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

before eleven. “There isn’t much left to do. At this point in
a wedding, I’m just killing time until the bride and groom leave. Present in
body, in case there’s a crisis, but in all honesty, not doing anything. No
reason for two of us to stand around doing nothing.”
    Ben lifted his finger to tuck a stray wisp of hair behind her
ear. The resulting goose bumps had absolutely nothing to do with the lake breeze
rustling the nearby branches. “Which is exactly why most planners shove the end
of the night close out onto their assistants.”
    “Aisle Bound is my company. I won’t make my employees do a task
solely because I don’t want to.” Hmm. Sounded very holier than thou. Nobody
likes to hang out with a martyr. “We do trade off who gets stuck with it. Might
I point out I don’t see Ollie dogging your footsteps. You cut him loose too,
didn’t you?”
    “About two songs ago. Kid’s never been to Chicago before. He
wanted to hit a few bars, and one of the groomsmen steered him toward Rush
Street.”
    “Nice of you to give him a chance to live it up a little. He’ll
have a blast. And probably a killer hangover tomorrow morning. Will you be
joining him later?”
    Ben snorted out his obvious distaste at the idea. “My clubbing
days are behind me. Besides, Ollie hasn’t yet learned that the best place to
pick up beautiful women is at a wedding. It just so happens that the prettiest
one in the whole place is standing right in front of me.” He kicked her shoes
out of the way and moved in front of her, his hard body lined up flush against
hers. “According to my information, we have two songs left until we can call it
a night. Dance with me.”
    It was a command, not a request. Still, Ivy knew she had to
offer at least token resistance. She excelled at brushing off polite and/or
drunken requests to drink, to dance, to sit. Men really did view every woman at
a wedding as an all-you-can-grab buffet. Everyone from the caterers to gangly
teenagers acting on a dare to the ubiquitous groomsmen saw her as fair game.
Even, in one extremely awkward situation, the newly divorced father of the bride
who’d offered a hefty tip with a wink and a corresponding pinch on her ass. Ivy
took random hook-up attempts in stride as just another odd quirk of her job.
Sort of like having to wear cocktail dresses and ball gowns to work.
    But this time, with Ben’s rangy build pressed against her from
shoulder to ankle, for the first time, the polite, automatic rebuff didn’t feel
like the right choice. Despite her staunch professional ethics, which she’d
always used as the foundation for turning away male attention (after all, you
wouldn’t ask a surgeon to dance right after he took out your father’s gall
bladder, would you?), Ivy did want to dance with Ben. “We’re both still on the
clock,” she protested weakly.
    “The guests are a floor below us. Nobody’s been up here since
the ceremony ended five hours ago.” His right eyebrow streaked up. “Just a
dance, Ms. Rhodes. I promise to leave what I’m sure is your squeaky-clean
reputation intact. For now.”
    On the dance floor below, the music changed to something slow
and romantic. After ten years in the business, Ivy knew almost every song in the
standard DJ wedding rotation by heart. And this one was a classic, but for the
life of her, she couldn’t remember the name. Or make out the words. A
saxophone’s sultry wail acted like a magnet. Ivy lifted her head to meet Ben’s
eyes, turned almost black in the shadows. The thrumming beat hovered, vibrating
between their bodies.
    Ben didn’t wait for her to make up her mind. He grabbed one
hand, and moved her other to rest on his shoulder. His strong hand rested in the
small of her back. Its weight, its heat commanded the entirety of her attention.
Her whole being focused on the five or so inches of skin beneath his palm. A
minute change of pressure urged her closer still. They began to sway to the
rhythm. The movement