Planning for Love (16 page)

“If I push any harder, you’re going to be a very unhappy man.” She spoke in a soft, calm voice. “On the other hand, if you promise to leave me alone and walk away, I’ll let go. No harm done. Your choice, Jerry.”

Could that be a tear oozing out the corner of his tightly clenched eyes? Ben bit back a laugh, and resisted the years of ingrained habit that sent his hand groping for his camera. God help him, but some things were just too good to share with the viewing public. Plus, he didn’t want to leave Ivy open to a stupid nuisance lawsuit by embarrassing this guy on national television. It would, however, be indelibly imprinted on his mental playback reel.

“Steve made me promise to say goodbye,” Jerry mumbled sullenly.

“Of course he did. You’re the best man, after all.” Ivy released his fingers and stepped back. “He’s probably waiting for you right now.”

Without another word, Jerry slunk off. Ben slowly clapped his admiration. “Kudos, Ms. Rhodes.”

Her cheeks flushed to almost the same shade as the bow in her hair. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Why not? You brought a grown man the size of a Buick to his knees. Where’d you learn those moves?”

“Self defense class. Weddings don’t have bouncers, and with the free-flowing open bars, situations arise. Daphne and I both took the course when we opened Aisle Bound.”

“You really are prepared for anything, aren’t you?”

“It’s my job,” she said simply. Then a dancing light sparked in her eyes. “And I happen to be great at it.”

That touch of arrogance diluted her too-good-to-be-true perfection just enough, like a shot of rum blunting the sweetness of a strawberry daiquiri. And it pushed her from annoyingly desirable into the dangerous, must-have column. He’d tried for two weeks to ignore the undimmed spark between them, the desire he couldn’t shake. Ben knew it was seventeen kinds of wrong. She’d drive him straight up a wall with expectations he just couldn’t meet. But he couldn’t ignore the compulsion to touch her again. Sidling closer, he bumped her hip.

“Why don’t we go out tonight?” Maybe now that she knew upfront where he stood on the subject of dating, she’d be willing to deal with her emotions on her own time and just live a little.

Ivy didn’t say anything, but lifted a well-arched eyebrow.

“Don’t worry, I’m not suggesting a drink,” he snapped. Couldn’t she cut him a little slack? “I sure as hell don’t want to send you off the deep end again. Dinner between colleagues. You and me.”

“Why?”

“It’s been a stressful weekend. The rest of the country spent it relaxing and barbequing while we worked our asses off for four days straight.” It’d been a long time since a woman didn’t immediately fall prey to his well-practiced charm. Decades, probably. Practically a law of nature. Dimples made him irresistible. Ben Westcott could get any woman he wanted, without effort. How could the one girl he didn’t want to want resist him? Hands buried wrist deep in his pockets to keep from stroking the curve of her cheek, he hip checked her once more. “I think we deserve a nice night out.”

“Your stance on dating kind of seared its way into my memory in April. You’re not a boyfriend kind of guy. You don’t do relationships. So why on earth would I spend an evening with you?”

No surprise it took the blink of an eye for that to come back and bite him in the ass. “I didn’t like watching Jerry the Jerk draped all over you.”

She dipped her head. “Believe me, I appreciate you not inflaming the situation and letting me handle it.”

Good thing she didn’t know how close he’d come to throwing a right hook. “Point is, he rubbed me the wrong way. Next time I can’t promise the same outcome. You’ve got to go out with me.”

Her eyebrow shot up again. Damn thing was doing jumping jacks. “Or else what? Or else you’ll threaten to start a rumble with every guy who looks at me sideways?”

Pretty much. Except that tactic didn’t seem to be working. Ben regrouped, and gently tugged her hand off her waist. “I’m persistent. I’ll keep asking until I wear you down. Come on, Ivy,” he wheedled, “we have fun together. Why not share a few laughs and some good food?”

It rankled him, waiting for an answer. Made him feel like all kinds of a fool. Now, on top of wanting to be with her, his pride kept him nailed to the spot, proverbial hat in hand. This better be the best damn date of his life. A hair’s breadth away from second guessing the whole thing, her hand squeezed him back. Ivy quirked those lush lips to the side.

“One dinner. We’ll go out tonight if you promise to drop the issue for the entire rest of the shooting schedule. It’ll be up to me after that. I may choose to walk away without a backward glance, or I may choose to see you again. But I make the decision, not you.”

