Planning for Love (17 page)

“Relax.” He reached across the table to pat her hand. Except then it stayed there, his long, thick fingers tracing idle patterns across her skin that skittered a trail of goose bumps all the way up her arm. “I’m pulling your leg. Truth is, I don’t live with my sister. She just lets me keep my stuff there. I’m on the road so much I probably spend three weeks total under her roof. No point paying sky-high rent, or even subletting. RealTV keeps a couple of long-term hotel rooms near their headquarters. About a dozen of us cycle through there when we’re in town—basically a crash pad. You never know who else will be there, but it’s just a place to sleep and shower.”

“Sounds sensible. And quite lonely.”

“Nah. I like the freedom. Aside from work, I’m not answerable to anyone.”

Ivy mustered a good deal of self control to keep from responding. Said control only gained by pressing her tongue against the roof of her mouth (a trick she used when faced with particularly obnoxious brides) and looking away, out over the rooftops of Greektown. His life sounded isolating and sad. Articles popped online every day about the importance of a social network to keep the elderly young at heart. At this rate, Ben’s heart had to be aging prematurely. Funny how he gave the impression of being the exact opposite of a loner. What scared him so much about putting down roots?

“I didn’t mean to judge you. Honestly. Since I see you every day, I forget that you spent the last few years hopping to a different city every weekend.”

He huffed out a breath that stirred the long, streaky strands of golden hair dipping low on his forehead. “Longer than that. My dorm room was the last place I spent any longer than a month.”

Wonder of wonders, Ben was opening up. Ivy had bided her time for a week now, waiting for the right time to discuss his past. For all his jovial, open demeanor, she’d noticed that Ben maintained a very private core. This might be her chance to stick a stiletto in that emotional crack and shove it wide open.

She moistened suddenly dry lips and plunged ahead. “Sam told me.”

“He told you what? How I skinned him for fifty dollars at poker?”

“No, but I’ll be sure to tease him about that the next time I see him.” Ivy flipped her hand over, to lace her fingers through his. “Sam told me about your old job. The, uh, incident.”

Ben let his head loll to the left, eyes flicking to the shiny cityscape. “You mean my public branding as a coward and subsequent lynching by the nation as a whole via every media outlet known to man?”

A flash of insight almost made Ivy gasp. Had he shifted to avoid looking at her, or because he worried she might not be willing to meet his eyes? How many women had walked away once they realized they were on a date with the infamous Cowering Cameraman? “
Incident
felt like a shorter way to sum that all up.”

“Good call.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t come up with a snappy acronym for it.” Success! Poke the bear with a stick long enough, and it’ll turn and look at you. Ben didn’t move his head, but rather slanted those slits of icy blue back in her direction.

“Now you’re sassing me.”

“A little.” Hopefully not too much. Kind of a gamble, really. Ivy already regretted saying the careless, teasing words.

He rubbed one wide palm across the back of his neck. “Making fun of my abject misery.”

“Just to break the tension.”

Legs shifting, neck cracking, he squirmed like a toddler in a sandbox. “Well, as long as you’ve got a good reason to rub salt in the wound.”

“Quite the opposite. All kidding aside, it floored me once Sam shared the whole story. I’m talking about the real story, not the one the media manufactured for shock value. The courage it took to not buckle under all that pressure? To fight tooth and nail to maintain some semblance of the career you love in a field that didn’t want you?” She let fly the words she’d kept bottled up since Sam shared the story over bagels a week ago. The words which equally scared and compelled her to speak Scared by both the possibility he’d storm off, furious she’d even broach the painful subject, and also petrified by how he managed to stir such strong feelings in her. “Bennett Westcott, you’re the bravest man I know.”

Ben took a long sip of his wine. Then another. By the fourth sip, Ivy wondered if she should try matching him drink for drink. Clearly Sam had been right on the money when he begged her not to say anything to Ben. She’d assumed it to be a guy thing, a way to allow him to keep his emotions under lock and key. But Ivy couldn’t keep her admiration to herself. Even went so far as to assume Ben would be elated to finally discuss the true version of the day that turned him into a pariah. As the chasm of silence widened, Ivy began to wonder if she’d managed to set a record for quickest ruined date ever.

