Planning for Love (6 page)

“Chicagoans don’t react well to Prohibition. Take Al Capone, for example. I’m a consenting adult, and if you won’t order me another, then I will.”

“Your consent is exactly what I’ve got in mind.” Warm breath fluttered at her ear, his lips whispering against the edges. “We could tiptoe around for another hour, throw back a few more drinks. Give us both a chance to relax…and realize how exhausted we are. Instead of wasting that time, let me say that I want you. I want us to go upstairs to my room, right now. I want to take you, fast and hard. While you’re still coming down, I want to lick every inch and spiral you right back up to the stars. Then, if you’re still game, I really do want you on top.” Ben let go, eased back a good foot, leaning both elbows back on the bar. The move stretched his shirt taut against pecs that bulged against the cotton. “But I don’t want your brain clouded with booze when you decide to come with me.”

Wow. So much more than the stolen kisses and hand slipped between his tux shirt studs she’d planned on. Aside from a forgettable one night stand in college she blamed entirely on her weakness for piña coladas and too much sun, Ivy didn’t hook up. She dated. She had relationships. Every man was a stepping stone on the path to marriage.

But Ben talked a good game. If his words alone sped up her pulse this much, imagine what would happen when he applied those lips to her body. Stalling sounded like a good tactic while her brain caught up with her vibrating nerves. “You’re so sure I’ll just hop in the elevator?”

A smug smile crawled across his lips. “Pretty sure.”

“Really? With a man I barely know? For all I know, you could be a serial killer!”

“Then a hotel’s the safest place. Tell your buddy Gib to post hotel security on my floor, to be sure I don’t try and smuggle a body down the stairs.”

“Sweet talker.”

“Tell me you’re not interested. Tell me you don’t want to slide between the sheets, skin to skin with me, and I’ll order you that drink. We’ll chat about whatever you want, and go our separate ways.” Her mouth opened slowly, but before she could form words, he continued in the same, matter of fact tone. “Or I could make your panties—which I’m betting match your dress—damp in less than five minutes.”

God. How could he talk like that in the middle of a bar? Where people could hear? How could he be so comfortable propositioning her in the dirtiest way possible while they both wore formal attire? And how could she ever live with herself if she passed up this opportunity?

“Quite a promise.” Ivy hopped off her stool, digging her fingernails into her palms in an effort to keep the excitement out of her voice. Matching his blasé approach to what promised to be a white-hot night was sensible. Far less embarrassing than succumbing to the urge to run to the bathroom, call Daphne, and squeal like a teenager anticipating her first hickey. She put a little extra swing in her hips as she headed to the door. “You know you’re going to lose at least a minute while we walk to the elevator?”

“You’ve got to learn to think outside the box, Ms. Rhodes.” Arms like steel caught her behind the knees and cradled her effortlessly. No huffing and puffing, no hitch in his step. Ben’s long legs kept up a brisk pace across the interlocking grey and black circles stamped into the carpet. Ivy crossed her ankles and looped her arms around Ben’s neck, more for the sheer pleasure of it than necessity. She felt as secure in his arms as if back home in her overstuffed purple chair. All those hours he racked up shouldering a video camera were definitely working to her advantage.

Ben’s tongue traced the rim of her ear. Tiny shivers cascaded down her neck with each swipe. A quick tickle of the inside, and then he lightly bit her lobe with his teeth. The contrast of the soft touch with the sharp nip amped the shivers up to full-fledged zings.

“That’s cheating. You can’t start before we even get to the elevator.”

“I call it efficient time management. Thought you of all people would appreciate it.” Ben pressed the button with his elbow and turned the full force of his raffish grin onto her. Good thing he was carrying her, because that grin alone could melt her knees in one second flat. Ivy’s senses spun on overload. Concentrate on the confident swagger in his voice, promising all sorts of R-rated fun? The way his thick bangs drooped over his forehead, just begging for her fingers to comb through? Or…oh…the faint taste of aged scotch flavoring the kiss he began while she was still taking stock of the bank of muscles pressed against her breasts?