First she ran him like a marlin on a hook, and now she held the tip of the sword to his throat. Why hadn’t he felt the earthquake that so shifted the balance between them? There should be jagged spears of earth surrounded by rubble. Instead, when he looked around the rapidly emptying tent, all he saw were a few hardcore dancers and an elderly woman scooping leftover favors into her purse. Ben wondered what she intended to do with forty star-shaped, inch-high picture frames. Maybe sell them on eBay?

“Sounds good. We should be wrapped up here soon, so how about I pick you up in two hours?”

“Two and a
half
hours,” she corrected.

“Oh, is that how it’s going to be?”

“Depends on how good a time you show me.”

“Hey, I only offered dinner. We’re not taking some whirlwind fantasy trip to Paris or anything.”

“Good. I’m too tired already to deal with jet lag.”

So Ivy expected a kick-ass but low-key date. Ben knew she’d hated the moonlight lake cruise. And he was painfully aware of his scant-at-best knowledge of Chicago and its nightlife scene. Now what?

Chapter Eleven

Energy and persistence conquer all things.

—Benjamin Franklin

Ivy heard a sound not unlike elephants shod in fleece racing down the hallway. Her bedroom door slammed open to reveal a panting, pajama-clad Daphne.

“Ben’s coming up the stairs.”

“Already? He’s ten minutes early.” Ivy spun to the mirror, hands shifting to autopilot to fluff a sexy tousle into her loose curls. “Why on earth did you let him up?”

“He buzzed. What else am I supposed to do, leave him standing on the curb like a hobo?”

“Well, yes.”

Daphne threw herself into a prone position on the bed. “I still think you’re crazy. After the hours we’ve put in the past few days, wouldn’t you rather be in your jammies eating pizza on the couch with me?”

“Tempting, yes. But you should’ve seen him. The man all but begged. And threatened to keep begging until I caved. If I get it out of the way tonight, he won’t bother me any more the rest of the time he’s here.”

“I don’t buy it.” Daphne toyed with the drawstring on her pink-and-white-striped bottoms. “You don’t cave. You don’t let yourself be boxed into a corner. There’s some other reason you said yes, isn’t there?”

“Am I that transparent?”

“To me. Probably not to Ben. So hurry and tell me. With legs that long, he’ll cover those two flights of stairs in a heartbeat.”

“I’m going to be the best date he’s ever had. Fun, flirty, sexy. He’s going to ache with wanting me. And then I’ll cut him loose. See how he likes being the one left wanting.” Ivy sat on the edge of the bed. “Does that make me a terrible, vindictive person?”

“Oh, yeah. But if you were perfect, I couldn’t be friends with you. Everyone needs a flaw or two.”

Three hard knocks echoed through the apartment. Ivy smoothed the straps of her sin-red sundress, chosen to set Ben to drooling the minute he saw her. “Don’t save me any ice cream. I plan to eat my way through Ben’s credit card limit tonight.”

“Go get him, tiger.”

Ivy’s needle-thin stilettos tapped against the hardwood floors. She opened the door to catch Ben mid-knock. His hand froze, upraised, as his eyes inched down in a slow slide past the cotton lace-up bustier, past the skirt so short she couldn’t bend over and stay decent, then back up to hover at her glossy, vixen-red lips.

“Va va va voom, Ms. Rhodes. You look incredible.”

“You look early,” she replied, gratified by the stupefied expression slackening his jaw. Of course, she had to remember to keep hers from dropping as well. At this point, she’d almost gotten used to how rakishly sexy Ben looked in his wedding uniform of a tuxedo. She thought she did a pretty good job of not
openly
staring at his muscled thighs when he wore cargo shorts to the office. But tonight he displayed a whole new sartorial side. The summer linen suit over a pale blue shirt unbuttoned at the neck made him look relaxed and suave. Sort of like James Bond on a Caribbean island.

“Better than late, right? Besides, I had an inkling you’d try to keep me out of here. Half expected you to be waiting out front.”

Well, that
had
been her plan. There was an inherent intimacy to letting him into their place. He hadn’t earned that privilege. She didn’t like him being one step ahead of her. “Don’t be silly. We love to show off our place. Daphne and I spent two solid months painting and sprucing when we first moved in.”

She stepped back and swept her arm to the side in invitation. The pale lavender walls covered with close-up photographs of individual flowers didn’t exactly measure up to the grandeur and elegance Ben was used to at the Cavendish. Extra wide chairs covered in a watercolory print of lilac sprays were super comfortable for reading away an afternoon. She and Daphne had chosen the deep purple velvet sofa for its make-out potential: had to be long enough for a tall man to stretch out full length. Although it hadn’t seen much of that type of action, she loved the dramatic flair it brought to the room.