With the harshness of fingernails down a chalkboard, the scrape of metal chair legs against concrete rent the air. Ben shoved back, tossing his napkin on the table as he stood. He sucked in a deep breath, expanding his already wide chest. Then he scrubbed his hand from his forehead all the way down to the nape of his neck. Still staring out at the lights twinkling on block by block across the city skyline.

“Trust me when I say I’m about as far away from brave as this planet is from Pluto—all I do is make it through the day.” Finally, he directed his gaze straight at Ivy. “But I’m honored and humbled you think so. It goes a long way toward mending the tattered shreds left of my so-called pride.”

Ben bent from the waist to drop a soft kiss in the middle of her forehead. He pulled back, looked at her with those slice of summer sky eyes. Ivy held her breath, afraid the smallest puff of air would break the cobweb of intensity spinning ever wider between them.

“Damn. I was planning to save this for the fireworks.”

“Save what?” She didn’t understand, and she almost didn’t care. Who needed the power of cognitive thought when a handsome man held you tight in the unwavering tractor beam of his eyes? “What fireworks?”

“Gib told me there’d be fireworks in about an hour. Because of Memorial Day. It’s why I brought you here—for the view.”

Her heart flipped. Turned right around in a somersault like she used to do down the grassy slope at her grandparents’ house.

“On the other hand, why should I wait for the City of Chicago to light up the sky?” He framed her face with those big, wide palms, tilted her head back. “Let’s make our own fireworks.”

Before she could savor the sexy promise in his words, Ben kissed her. A gentle touch for the space of a heartbeat—well, three beats at the rate Ivy’s heart raced—and then he sank into her mouth, as if it were a feather pillow to cradle him. Firm, deep kisses that somehow contained the richness of melted chocolate, the kick of a strong margarita, and the undeniable allure she’d succumbed to all those months before.

The earth tilted on its axis. No, it was Ben bracing his hand on the back of her chair, tipping it back for a better angle. Her feet dangled in the air. She hooked them around the chair legs in an attempt to anchor herself. Silly, really. The floor had dropped out from under her the minute his tongue slipped in between her lips, tasting, questing. And she knew without a doubt those strong arms wouldn’t let her fall.

Her hands reached out to feel them, to caress the tight, corded steel beneath his jacket. A quiver grew deep in her core at discovering she couldn’t wrap her hands all the way around his biceps. Muscles like that belonged to a broadsword-wielding knight. One who carried her off on a white horse while the crowd cheered.

The crowd cheered. It wasn’t just one of her flights of fancy. Ivy pulled her concentration from where it lay, writhing, somewhere close to the edge of her red lace panties. The roof deck had erupted into applause, catcalls and whistles. Her eyes flew open. She tapped her toe against Ben’s calf, wrenching out of the lip lock.

“We’ve got an audience.”

Undeterred, he nuzzled just below her ear. “Put on a good enough show, maybe we’ll get a free meal out of it.”

Ivy kicked once more, this time aiming the hard point of her sandal against his shin. But she made sure to let the laughter in her throat burble through. “Enough.”

With a gentle tap he lowered the chair to the ground. Then he ran the side of his thumb across her lower lip, setting off one last chain of sparklers in her veins. “Nope. Nowhere close.”

For a man who eschewed romance, he sure managed to say the right things. While Ben straightened his coat and sat back down, Ivy let her brain catch up to her speeding pulse. What the heck just happened? Hadn’t she just spent two endless months trying to get Ben out of her system? To no avail?

It was one thing to accept his invitation to dinner, to try and work through the white hot…whatever that flared through her system every time she looked at him. She’d banked on a couple hours of basic conversation in a noisy restaurant to lay a groundwork of knowledge about what made Bennett Westcott tick. Her master plan for tonight only played out through the end of dinner. A simple dinner between colleagues. With a side order of chemistry sizzling loud enough to drown out the shouts of
Opa
as a waiter walked past with a platter of flaming saganaki cheese held aloft.

She cast about for a safe topic while her brain retook control from her overcharged hormones. “Where’d you get the snazzy convertible? It didn’t have the antiseptic smell of a rental.”

