Read Online Planning for Love by Christi Barth - Free Book Online Page B

which they’d danced had held up pretty well during their banter on the cab ride to the hotel. Seeing Gib, however, had burst that bubble with all the delicacy of a SCUD missile, and she felt awkward in a dozen different ways.
    Self-conscious, Ivy ran her hand over her still somewhat tidy French twist. Undoubtedly a few limp strands had escaped, and most of her makeup had probably faded. How on earth to pick up where they left off and start flirting again? She knew almost nothing about him. Oh, and how to smother her yawns as the after-midnight, post-event exhaustion caught up with her? Drinks with the handsome stranger had been a bad idea. Far too much pressure. For heaven’s sake, she wasn’t even wearing her date staple, the pink lace push-up bra! Ivy felt the distinct sense of its loss akin to that of an artist who’d left his favorite brush and paints at home, staring at a blank canvas.
    Ben pushed a stool aside and leaned sideways on the bar beside her, one elbow propping him up. He’d stuffed his bow tie in a pocket and undone the top three buttons of his shirt. The effect was very debonair. Like George Clooney in Ocean’s Eleven . And no red-blooded woman could resist anyone remotely resembling Clooney. In a rush, Ivy’s anxiety disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by basic lust. Astounding how Ben put her through an emotional roller coaster without uttering a single word!
    “Your kir royale will be ready in a minute. What were you thinking about just now?” He traced the smile brackets around her mouth with a slow, teasing finger. “You’ve got an odd look on your face.”
    Crap. Not just a handsome man, but a perceptive one. Ivy scraped the recesses of her mind to come up with a crumb of something, anything but the truth. “When we were talking to Gib, you made it sound as if you’d stayed at a Cavendish Grand before. I wondered where else you’ve been.” Her attempt at misdirection would be great at a church picnic or a quilting club, but it in no way classified as flirting. When would her drink come so she’d at least have something to do with her hands…besides fighting the urge to reach out and toy with the golden hairs cutting across the vee of his unbuttoned shirt?
    Now an odd expression crossed Ben’s face. “Where I’ve been is a much longer question than I’m prepared to answer. I will tell you that I’ve stayed in a Cavendish Grand in Berlin, London, Rome, Sydney and Los Angeles.”
    Gorgeous, globetrotting guy. It definitely pumped up his sex appeal another few notches. Lent him a worldly rakishness. Except for the utter boredom dripping like sludge off every mention of a far-flung locale. “You tick off those cities like you’re naming mundane freeway exits between Madison and Milwaukee. Where’s your sense of awe, your sense of excitement?”
    “A Cavendish hotel is always elegant, always has a fitness center on the seventh floor, a great restaurant, and a concierge that can score tickets to anything for the right price. The view outside the window doesn’t matter so much.”
    Was he kidding? “You can’t mean that,” Ivy stated flatly. “I don’t accept it. You’ve stayed in hotels where the view is of ancient palaces, instead of the high-end shopper’s paradise we’ve got here in Chicago. You’ve opened balcony doors to the swirl of exotic accents, and brushed your teeth in another hemisphere where the water actually swirls down the drain in a different direction.”
    “Come on, that’s just an old wives’ tale.” Ben punctuated his opinion with a roll of his eyes.
    Huh. Nothing disturbed a good rant like a fact check. She’d have to Google it tomorrow and see if he was right. “Maybe so. But still, you’ve walked down the same streets as kings and popes, trod in history’s very path.”
    “Did I miss the hidden cameras?” In an exaggerated motion, Ben twisted, looking back over both his shoulders. “Are you filming a commercial for the Cavendish,