Planning for Love (7 page)

Ivy couldn’t see him in the heavy darkness, but could bet he wore his devil-may-care grin that broke through her defenses in the first place. Which meant she’d fall in line with whatever he suggested. “I might be open to giving you a second chance. What do you have in mind?”

“That I can hold you on the edge of orgasm for an hour.”

He made the most extraordinary statements, and yet made them sound perfectly plausible. Ivy was no prude, but still thrilled at his earthy, shameless approach to sex.

He fanned his fingers through her loosened hair and sucked in a short, tight breath. “Might be more of a challenge for me, because everything about you pushes my control to the breaking point.” Ben lifted her in his arms—
wow, she could get used to that!
—and carried her into the bedroom. “This way we can see the clock. And it should prevent any more rug burn. Sorry about that, by the way. I’ll have to check you later for it. All over. Probably in a bubble bath, just to be thorough.”

This was turning into the best night ever. “On your mark, get set, go!”

Chapter Five

Though marriage makes man and wife one flesh, it leaves ’em still two fools.

—William Congreve

Ivy pulled the sheet over her head against the painful brightness, but it was no use. Resigned to being awake, she opened her eyes and threw back the covers. Then promptly pulled them back up tight beneath her chin, very aware of her nakedness in an unfamiliar room. Grey damask stripes covered the walls. She huddled beneath grey satin sheets topped with a fluffy duvet. Comfortable as could be, but definitely not hers. Her gaze swung to the tall man standing next to the window, backlit by the morning sun. Each bulge of his muscles, from prominent biceps to toned quads, stood out in silhouette. And every second of the previous night flooded back into her consciousness, lusty quicksand pulling her back into a state of semi-arousal from the memory.

Ben looked amazing. Her vocabulary had dwindled to that single word ever since he’d shed his clothes. One hand braced him against the glass, stretching the muscles of his long, lean back into taut definition. Ivy drank him in. She’d explored his body repeatedly during their…encounter? No. Didn’t come close to describing the toe-curling, earth-moving night they’d shared. Tryst? Too old-fashioned. Made her think of virgins and unicorns. Sexual marathon? Yup, that about summed it up. Getting to see everything she’d touched woke her up faster than a triple espresso shot. But why had he left the bed? Usually men had one thing on their minds in the morning, and it wasn’t staring at the Chicago skyline.

“Good morning.” Not exactly an invitation back to bed, but she needed to find her footing. When Ivy woke up in a man’s bed, it was usually after many dates—or at least more than a gulped drink in a bar. Fantastic sex aside, she didn’t know enough about Ben to figure out if he wanted her to grab her clothes and disappear, or hang around for another round. Heck, she didn’t know enough about Ben to figure out what state issued his driver’s license. But she wanted to. Boy oh boy, did she want to find out more.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up. But since we’re on the thirtieth floor, I wanted to take a peek.” Ben leaned against the floor-to-ceiling black drapes, twisting to face her.

“Enjoying the view?” she asked. Because God knows she was. Full-frontal Ben Westcott was something she could stare at for days. All the muscles he’d used to carry her so effortlessly were sculpted and sexy. Firm pecs covered with a light mat of golden hair led to a set of abs underwear models would kill for. His body looked sculpted by hard work, rather than the overdeveloped bulges of a gym rat. Afraid that if she looked any lower she might drool, Ivy forced her eyes back up to the glorious mess of his thick hair.

The corner of his mouth tugged up. “I am now.” His eyes left a trail of steam in their wake as they swept from her toes to what she assumed to be an epic case of bedhead. But a certain part of his anatomy didn’t seem put off by her messy mop of hair.

Emboldened, she propped herself up on her elbows, letting the sheet slither just south of respectability. “So what do you think of Chicago?”

“I think the welcoming committee is very friendly. I’m amazed people ever leave.”

Ivy bit back a giggle, tried to look wholesome and solemn. “It’s our famous Midwestern hospitality.”

“Oh, you’ve been quite hospitable.” Ben stalked forward, stopped at the foot of the bed and planted his hands on his hips, feet spread wide. “The mayor should give you a medal.”

“Your appreciation will more than suffice.” She enjoyed his playful mood, and decided to push her luck. “I would, however, be willing to accept a gratuity. Perhaps pancakes?”

The half smile slid from his lips. “No. It’s too late.”

Okay, then! Apparently she’d misread him. On the one hand, she’d come to his room without any expectations. On the other hand, they’d shared an incredible night. Ben’s fun and tenderness layered over white hot passion made a potent combination. He not only rooted tiny seeds of intimacy for Ivy, but sprouted them, too. Why was it too much to ask that his reaction be the same?

