Free Planning for Love by Christi Barth Page A

kicked in. I want to come out on top.”
    He lifted his gaze to lock onto hers. Blue fire burned in the depths, and Ivy felt pinned like a hapless butterfly on a Victorian insect collector’s board. The breadth of his shoulders loomed closer, legs pressing against her thigh. It forced her to tilt her head back, and he caught it, cradling a warm palm at the base of her skull. The bartender, the entire bar, no the entire hotel disappeared in the intimacy of their partial embrace. Ben was all she could see, all she could feel, his eyes sending trails of warmth along the same paths the champagne bubbles recently awoke.
    “There’s nothing I’d like better than for you to be on top. I like a woman who takes the initiative.”
    Chest tight, lungs cramping in protest, Ivy finally remembered to breathe. If a kir royale embodied romance, then Ben Westcott was the personification of sensuality. And both of them were equally intoxicating. Or maybe she needed one in order to handle the other. “I’d like another drink.”
    “No.” His grip tightened, and his other arm snaked around her waist to pull her flush against him. “I’m cutting you off.”
    “Chicagoans don’t react well to Prohibition. Take Al Capone, for example. I’m a consenting adult, and if you won’t order me another, then I will.”
    “Your consent is exactly what I’ve got in mind.” Warm breath fluttered at her ear, his lips whispering against the edges. “We could tiptoe around for another hour, throw back a few more drinks. Give us both a chance to relax…and realize how exhausted we are. Instead of wasting that time, let me say that I want you. I want us to go upstairs to my room, right now. I want to take you, fast and hard. While you’re still coming down, I want to lick every inch and spiral you right back up to the stars. Then, if you’re still game, I really do want you on top.” Ben let go, eased back a good foot, leaning both elbows back on the bar. The move stretched his shirt taut against pecs that bulged against the cotton. “But I don’t want your brain clouded with booze when you decide to come with me.”
    Wow. So much more than the stolen kisses and hand slipped between his tux shirt studs she’d planned on. Aside from a forgettable one night stand in college she blamed entirely on her weakness for piña coladas and too much sun, Ivy didn’t hook up. She dated. She had relationships. Every man was a stepping stone on the path to marriage.
    But Ben talked a good game. If his words alone sped up her pulse this much, imagine what would happen when he applied those lips to her body. Stalling sounded like a good tactic while her brain caught up with her vibrating nerves. “You’re so sure I’ll just hop in the elevator?”
    A smug smile crawled across his lips. “Pretty sure.”
    “Really? With a man I barely know? For all I know, you could be a serial killer!”
    “Then a hotel’s the safest place. Tell your buddy Gib to post hotel security on my floor, to be sure I don’t try and smuggle a body down the stairs.”
    “Sweet talker.”
    “Tell me you’re not interested. Tell me you don’t want to slide between the sheets, skin to skin with me, and I’ll order you that drink. We’ll chat about whatever you want, and go our separate ways.” Her mouth opened slowly, but before she could form words, he continued in the same, matter of fact tone. “Or I could make your panties—which I’m betting match your dress—damp in less than five minutes.”
    God. How could he talk like that in the middle of a bar? Where people could hear? How could he be so comfortable propositioning her in the dirtiest way possible while they both wore formal attire? And how could she ever live with herself if she passed up this opportunity?
    “Quite a promise.” Ivy hopped off her stool, digging her fingernails into her palms in an effort to keep the excitement out of her voice. Matching his blasé approach to what promised to be a