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One Night with the Doctor
Cindy Kirk
Poppy Westover has always been a by-the-book kind of girl. But just this once she ignores her rules and has a sizzling one-night stand with the crushingly handsome Dr Benedict Campbell. It is a night that leaves Poppy breathless… and pregnant!Ben Campbell knows the pain of a broken heart – so he’s happy to settle for a good time… but, when his unbelievable night with Poppy means that he’ll soon be answering to Daddy, he has to put everything on the line – for his child and Poppy.Because, if Ben gets his way, he will soon be answering to Husband as well!


Cindy Kirk’s next installment in RX For Love introduces us to a girl who always plays by the rules—almost. And her one exception is going to change everything…
“Perfect” Poppy Westover has always been a by-the-book kind of girl. But just this once, she ignores her rules and has a sizzling one-night stand with the crushingly handsome Dr. Benedict Campbell. It was a superb night that left Poppy breathless…and pregnant.
Ben Campbell knows the pain of a broken heart—so he is happy to settle for a good time. Still, when his unbelievable night with Poppy means that he will soon be answering to Daddy, he has to put everything on the line—for his child, and his child’s mother. Because if Ben gets his way, he will soon be answering to Husband, as well!

Poppy raised the collar of her coat and shoved her hands into the pockets. Taking a steadying breath, she cocked her head. “What is it you want?”
He wants me. She fought a surge of pleasure at the thought, a pleasure that sharply spiked when Ben pulled her to him.
“I’d like—” he paused and a slight smile lifted his lips “—to know if you have plans for the rest of the evening?”
“I—I do,” Poppy finally managed to stammer.
“I wasn’t aware you were seeing anyone.” An emotion she couldn’t identify flickered in the molten silver of his eyes. “Who is he?”
“Rocky.” Her grin came quick and fast, surprising them both. “Rocky Road.”
He chuckled, a low, pleasant rumbling sound, his gaze lingering on her lips. “Have dinner with me. Rocky can wait.”
Dear Reader,
Ever since I started to read, I’ve enjoyed getting to know the people in books on an intimate level. Those in their immediate world might not understand them fully, but as a reader I’m able to get inside their heads.
That’s why I enjoyed writing this story so much. Benedict Campbell is an important doctor in Jackson Hole who expects a lot from himself and those around him. Even though we’ve seen him in other books in the Rx for Love miniseries, we really don’t get a good feel for him.
That also holds true for Poppy Westover. We know she’s a beautiful woman who is a social worker. That’s about all we know. But in this book, their book, we get to know both Ben and Poppy intimately.
I enjoyed watching them interact with their friends. I enjoyed seeing Poppy develop a relationship with Ben’s family. But most of all, I enjoyed watching them fall in love.
I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Cindy
One Night with the Doctor
Cindy Kirk