Ben, however, bypassed the comfort of the couch and ambled straight to the fireplace. Flanked by built-in bookcases, it was Ivy’s favorite part of the room. The wide white mantel held a whimsically mismatched collection of picture frames.

“Looks like you’ve got your own gallery up here.” Ben ran a finger along the edge of several frames in a row.

“We call it Ivy’s heart on display.” Daphne sprawled on the couch, a pizza box balanced on her stomach. “Everyone she cares about is up there. Kind of a place of honor. If you make it onto the mantel, you’re in the inner circle.”

“Good for people to know where they stand,” he said absently. His finger lingered on a shot of her family in Adirondack chairs at their lake cabin in Wisconsin. Then he jammed his hands in his pockets, which raised his jacket high enough to show off a very fine ass. “Don’t want to be late for our reservations. We should go.”

Like a cloud passing overhead, his mood had shifted for a moment, darkened. Or maybe she imagined it. The tight roundness of his ass certainly qualified as a distraction. Ivy collected her bag and a white pashmina from the mirrored armoire by the door.

“I’m going to wait up, so don’t expect any post-date nookie, Westcott,” Daphne warned.

“Actions have consequences, Lovell. Cock blocking me means I nix my plans to bring you back a dessert.” He closed the door behind Ivy before Daphne could splutter out more than a few angry syllables.

“Interesting choice of words,” said Ivy, picking her way down the stairs.

Ben laughed. “Daphne and I enjoy shooting the shit. We both dish it out as well as we take it. Neither one of us means anything by it.”

“Does that mean you’ll still bring her dessert? You can’t toy with her when it comes to her sweet tooth. Because, and let me be clear on this, Daphne’s presence at the apartment is not what’s stopping you from getting laid tonight.”

“No kidding. I live at a hotel. She could camp out in your living room for a month while we run through every condom in the city.”

Ivy overshot a step and almost lost her footing. Obviously they weren’t on the same page about the agenda for the evening. “I think you’re missing my point. Allow me to strip you of any illusions you might have, there will be no sex tonight. Not in your hotel, not in my apartment.”

“What about on the desk in your office?” Ben opened the front door and led her through with one hand cupped beneath her elbow.

Was he being deliberately obtuse? Obstinate? Idiotic? Suddenly involved in a body swap with a sex-crazed fifteen year old? “No.” His mouth started to open, and she held up an index finger to shush him. “Oh, and before you ask, also not on the observation deck of the Hancock Tower or the end zone at Soldier Field.”

His open palm moved to the small of her back, guiding her down the tree-lined street. “Ivy, relax. I’m just poking at you.”

“That’s the only poking you’ll be doing.”

“For God’s sake, I don’t expect you to put out for a glass of wine and a meal. Is that really what you think of me?” Legs braced wide, Ben stopped walking. He skewered her with a laser-sharp gaze. Dusk crept in from shadowy corners, darkening the sidewalk even as the sky morphed into an abstract painting with thick streaks of apricot and periwinkle. Mockingbirds twittered from behind clusters of vivid green leaves. The first crickets of the night began their rasping song. A warm breeze carried the scent of honeysuckle. The moment couldn’t be more romantic if she’d orchestrated it herself. Not to mention the thoroughly handsome, albeit annoyed man waiting for an answer.

“No. No, I’m sorry, Ben. I guess I’m more exhausted than I realized. I should’ve known you were kidding.” After all, the hard freeze punctuating their first few days together had thawed all the way to occasional friendly, if not warm, banter. She’d watched Ben jovially joke with everyone in her office, although to a far lesser extent with Julianna. Her assistant refused to drop her guard around him. “You
were
just kidding, right?”

Ben opened the door of a sporty silver convertible and helped her in with old world manners. She rubbed her hands over the butter soft leather of the seats while he walked around to his side. With an ease she’d always assumed required stuntmen and wires, he planted his hand and vaulted over the door into the seat.

“Yes.” Smoothly manipulating the gear shift, he pulled out into traffic. “Unless you offer up a quickie at the Art Institute. I’ve always been a sucker for Monet.”

This time he had to be kidding. Probably. Ivy snickered. “I’m not interested in getting horizontal anyplace with a marble floor. I bruise too easily.”

“Duly noted.” Ben drummed his fingers on the steering wheel while they idled at a light. His wind-tousled hair drooped into his eyes, giving him a boyish, innocent look. As if!

Ivy trailed her arm over the edge of the door and thought about how the last few minutes had played out. For all intents and purposes, Ben gave every indication of being a decent guy. In hindsight, sure, he’d hurt her. But only by being upfront and completely honest about his feelings. He didn’t deserve her doling out this ongoing punishment for such sterling qualities.