No time to process the disappointment. Or, worse yet, let him see it. However, they might as well be adult about this awkward situation. Ivy’s gaze darted about the room, trying to locate her clothes. Damned if she’d give him a free show. She’d grab her dress, make a run for the bathroom, and get out before he kicked her out. “Thanks for a nice time. I’ll be out of here in five minutes.”

“Whoa! Where are you going?” Ben lunged forward, trapping her beneath his body. He circled her wrists with one hand, holding them against the upholstered headboard. His other hand traced a slow line down her side, then caressed the swell of her breast. The shivers of desire he induced made it remarkably hard to process an answer.

“Like you said, it’s late. I’m sure you have places to be, and I have a million things to do today.” Number one on the list? Try to ignore how drop-dead sexy he felt pressed against her. Reminding her of every spectacular moment their bodies were joined. Number two? Try not to wriggle shamelessly.

“Ivy, I don’t want you to leave. It’s just that it’s too late to order pancakes, because room service will be here any second with French toast.”

He didn’t want her to leave
and
ordered breakfast for both of them? Ivy didn’t know which point made her happier. Emotional whiplash kicked in from the U-turn he’d spun her into. No complaints, though. Not when her go-for-one-cocktail date had morphed into something far better. Now for the bonus round question. “Any chance you ordered bacon?”

Ben dropped her hands and rolled off her, flopping onto his back. “You insult me. What’s the point of room service without bacon?”

“I’m sold. I’ll stay for breakfast.” It kept getting better. Hot sex and bacon? Could there be a more perfect end to a perfect date?

Still staring at the ceiling, Ben asked, “What about after?”

Good question. Ivy yawned and stretched, buying time to come up with a suitably leading response. His ordering breakfast for her, coupled with his obvious physical interest, pointed to him feeling the same…more…that she did. Although if Daphne were here, she’d point out that when you jumped to conclusions, it often resulted in a long and painful fall. For all her good intentions, Daphne could be a real killjoy.

“Have something specific in mind?” That’s right. Play it coy. Don’t burst out with the fact that she’d willingly give up all her breakfast —coffee included—to roll around in bed with him one more time.

Shifting to prop himself on an elbow, Ben stared down at her. “My flight doesn’t leave until tonight. For all the dozens of times I’ve been to Chicago, I’ve never done the tourist thing.”

“You’re a frequent visitor to my favorite town? Do you come that often because you’ve got family here?”

“Nope. Work.”

She waited a few beats for him to expound. And then another few. Weird. After all, brides didn’t normally fly in their own videographer. There had to be a story behind it. Or was the real story the fact Ben obviously wasn’t willing to divulge any more on the topic? He couldn’t even meet her eyes. Kind of a feat in and of itself, since a mere six inches separated their faces. “My, aren’t you loquacious in the morning.”

“Not before coffee.”

Funny. He’d been able to string together a full sentence two minutes ago.
Before
the subject of his work came up. Ivy wanted playful, sexy Ben to return. Might be hard, though, to nudge a moody, tired man she barely knew. But what did she have to lose? “I know the feeling. Once I ran out of beans and left the house so comatose I had to go back three separate times for my coat, my keys and my purse. Now I keep a stash of chocolate-covered espresso beans in my nightstand. Entertained serious thoughts about putting them behind a glass door. You know, to break in case of emergency?”

Her silly, albeit both embarrassing and true, story teased his dimples out of hiding. Heavy-lidded eyes the color of an early spring iris captured hers, then winked. “What a coincidence. I keep chocolate syrup to cover things
with
in my nightstand. Except I don’t wait for an emergency to break it out.”

“Oh. Oh my.” If she squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated, could she teleport his nightstand here? Ivy never put much faith in psychic powers, but now seemed a really great time to become a believer.

“So if you aren’t too busy today, I thought maybe you’d be willing to show me your city.”

Yippee! Ben wanted to spend the day with her. Which meant this interlude was about more than sex to him. Maybe they’d started this relationship backward, but they could still go back and cover all the steps they’d skipped. With her odd hours, a long-distance relationship might be the best solution. She could get to know him over the phone, really discover each other. With, of course, an occasional, torrid mid-week rendezvous.

Daphne always accused her of leaping into love. Ivy didn’t see anything wrong with her system. When seeking your soul mate, the search needed to be serious. So many people wasted time casually dating, spending too long with the wrong person because they didn’t throw themselves into dating. Maybe Ivy did jump in with both feet at every potential true love prospect. But she believed if something was worth doing, be it running a business or looking for love, it demanded one hundred and ten percent effort, every time. Besides,
Ben
was the one who initiated their fling, and
Ben
was the one who voiced his wish to continue.

