she’s already had at least one orgasm. Something to keep in mind if a man wants to be invited back to the bedroom for a repeat performance.”