“Look, I’ve obviously got a hair-trigger response to you. Which seems kind of ridiculous, since I’m the one that offered up the peace pipe. Starting tonight, I truly promise to let bygones be bygones. A guaranteed fresh start.”

“Sounds good to me.”

She worried about how quickly his response popped out. Had he truly heard what she said, tuned out to deal with traffic, or possibly not trust her to follow through? “Really? It’s that easy?”

“Don’t go looking for trouble under every single rock. Life’s too short to hold grudges. I take people at their word.” Ben slid a quick look her way before swinging onto Lake Shore Drive. “You tell me we’ve got a clean slate, I believe you.”

Ivy looked at the beautiful expanse of Lake Michigan, shimmering on her left. Due to the holiday, the blue water sported more sailboats and speedboats than usual. The park edging it overflowed with families crowded around tables groaning with food, and the acrid charcoal scent of portable grills made her mouth water. A patchwork quilt of music with a Latin beat pumped out of dozens of boomboxes. She’d worked all the summer barbeque holidays for years, always going home to crash at the end of the four day slog. It was nice to be out in the middle of the festivities for once, sharing the holiday with millions of other Americans. Even nicer to experience it with an easy-going, yummilicious man.

* * *

If Ivy could’ve chosen any place in Chicago to be on a warm almost-summer night, the rooftop deck at Pegasus would be it. Located in the heart of Greektown, the view from their candlelit table encompassed the entire downtown skyline. The casual, fun atmosphere was exactly what she needed to relax and let go of the accumulated stress from the last four days. How had Ben done it? In a city with literally thousands of restaurants, how had he so perfectly gauged her mood?

“You did well, Mr. Westcott. A spectacular view, great food, epitome-of-summer atmosphere, not to mention the convertible ride down Lake Shore Drive. Less than half an hour in, this night is already about as perfect as it can get.”

Crossing his hands behind his head, Ben kicked back to balance his chair on two legs. The position exposed a vee of golden chest hair, and spread his shirt tautly across his pecs. All stretched out, he kind of looked like an actor in a really sexy cologne commercial.

“I realize it’s no satin sheets on a sailboat—”

“And for that I thank you,” she interrupted, with a mental shudder. Never again would she let her mom set up a blind date. Ever.

Ben chuckled, deep in his throat. “Let’s call it my own brand of romance.”

Where could she sign up to be the spokesperson for his brand? “Wow. Look at that. You used the R word without breaking out in hives or gagging.”

“Very funny. All kidding aside, I don’t believe romance is evil.”

“Really? ’Cause you do a pretty convincing impression. You see a guy walking down the street with a dozen roses, and you all but whip out the holy water, garlic and crosses.”

His chair clattered to the floor. “I’ll admit it has a place in the world. In measured doses. Too many people become addicted, or worse, wield it like a weapon. Let me tweak a line from Spider-Man, one of the greatest comic heroes of all time: with great romance comes great responsibility.”

Cute. She could picture the pre-teen comic book nerd hiding behind all those muscles and self-assured smile. “I bet you’ve got an ancient, faded shirt with Spidey plastered across the front.”

“Used to. I’m not much of a hoarder.”

“I don’t mean a packed storage locker. You must have a dresser drawer or two full of keepsakes.”

“Nope. Mostly because I don’t have a dresser.”

He might as well be speaking Croatian. The words coming out of his mouth didn’t make any sense. “No dresser in your apartment? Where do you keep all your clothes?”

“In a steamer trunk. Well, I keep everything in there. A couple of awards, books, photos and some extra clothes.”

“You’ve crammed your entire life into a trunk? I’ve heard horror stories about the size of New York apartments, but this verges on the ridiculous. How tiny is your apartment?”

Ben nodded his thanks as the waiter deposited a footed wine bucket next to their table and began the process of uncorking. “There’s the five-dollar question. I don’t actually have an apartment. I keep my trunk at my sister’s place.”

Hmm. He didn’t fit the nerd stereotype—they guy who lived with his sister because no other woman would have him. The perfect cut of his jacket indicated he tailored his clothes, which meant financial constraints didn’t force him to bunk there, either. Odd. “Do you have some weird co-dependency thing going on with your sister? Aren’t you waaaay too old to live with her?”

The waiter stifled a snort. He quickly poured them two glasses of a crisp viognier and backed away. Ben shook his head, a downward slant to his lips. “Thanks for taking a non-judgmental approach to that question.”

“Sorry. When I’m this exhausted, the tact filter on my tongue goes haywire.”