Planning for Love Read online

  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.

  “This is magnificent.” Ben’s arm swooped around her waist to hug her close.

  “For the record, we’ve got some terrific museums. Impossible for you to be bored at any of them. Next time you’re here, a trip to the Shedd Aquarium is a must. But there’s nothing like bringing someone to the Friendly Confines for the first time.”

  “Hmm. A beautiful woman who follows baseball. You sure know the way to a man’s heart. Nobody’s this perfect. What’s your Kryptonite?”

  “I can’t ride a motorcycle,” she offered.

  He’d heard that before. Yet he always managed to coax trepidatious women onto the back of his beloved Harley. Every one became a convert after a single ride. “Then this is a match made in heaven. I love to break in motorcycle virgins.”

  “Give me a break. A man like you avoids virgins like the plague.” She dropped into a seat, thoughtfully leaving him the aisle seat so he could stretch his legs.

  “Really? You think you’ve got me pegged? This should be good.”

  “You’re too experienced to dally with virgins. They’d bore you.”

  Hit the nail right on the head. But why’d she have to make it sound like an insult? “So I prefer an enthusiastic bed partner over a scared girl. Keeps me away from jailbait. I don’t see the problem.”

  “A character assessment, not a problem.” She tilted her head, clearly pondering for a beat before continuing. “I see you as a man who abhors wasted time. Every movement yesterday, every direction you gave Ollie optimized efficiency. Your hotel room looked uninhabited it was so spotless.”

  “Easy to be neat when all I’ve got is a tux and the clothes on my back.”

  “No jammies?”

  “I didn’t see you whip a flannel nightgown out of your emergency pack last night. Your girlish modesty offended?” He sure didn’t remember her being bashful once their clothes came off. Especially not the third time perched on the bathroom sink in front of the mirror.

  “Not modesty.” Ivy shuddered. “My love of hygiene. Hotel room beds are a sanitation nightmare. Or so the local news tells us every sweeps week.”

  “I travel too much to worry about that stuff.” Ben swung his attention back to the field as the announcer introduced the players. Ivy stuck two fingers in her mouth and let out an impressively pierc
ing whistle.

  “You’re going to have to cheer for the Cubs.” She held up a hand to forestall any comments. “Not just because they’re my team. It’s a safety issue. I don’t want any fans tossing drinks at us if you clap for the other team. We’re a pretty hard core bunch here in Chicago. So I hope you’re not a Dodgers fan,” she said as the opposing team took the field. “You’re not from Los Angeles, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “That’s a relief. What team do you follow?”

  “I like to watch whatever game’s on when I’ve got a beer in my hand.” Ben signaled to the guy with a crate of beer bottles on his shoulder. Old enough to be his father, the man probably trudged up and down the stadium steps a hundred times during a game. Ben slipped the guy an extra ten in exchange for two bottles. Made him feel less embarrassed to sit on his ass for nine innings while the beer vendor slowly destroyed what was left of his knee cartilage.

  “Nice evasion. But it doesn’t exactly require X-ray vision to see through you. Why won’t you tell me where you’re from?”

  Ben liked to chat up women. Flirt with them, find out what made them tick. What made them light up from the inside out like an outdoor Christmas display. He did not, as a rule, like to talk about himself. “Why can’t you take a hint?”

  “If you tell me where you live, I won’t worry that you’re evading the question because you’re on the FBI’s most wanted list. Although a real criminal would probably have a good cover story in place.”

  She had a point. Opening up about his address didn’t require spilling his whole, sordid life story. “I’m based in New York. But I’m never there. WWS keeps me on the road more weeks than not. Before that I lived in D.C. Caught a few Nats games, unfortunately before they built their snazzy new stadium.”

  “Look at that. You revealed personal details without bursting into flames.” Ivy dropped a smooch on his cheek. Liked it enough to come back for seconds, with a long, soft kiss right on the lips. “There’s hope for you yet.”

  “Smart ass.” He ran his hand down her smooth thigh in a quick caress. “Nice of your friend Daphne to drop off a change of clothes. Especially driving downtown on her day off.”

  “Daphne’s my best friend. She’d never make me do the morning-after walk of shame.” Not that she’d told Daphne any details. To avoid the inevitable lecture, she’d fuzzed the truth. Said they’d stayed up all night talking. Ivy didn’t like lying to her best friend, but she hadn’t wanted to waste any precious moments with Ben stuck in an argument with Daphne. “Plus, she was motivated by more than friendship. Her delivery fee will cost me a dinner at Reza’s, our favorite Persian restaurant.”

  “Totally worth it. In case you haven’t noticed, these shorts are a lot more conducive to me touching you than the acres of skirt in your gown. Don’t get me wrong. I have fond memories of that gown. The way it looked pooled around your waist in the elevator. The way it looked lying on the floor while you were naked on top of me.” Fired up by the pictures in his brain, Ben leaned in for some real time action. Instead, he got broadsided in the forehead by the bill of her Cubs cap.

  “Why’d you leave D.C.?”

  Damn it. The fatal question. If he answered with the truth, she’d drop him faster than the shortstop bobbled that ground ball a minute ago. If he handed her some made-up line, she seemed the type to cry foul. And all Ben wanted was to watch a ball game in this iconic setting, with his hand on the thigh of a pretty girl who kept him on his toes. While he appreciated Ivy being both whip-smart and perceptive, he just wished she didn’t aim those talents in his direction.