Their lips merged. Slow and dreamy, soft and tender. As romantic as any woman could ever hope for. Ivy knew this to be fact, as she spent quite a bit of down time thinking about the perfect kiss. The key ingredients were just the right amount of pressure, the right amount of heat, delivered by a handsome man. Ben hit the bull’s eye on every qualification. Plus, he got extra points for swooping her into his arms and Prince Charming-ed her down the hallway. Her eyes drifted shut at the sheer pleasure. It had been so long since the last time she’d had the opportunity to lock lips with a man. Even longer since she’d been kissed by someone as talented as Ben.

No doubt about it—he’d seduced her into a puddle with nothing more than a kiss. It gave her high expectations for the rest of the night.

Ben set her down and whipped off his jacket. Ivy hadn’t even noticed when they boarded the elevator, and now the doors whisked shut behind them. “What’s the matter? Did I get you all hot and bothered?” she asked. Regret set in as the words left her mouth. Why did some things sound so good in your head, and sound so much like a seventies porn spoof when said out loud?

“It’s for you.” He settled the jacket over her shoulders. “Have to keep you decent. Never know when someone might actually be manning the security camera.” He nodded at the small, black dome in the corner of the ceiling.

“My dress is perfectly decent,” she huffed. Why on earth did he care about this now? “I just worked in it for eight hours in front of more than one hundred people. In front of your video camera, might I remind you. How am I not decent?”

“Like this.” Ben backed her against the mirrored panel, captured her mouth with his, and slid both hands down the front of her dress. With a smoothness undoubtedly borne of practice, he lifted her breasts out of the pink satin. The bodice formed a shelf, pushing them up high. Ivy looked in the mirror on the opposite wall to see her eyes dark and wide with shock. And excitement. He’d dropped to his knees in front of her. Ben’s golden head filled the space between the lapels of his coat. It obscured her view of her lacy pink bra as he nuzzled along the edge of it. His hand traced the same route on the other side. And then her eyes rolled back in her head from the feel of his tongue swirling around her nipple through the fabric, and she stopped looking.

Oh. My. God. Everywhere he used his mouth, his hand duplicated. His heavy thumb rasped the fabric against her suddenly oh-so-sensitive nipple. It drew circles; lazy, slow circles that spiraled need straight to the hot, pulsing place between her thighs.

“You really are like cotton candy. Every layer I find is pink and soft and melts in my mouth.”

Ivy moaned. It was all she could manage. Words required too much thought. She was beyond thought, existing on a plane of pure sensation. Whatever ridiculous fantasy she’d had of keeping up with him, even leading him on, evaporated. All she could do was hang on for the ride. She fisted one hand in his thick hair, wordlessly encouraging him to keep going. Do more, longer, harder. Her hips rolled in response, a seeking gesture. For all he gave, it wasn’t enough.

Ben stood, never breaking contact. “Put your legs around me, sweets.” Ivy jumped, latching on around his waist. She crossed her ankles for support, but needn’t have bothered. He held her, a rock-solid arm under her ass and one around her back. Ben walked them out of the elevator. Smug with the power of her sexuality, Ivy noticed his steps weren’t quite so steady. He might have been doing all the work, but she definitely wasn’t the only one weak in the knees. Still, the dexterity he showed in navigating the hallway with his lips buried in her neck deserved recognition. Leaning her head to the side to give him better access, her cheek brushed the satin strap of her dress. Not the wool and poly blend of a tuxedo across her shoulders.

“Oh, no. Ben, I think your jacket’s still in the elevator.”

“Hope it enjoys the ride.”

Ivy laughed, giddy with desire and the joy of the moment. She’d dated men, far less spontaneous men, who would’ve immediately turned around and gone back for the coat. The fact Ben didn’t, and in fact hastened his steps to his room, proved how turned on he must be. And she’d caused it!

“Grab my key. Left side.
My
left,” he amended hoarsely, as her hand delved down, patting through the wrong pocket. Lingering when she ran up against something far larger and more solid than a keycard. “For the love of God, find the key!”

“Working on it,” she trilled. Nice to turn the tables, to be the one putting the slightly wild look in his unfocused eyes, the color of an angry ocean. But she wanted in as badly as he did, and concentrated on finessing the plastic rectangle into the slot. Once through the door she dropped the key. Inside, outside, who could tell. Who cared? Her hands ripped at his shirt, studs pinging as they flew across the room and hit something metallic. Finally,
finally
she could feel him. A light mat of hair springing beneath her fingers, she reveled in finally touching his skin. Warm skin stretched taut over muscles that rippled at her touch.

