Planning for Love

by Christi Barth

  “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.”

  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.