“It’s Gib’s.”

“I don’t believe you.” The flat denial popped out automatically. Too late, she realized she’d more or less accused him of lying. How many flirting rules did that break? Why did he so unsettle her composure with just his mere presence?

Ben pushed his wineglass to the side, making room for the waiter to set down their tray of appetizers. “Why not?”

“Because none of us have ever seen his car, let alone touched it. He swears it has a single purpose.”

“Yup. To score women.”

The feminist side of her broke out in hives at the nonchalant way it rolled off Ben’s tongue. Almost as annoying as every single time Gib plumly rolled his accent around those same words. Ridiculous to have that be the sole reason to own a car. Gib refused to use his car except when in pursuit of the fairer sex. Never used it to bring home bags of groceries, or drive to the movies when the thermometer dipped below freezing, or even to pick up family from O’Hare on their rare visits. He swore he only used it on dates, and
only
when close to sealing the deal.

“Said purpose does not include letting any of his friends borrow it or ride in it. Ever.”

“I heard the speech. The power of the car can only be used for good. Christ, it was like Obi-Wan Kenobi droning on about The Force.”

Hmm. That could be interpreted as a pro or a con for her favorite movie franchise. Better to get it out in the open from the start. “Are you a
Star Wars
fan?”

“Rabid. New, old, recut version, digitally remastered, you name it. I read the books, I read the comics, and I play the video games. You?”

“For ten years running, I dressed up for Halloween as Princess Leia. For the past six years I’ve been working my way through each of Queen Amidala’s costumes. Most people laugh when I tell them I love all six movies.”

“Well, sure, there are haters for both trilogies. We could sit here for a week straight debating the merits of each episode.”

“Count me in.”

“See?” Ben shoved the plate to the side and reached across the table. He waited, palm up, until she laid her hands atop his. Instantly, his grasp tightened as he leaned forward. “It isn’t every day I come across a woman willing to not just indulge, but participate in my
Star Wars
obsession. You’re fun, Ivy.”

“So you said earlier,” she sassed back, desperate not to let him know how his firm clasp sent her mind whirling. Ever since they began taping
Planning for Love
, she’d gotten to know and respect Ben. See him as, yes, a fun colleague, one whose easy quips passed the day a little more quickly. Putting to the side the raw pain she still harbored over his using and discarding her like a wet tissue, Ivy genuinely liked Ben as a friend. Tonight, however was no simple dinner between work buddies. He’d morphed back into the flirtatious, downright compelling man she fell head over heels for in April. What did it mean? What turned the tide? And as long as she didn’t mention marriage or weddings or true love, would he stay like this?

He scowled, drawing his eyebrows together into a single, bushy blond line. “Thought we were having a conversation, not comparing dictation notes. Next time we go out I’ll bring my own stenographer.”

“Sorry. But you sounded like you were about to crown me queen of the nerd table. You should know that my sci-fi obsession begins and ends with
Star Wars
. I don’t play
World of Warcraft
and I don’t read manga. And I loathed every single science class I took in school.”

“I don’t care.” Ben rasped his thumb slowly across the back of her hand. The touch flooded a river of goose bumps up her arm. “Maybe I came about this from the wrong direction. The
Star Wars
thing is just the cherry on top of a well-mixed Manhattan. Point is, we click. We work well together, and we’ve got this explosive chemistry. Cards on the table. You already know I’m not a long-term kind of guy. But can’t we enjoy ourselves for the next six weeks while I’m here?”

If Ivy understood him correctly, Ben had just proposed the longest one-night stand in history. She needed to be crystal clear on the parameters. “Define ‘enjoy ourselves’ for me.”

“Should’ve known you’d insist on labeling it. This—dinner, drinks, you know.” He jerked his right shoulder forward. For somebody so eloquent about what he didn’t like about relationships, he sure had trouble verbalizing what he did want out of one. His obvious discomfort made her wonder if Ben really knew what he wanted.

“Is
you know
the latest slang for sex?”

“It is if you say yes.” Ben paused, waited for a response. With a final squeeze, he released her hands and sat back. “Otherwise, we’ll fall back on the alternate definition of just having a few laughs.”