Ben toed out a chair in the darkness from what she imagined to be a desk, or maybe a table. Didn’t matter. All that mattered was that when he sat down, everything lined up perfectly. His hardness rubbed against just the right spot, even through her voluminous layers of skirt and slip. The sound of her zipper lowering was the only sound in the room. Then, a frenzy of rustling as he pushed her dress above her hips, and she unzipped his pants. Unfortunately, the cummerbund had to stay. No time to get it off, and no room with him pressed against the back of the chair. Didn’t matter. Ivy could feel his chest, and soon she’d feel even more.

His hands now lifted her breasts out of her bra, the straps snapping from the pressure. His mouth closed over a nipple, the sensation a thousand times more and better than when he’d done the same over her bra. The warm wetness combined with the swirling pressure from his tongue almost sent her over the edge.

“Ben, do you have a condom?”

He chuckled, a dark, sexy noise low in his throat. “You don’t? Little Miss Plans-For-Everything?”

“Of course I do. I’m no fool. Desperate groomsmen pay up to fifty dollars a pop for one in a clinch. But it’s in my purse, which might be still at the bar, or in the elevator, or across the room. I simply don’t know at this point.”

“No worries.” He reached for his back pocket, palming his wallet. In the time honored tradition of every man past puberty, he pulled one out from behind a credit card.

“Let me.” Ivy snatched it away, hoping he’d take the hint and return his attention to her breasts. Smart man that he was, his head dipped once more. She fumbled to push past his waistband, and then he sprang free into her hands. Pulsing, hot steel with a life and a mind of its own. With lightning speed, she unrolled the rubber down his length. He responded by ripping her panties off in one swift tug.

“I promise to pull out all the stops on round two. But I’ll go crazy if I don’t get inside you right now. Please tell me you’re ready?”

This
wasn’t him pulling out all the stops? He’d rocketed her from zero to have mercy in the space of an elevator ride, and he hadn’t even used his good moves? “Oh, I am so ready.”

“Knew we were on the same page. You’re about to burn me up, sweets.” Ben lifted her, impaled her. Thrust all the way inside to places she’d forgotten had feeling. Filled her. Filled her until she didn’t think she could take more, didn’t think she could move. And then couldn’t resist moving against him, an unconscious rhythm they fell into as easily as breathing. Warmth filled her. Heat suffused her from the inside out. Fire lashed at every tiny nerve, licking in time with her heartbeat. There was nothing but the rough sound of Ben’s breathing harsh in her ear, the strong feel of his hands cupping her ass, moving her with exquisite timing and tenderness.

“This is amazing. You’re amazing,” she panted.

“Right back at you. But I can’t get enough of you like this.” Ben tipped forward, out of the chair onto his knees. Buried deep inside, he lowered her to the floor. His slow slide became more frantic, more animalistic. Ivy crooked her knees, pulling him closer. The weight of his body covering her was all male and stirred her up even more. He thrust harder, faster, with a singular purpose. It was more than she could take. It was everything she needed all at once. A series of small earthquakes began to shatter her world. Ivy shuddered, everything exploding from the top of her head to the tips of her toes in a velvet-sheathed sunburst that pulsed through her without end. She screamed, nails clawing down Ben’s back as she bowed up, melting up and into him. A second later, a guttural cry burst from his throat and they met in a kiss that sealed the imploding sensations between them.

Ben’s kiss gentled, softened the primal beast into a tender lover. He rolled onto his side, bringing her with him still in a tight embrace. His lips worshiped her face, moving across the cheekbone, up to her forehead, and back down to her lips. A quick tryst in the middle of the night with any other man could’ve left her feeling used, but Ivy felt treasured by his soft caresses.

“What time is it?”

“Are you kidding me?” Ben propped up on one elbow, leaned over to nip at her neck. “Got another hot date lined up?”

“Of course not. But I did want to know if you hit your goal of under five minutes.”

A long belly laugh rolled out. Ben smoothed his hand across her hair. Nimble fingers worked at the fortification of bobby pins still holding her updo. “We’re both very goal-oriented people, aren’t we? Well, I can respect that. But since I forgot to look at my watch when I started, let’s set a new challenge. Go the opposite direction.”