Deep down—hell, not so deep down—Ava was an optimist. She easily found the good in anything. Five minutes of hearing his war stories could wipe that brightness of spirit right out.
He sat up, reaching for his shirt.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to the hotel. It’s late, I thought you might want your privacy.” Plus she hadn’t invited him to stay.
“Here’s a story you might find interesting. The early American Puritans thought one way to gauge if a couple would be happy together was partly based on whether or not they slept together well.”
“Sleep together or actually sleep together?”
She paused for a moment. “Oh, I get it. Sleep together is a euphemism for sex. No, in this case, sleeping together actually meant sleeping together. Of course, this was a culture where innocence was valued for both men and women, so a board was placed in the bed between the young man and woman. If they slept well next to each other, it was seen as a good sign.”
Ian scrubbed a hand down his face. “Ava, I’m too worn out to work on the book right now.”
She shook her head. “What I’m trying to say, and obviously not very well, is that you can stay the night here with me, and I promise—no board.”
NATURALLY, HE WOKE WITH her breast in his hand. Was there a better way to sleep? Her soft backside pressed into the heaviness of his erection.
He wound a lazy path with his fingers along her skin, inviting her to wake up. He smoothed the hair back from her neck, watching the blond locks fan out against her pillow. He loved her hair. Loved seeing its softness spread out on the sheets, in his hand, across his body.
With her neck exposed, he ran his tongue along its slope, already knowing that particular spot was one of her favorites.
“Mmm,” she moaned and tilted her hips, pushing her soft rear against his hardened cock. She stilled. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh.”
He lowered his hand until he found her breast again. “I love your breasts. How they respond to me. How you taste.”
But as tempting as her breasts may be, he wanted the slick feel of her against his fingers. Ian lowered his hand, stopping as he felt the soft curls between her thighs.
Her hips jerked, forcing her harder against his penis. He fought the urge to sink into her. No, he wanted to touch her, savor her.
He found her clit, damp and so responsive to his touch. She gasped with just his slightest graze. His fingers lowered, and he smiled at what he found. “So warm, so wet. Are you ready for me, Ava?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Ava made a small protesting noise when he moved his hand away. His fingertips skimmed down her thigh and stopped just above her knee. He pulled her leg over his, getting her into position. His penis found her wet opening, and he slid home. Slowly. They both groaned at the wonderful sensation of her body enveloping his.
His entry complete, his hand sought her clit once more. He stroked her and her every muscle tensed. He thrust and fingered her, every part of his body working together to bring them both pleasure.
Her inner muscles began to quiver around him. He knew she was close. “I want to hear you,” he said.
Nothing, not one thing was as erotic as hearing Ava find her release. Her body tensed, then with a burst she clamped down, making him moan.
He doubted he could last much longer. Then he felt her, heard her come. She cried out his name, and he changed his mind. Hearing his name on her lips as she reached her orgasm, now that was the most erotic thing he’d ever heard.
“We never really set up any ground rules for what we’re doing,” she said a few moments later as he was about to drift off to sleep.
“We never really set up any ground rules on who was the decision maker over the book, either, and that’s going just fine,” he countered. “A technicality.”
Ian rolled onto his back and tucked her head against his chest. “You’re going to make me talk, aren’t you?”
“You know what I always say—”
“Yes, I know. Most problems between a man and woman can be cleared up with one good sit-down conversation.”
She lifted her head and smiled down at him. “Most conflicts can be avoided that way, too.”
He chuckled tiredly. “Doing this after sex is a sneaky blow.”
“One practiced by generation after generation of women.”
“My job is too complicated for any type of relationship.”
“I figured so, like mine. All the traveling. But I like what we have right now.”
His heartbeat quickened. “Me, too.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And I don’t think we need to worry that us making love will ruin the sexual tension of the book. Not anymore.”
“So, as long as we’re working on the book together…”
He gently pushed her head back down to his chest, her hair fanning across his skin. “Then we’re together.” He liked the sound of that.
“Why did you become a reporter, Ian?”
Was he off the hook now? No more discussion talk? And why did he feel…let down that she didn’t want more of a relationship from him? He sighed heavily. “I’ve always been curious, always wanted to know what’s around the next corner. That first time I was running across the desert with my camera, being chased, that’s when I knew who I was. I felt the most alive.”
Except right now. Dog-tired, sated and with Ava lying across his chest, he felt very much alive. They’d said the book, but there was also that vacation. Plus revisions, captions for the photos, suggestions from the copy editor, final proofs…
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THEIR LAST WEEK HAD TAKEN on a nice routine of working on the book together in the morning, sending the manuscript pages to his sister in the afternoon and taking pictures at night. They’d made tremendous progress despite being delightfully interrupted to make love and to argue as to who exactly was making the final decisions.
Ian and Ava sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her fireplace as they debated about an ancient warrior class. “I’m telling you it’s true.”
Ian gave her a skeptical look. “So you’re telling me that once they stole the woman and he had her in his possession, it was suddenly okay with her father that she was gone? Her family is hell-bent on protecting her, then all of a sudden all these alpha males just throw up their hands, and say, ‘Oh, well, you won.’”
Ava made a face. “Well, when you put it like that it does sound far-fetched.”
“I think some of your theories need a male’s point of view from time to time.”
She glanced up sharply. She was about to ask Ian if he planned to volunteer for the job. As a joke. Then she saw the look on his face. The man was clearly horrified by what had just come out of his mouth.
She searched for something to fill the gulf that suddenly arose between them.
“What I find so interesting,” she began, “is that after they’ve stolen the woman, they then try to woo her. I mean, she’s there…he’s got her. But he works very hard to win her love.”
Ian cleared his throat. “Makes some sense to me. It’s not just about sex. He’s taken that woman to be his wife. His companion. It’s about loneliness, and the need to spend your time with someone who doesn’t want to run away or toss a knife in your back.”
Silence stretched between them once more. Since they’d become lovers, nothing even close to resembling an awkward moment had passed between them. Now there had been two.
Maybe she should try to tempt him with the paints. Although the idea was to paint yourself and wash your partner, they’d improvised, taking on both roles. She’d try something else. “Maybe he just needed a friend.”
“He’d have been insulted if she’d offered. A woman should never tell a man she just wants to be his friend.”