Primal Instincts

He whistled. “Wow, pretty radical.”

“And pretty controversial.”

“So why anthropology?” There was the curiosity again. He didn’t need to know anything personal about her to make this book work.

“It wasn’t too far a stretch. Apparently, wanting to uncover something is in the genes I inherited from them. But on the digs, I was always more interested in the people who’d evolved from the particular culture my parents were studying. How many of the same practices they kept, and which they didn’t. That kind of thing.”

They rounded another corner and found themselves standing in front of the Mexican restaurant. A hostess quickly took them to a balcony table overlooking the canal water.

Ian cut a glance in her direction as she silently perused her menu. His reporter instincts reappeared. There was something interesting here about the doc. Ava had a degree most people only used for teaching. Also, she wasn’t out in the field—another possibility with her degree. And she hadn’t followed in the family tradition.

Forget about her. Write the book, then move on.

“What do your parents think of you writing this book?” he found himself asking. Subtle, you jerk.

She lifted an eyebrow. “The sex research? Well, as they, too, were researchers, sex was pretty much part of the dinnertime conversation with my parents.”

Sex never figured into his family’s dinnertime conversation.

“Just look around a Roman coliseum or inside a pyramid, and you’ll see sex everywhere. Both Mom and Dad were very matter-of-fact about it.”

That explained a lot. Ava could talk about sex the way some way people talked about their laundry. And yet, her voice took a husky dip when she said the word sex. Maybe prancing around nearly naked in front of him had affected her, as well. Now this was starting to go somewhere.

“You’re not answering the question. Do they like what you’re doing?”

Her eyes met his, and she pushed a strand of her drying blond hair behind her ear. “They hate it. They think I’ll never be taken seriously in the academic field.”

“You’re writing a book.”

“A pop-fiction book. That’s like intellectual prostitution in their opinion. Oh, don’t get me wrong, they’re not snobs, they’re just…”

“Academics?” he suggested.

Ava nodded, and that lock of hair fell forward again from behind her ear. He itched to touch the strands. To let them fall through his fingers. “They don’t think anyone will ever take my research seriously after this.”

“Will they?” he asked, and wondered why he’d be concerned about that. Cole Publishing was in the business of making money, and although he wasn’t sure about it on the plane, he knew they could make a lot with this book…with the proper execution.

“Probably not,” she said, her tone rueful. “But then, no one has really taken my work seriously. More like facts to parade out at Valentine’s Day. Colleges prefer professors who get published in professional journals, and bring in grant money. Groundbreaking—not titillation.”

If they didn’t take her seriously before, they certainly wouldn’t now. Maybe he should give her one last warning. He’d hate for her to regret writing the book. The enthusiasm had faded from her voice, and a line formed on her forehead.

Then her face brightened and she stunned him with a beautiful smile. His pulse quickened. “Screw ’em. That’s why I’m doing the book.”

“Beat them at their own game.” He liked that about her. He was beginning to like a lot of things about her.

“So why call the book Recipe for Sex? That title is all wrong, by the way. I’ll brainstorm a list tonight, and give you a heads-up in the morning.”

“Why don’t I brainstorm a list and give you the heads-up in the morning?”

His lips twisted for a moment, then he grinned. “Going to be like this, is it? Fight me every step of the way?”

“As the writer, I should make the final decisions.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I was brought in to fix some of those decisions.”

“And I’ll take your suggestions under advisement,” she told him.

Ian laughed. “Glad to hear it,” he said in the tone of a man confident he’d get his way. “The title still won’t work. It sounds like a cookbook.”

“Well, originally I thought I’d just include the foods that put couples, and particularly men, in the mood.”

“Why men?” he asked.

“It’s been my experience, and I can document this with culture after culture, that men don’t often use food in their seduction.”

Now wait a minute, he made a mean lasagna. He’d be happy to make it for her. And if they managed to get a little messy and needed to clean up together…so be it.

“I can see by your face you don’t agree. In cultures where couples routinely push back marriage and family, then yes, the male will cook. In fact, most men have one ‘signature’ dish they believe is the ultimate key to the hookup.”

Ian cleared his throat. Okay, he made other things besides lasagna. “That’s ridiculous.”

She smiled then nodded. “Research only gives us generalities. Individuals can always surprise you. One thing that is a fact is a man’s sense of smell. It’s very powerful. A potent scent can stimulate blood flow to the extremities, including the penis, and can evoke all sorts of feelings.”

“In the book, we’ll use another word other than feelings for the male readers.”

“You know, straying from gentler emotions isn’t universal among men.”

“It will be for the men we’re trying to sell this book to.” And if he had to hear the word penis from her lips again, he’d have to resort to phoning this book in.

Change the subject. “Let’s get back to this smell thing. Why is it women are always wanting to smell flowers? I could care less.”

“Because that’s the wrong smell for a man. Believe it or not, the scents more attractive to men are food-related. There’s something to be said for that old saying about the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Pumpkin, for instance, elicits very strong responses from men. And the smell of doughnuts.”

“We can keep a running list of places for women to meet men. The pumpkin patch. The doughnut shop.”

“I can see you’re not taking this seriously. Let me do a demonstration.” She signaled the waitress. “Can we have some of those churros, please?”

If the waitress thought it strange Ava was asking for dessert before they’d even been served their entrées, she didn’t show it.

Ava returned her attention to him. “Have you eaten one of these? They’re delicious. Sugar and cinnamon. Mmm.”

The way she said mmm with such a level of carnal enjoyment made his stomach clench.

A moment later the waitress dropped off a platter of churros, as well as a basket of chips, salsa and queso.

“Cinnamon is another scent men respond to on a primal level. Plus the food has the added bonus of being somewhat phallic.” Her voice had turned husky, as if her very words aroused her.

She cleared her throat, her green eyes never leaving his.