  “Thought this was a baseball game, not twenty questions.” He followed up the deflection with a kiss, this time tugging her head back by her ponytail to slide in beneath her hat. Until she started the third degree, Ivy had given him the perfect day. Her kiss tasted of all of it; breakfast in bed, a stroll along the lake, and the surprise visit to Wrigley. It was fun and bright, exactly like Ivy herself. And then it turned. Ben went deeper, demanded more. The cheering fans, the crack of the bat and the crackle of the loudspeaker faded away. His tongue twined with hers, joining in an inner caress that shocked him with its shot-to-the-gut power. She answered his need, thrust for thrust with breathy little moans that made him want to toss her over his shoulder and run all the way back to the Cavendish.

  Satisfied with his method of distraction, he resettled his cap. Then let out a whoop as what could’ve been a fly ball turned into a home run for the home team. Ivy surged to her feet before he could let out the first clap. Whistling and screaming, she celebrated along with the other thirty thousand people in the stands. The timing couldn’t have been better. Talk about a distraction! He planned to point the conversation firmly toward her for the rest of the day to prevent any more games of dodgeball with revealing the truth. Starting now.

  “A play like that should be capped off with a hot dog or two. Give us a base for these beers. You got the tickets, so the snacks are on me.”

  Ivy bit her lip. “The tickets were free.”

  “I’m not a client demanding an itemization.” He refused to let her innate sense of fair play ruin the gesture. “How about you relax and let me treat you. We’ve done this whole date thing ass backward. You deserve candles and a fancy restaurant with flowers on the table. At least let me spring for a damn pretzel.”

  “When you put it so nicely, how could I refuse?” Ivy giggled.

  * * *

  Ben blinked against the onslaught of light as they emerged from the darkness beneath the thick maze of El tracks. Donning sunglasses, he loped along beside Ivy, her determined stride eating up the sidewalk. She walked with purpose. He wanted to walk to the nearest patch of grass and take a nap.

  “After sitting for nine innings, I thought it’d be nice to stretch our legs,” said Ivy.

  The woman had a boundless supply of energy. Whereas Ben was very much aware of how little shut eye they’d grabbed last night. He couldn’t wait to collapse into his airplane seat and sleep the whole way home. On the other hand, he wanted to hang with Ivy for as long as possible. She brought a sparkle to the day, like a flashlight pushing past the dusty cobwebs of moodiness that hit him after each assignment.

  “Are we going far? Should we load up with water and provisions?”

  Patting her stomach, Ivy groaned. “I won’t be eating again for quite a while. Why’d you talk me into splitting that tray of nachos with you?”

  “Couldn’t finish it by myself. It’d be a shame to let good nachos go to waste.” Oughtta be a rule about that sort of heinous crime. It should include pizza, wings, fries—all the basic bar foods.

  “We’re almost there.”

  “Because you’re trucking along at a hundred miles an hour. Flames are coming off the backs of your shoes.”

  “Whiner. Do you need a taxi to go one more block?”

  “You just can’t let an opportunity slip to push at me, can you?”

  “Why would I? It’s fun to watch your eyes crinkle at the corners while you try to figure out a slick way to razz me right back.”

  Uncanny. A little scary, truth be told. “Remind me never to play poker with you. Sharp as you are, you’d pick up all my tells.”

  “I minored in psychology. I like to think of myself as a perpetual student of human behavior. In my business, it helps to be able to know what makes people tick. Figure out how they might respond before they even know.”

  “Interesting hobby.” Insightful and beautiful. If only he had a couple more days to burn. For too long now, he’d stuck to women who were only good between the sheets, but bored him stiff in daylight. Easier to avoid any hint of a relationship that way. But Ivy tempted him to break his own rule.

  “I have others. Yoga, for example. I’m very bendy.”

  “I noticed.”

  “With all the air miles you log, it’d be great for you to pick up. Nothing like stretching after a long plane ride. Speaking of, where are you off to next?”

>   “No idea. I’m going to be grounded for at least a few weeks dealing with my promotion.”

  “If it gets too hard for you to stay in one place, you could always nip back here for a weekend. Pretty short plane ride from New York.”

  Wait a minute. She knew this was nothing more than a lost weekend, right? A really great one, sure. Looked forward to repeating it any time work swung him through Chicago. But they weren’t dating or anything.

  Ivy took off her sunglasses, hooking them in the neck of her tee shirt. Throwing her arms open wide, she said, “Here we are. Make a mental postcard. Buckingham Fountain is a Chicago landmark.”

  For good reason. The massive plume of water looked as high as the city’s skyscrapers arrayed behind it. In the surrounding pool, stone seahorses shot water at three pink marble basins. Ben spun in a slow circle, taking in the view of dazzling architecture and endless lake iconic to the city. He’d seen it in photos before, but they couldn’t properly encapsulate the majestic sight. Ben laced his fingers with Ivy’s, gave a quick squeeze.

  “No wonder you like it. Kind of looks like a big, wet wedding cake with all those tiers,” he teased. “Did you always want to be a wedding planner?”

  “Well, I’ve always wanted to be a bride.”

  Whoa. Danger ahead. Ben dropped her hand, and had to force himself not to back away. With a single sentence, Ivy transformed from perfect paramour to a toxic cliché. The kind he avoided at all cost. Women who focused on the white dress and spending daddy’s money on flower arrangements taller than an NBA forward, rather than finding the right partner. Could she really be one of those? Nah. No reason to jump to conclusions. Yet. What did it matter, anyway? He’d be gone in a matter of hours. Still, Ben decided to toss out a test balloon, see how she responded.

  “You’re only a bride for a day. Then you’re stuck in a marriage for years.”