Ivy blinked slowly. Trailed one finger down the valley between his pecs to the dark line of hair bisecting his belly. Sliding her hand beneath the whisper-soft sheet, she kept moving south to wrap her whole hand around the blatant evidence of his interest. Despite catching only four hours of sleep, one part of him was unmistakably wide awake and raring to go.

“That could probably be arranged,” she purred. Ben’s prowess between the sheets had vaulted him to the top of the heap, teetering on the edge of being named the best sex she’d ever had. Exhaustion had dulled her senses by their third round. Ivy wanted the chance to judge his expertise with clear eyes. And with bright sunlight illuminating every one of his sexy muscle ripples. When his stamina gave out, then they’d worry about sightseeing. “I can clear my schedule for the day. Given the right incentive.”

“Good to hear.” Ben shifted back on top of her, using his weight to nudge her legs even farther apart. White teeth flashed as a wide grin split his face. “Because I ordered an extra side of maple syrup. I’ve got an interesting idea of how to use it. And oddly enough, it doesn’t involve French toast at all.”

* * *

Ben executed a quick sidestep off the curb to avoid a mound of gum. Then he jumped back onto the sidewalk to avoid being run over by a taxi. Chicago cabs rivaled New York’s for their utter lack of regard for pedestrians. “Ivy, I need to make a confession.”

She groaned. “Gee, that ties with
we need to talk
as the worst conversation starter of all time. Why confess anything on a first date—even if this is part three of said date? Unless you’ve got a transvestite twin waiting to make a threesome. That, I would need to know immediately.”

Funny girl. He enjoyed yanking her chain. Especially the way she sassed him right back. Ben shook his head, wrenched off his sunglasses. Eyes downcast, he said, “I sold you short.”

“What, now that you’ve had your way with me, the sweet talk goes right out the window? What an odd thing to say.”

“Hey, I’m trying to give you a compliment. When I asked you to show me the sights, I figured you’d jam a couple of museums down my throat. Maybe an architecturally significant building or two, followed by shopping.”

“A fate worse than death?” Ivy shuffled forward a few steps, Ben coming along thanks to his hand jammed into the back pocket of her jean shorts. The very tight pocket gave him an excuse to cup her really great ass. Tight, but still enough there for him to grab onto. Perfectly rounded for squeezing.

People crowded against them from all sides, slowing their progress. The first hint of summer flirted through the air on a warm breeze. Last week he’d been on assignment in Buffalo, and ended up stuck for an extra two days due to a late spring blizzard. The sun beating directly down on his arms without being filtered through layers of coats felt great. Ben remembered April in Chicago as capricious weather-wise, but today was picture perfect. Blue sky, a few puffy white clouds, and warm enough to be out in a tee shirt. A faded cap from the Athens Olympics was his only protection from the elements.

He gave a quick squeeze, just to enjoy the feel of her beneath his hands. “Let’s say my expectations were pretty low on the fun scale.”

“So why didn’t you ditch the tour and hole up at O’Hare for a few hours?”

Ben readjusted the bill of his cap. It surprised him to uncover a core of insecurity in Ivy. “Come on, stop fishing. A woman as beautiful as you should never stoop so low.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do I have to spell it out?” To his dismay, Ivy nodded. Why did all women insist on being told emotional junk that should be perfectly obvious? “I wanted to spend time with you. We’ve really hit it off. You were a pleasure to work with, one of the best planners I’ve ever encountered. You’ve got this saucy streak that kind of glints out from behind all your professionalism.”

“I appreciate the compliment. May I quote you on my web site? Use you as a referral?”

“Only if you include the second part of the compliment, which would be how much fun I had once the wedding ended. You’re one hell of a good time, Ms. Rhodes.”

A smile brighter than a halogen light uptilted her kissable lips. “Right back at you, Mr. Westcott.”

A few more steps put them through the turnstile. Now Ben pulled her along, urging her forward. Ivy grabbed his arm to redirect him up the concrete ramp. Laughter echoed off the walls. Peanut shells crunched underfoot, and the heady scent of brats and fries undulated through the air.

“Never, in a million tries, would I have guessed we’d end up here.”

Ivy led him to the edge of the tunnel and stopped so he could take in the view of Wrigley Field, in all its ivy-covered glory. The tickets she’d wheedled from Gib put them behind third base, just high enough to glimpse Lake Michigan beyond the roof decks full of partiers. Huh. Not only did those lucky bastards on neighboring roofs have prime viewing, but the beer probably cost a lot less than the concession stands here in the park charged. The vast blue expanse of water almost blended into the bright sky until you noticed all the boats, colorful sails unfurled.