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CINDY KIRK has loved to read for as long as she can remember. In first grade she received an award for reading one hundred books. As she grew up, summers were her favorite time of year. Nothing beat going to the library, then coming home and curling up in front of the window air conditioner with a good book. Often the novels she read would spur ideas, and she’d make up her own story (always with a happy ending). When she’d go to bed at night, instead of counting sheep she’d make up more stories in her head. Since selling her first story to Mills & Boon in 1999, Cindy has been forced to juggle her love of reading with her passion for creating stories of her own…but she doesn’t mind. Writing for the Cherish
series is a dream come true. She only hopes you have as much fun reading her books as she has writing them!
Cindy invites you to visit her website, www.cindykirk.com.
To my three favorite girls: Wendy, Grace and Hannah.
You brighten my world every day.
Contents
Chapter One (#u57a393a0-3e9b-526b-8a4a-ae7f634acfca)
Chapter Two (#u9a1a1c49-0418-555e-91c4-0bcd4f898c50)
Chapter Three (#u47c903a0-04b7-51cc-a820-2610632d1490)
Chapter Four (#u055e9ecf-3441-5312-8ed8-9770b2f2d407)
Chapter Five (#ua4e0bc11-d7b2-5000-bbaf-8e3813d07e41)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Golden beams of light shone through the windows of the two-story house situated in the mountains overlooking Jackson Hole. Although Christmas had been a month earlier, garlands of greenery and wreaths with plaid ribbons still adorned the large wraparound porch.
Poppy Westover added her serviceable Ford to the dozens of cars already parked in the clearing east of the house. Tiny snowflakes danced across the well-scooped path as she began the trek to the front steps of the house she’d passed only moments before. Ducking her head, she forged onward. The brisk north wind slapped her cheeks and ruffled her hair.
Lights might illuminate the walkway, but the dark of the winter evening still closed in around her. By now, the party had been going on for an hour, almost two. She prided herself on being timely, but a last-minute call to secure an emergency foster placement had delayed her leaving the office.
Poppy reached the steps of the beautifully decorated porch just as a sleek black Mercedes drove slowly past. Another late arrival. The thought that she wouldn’t be the last to show up buoyed her spirits even as she grimaced at the familiar lines of the vehicle.
Though this was a newer version and a different color, a similar CL550 coupe had been her ex-husband’s pride and joy. Even with public transportation readily available, he’d insisted on driving the car to social functions. And there had been lots of such events. As a prominent Manhattan neurosurgeon, Bill Stanhope had been on everyone’s must-invite list.
Poppy had grown increasingly weary of socializing with his associates and people he’d wanted to impress. People who lived an extravagant and loose lifestyle; married men and women who took lovers as easily as another glass of champagne.
This evening would be different. Tonight she’d be among people who shared her values. Friends. Former schoolmates.
Dr. Travis Fisher, the host of the party, had graduated from Jackson Hole High with her. Back in the day, they’d even dated briefly. Now he was married, the father of five and one of the top ob-gyns in Jackson Hole.
Poppy rang the bell then jammed gloved hands into her coat pockets and hunched her shoulders against the wind. Thankfully she didn’t have to wait long. The door opened and a flood of warmth and delicious smells spilled out.
Frowning at her chattering teeth, Travis motioned her inside and shut the door firmly against the winter chill. An efficient young woman dressed all in black offered to take Poppy’s coat.
After shrugging off the soft cashmere, Poppy murmured her thanks then held both hands out to Travis. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“We were determined to hound you until you accepted one of our invitations.” He gave her fingers a firm squeeze and coupled the gesture with a warm smile. There was something intrinsically likable about the tall doctor with sandy-colored hair.
“You look lovely this evening,” she heard him add.
Poppy glanced down. She’d dressed in such a hurry that for a second she didn’t recall what she’d pulled from the closet. Though she knew most women used the party as an excuse to wear something new they’d gotten for Christmas, this year her family had sent money rather than gifts.
Unfortunately her new job kept her far too busy for shopping. Because of that, she’d been forced to call into service a red cashmere turtleneck dress from several seasons back and last year’s black-heeled boots.
The dress had been purchased the first year after her divorce. Her ex considered bold colors “gauche.”
Poppy smoothed her hand against the ruby-colored cashmere. The fabric molded against her body, gently hugging her curves. Stylish. Feminine. Gauche. She smiled. “I’d never have worn something like this back in high school.”
She’d been preppy then. Seriously preppy. Plaid jackets. Diamond pattern sweaters. Pearls. How she’d loved those pearls.
As if remembering his own questionable fashion sense during those years, Travis grinned. “Those were good years. Good times.”
When his smile slipped Poppy remembered Travis’s parents had been killed at the end of his senior year, leaving him in charge of his seven siblings. Yes, she mused, looking too far back probably wasn’t advisable. For him. Or for her.
Travis placed a hand on her elbow and guided her through a foyer rich with the scent of evergreens. They stopped at the edge of a large room where elegant women in stylish dresses mingled with men in dress pants and sport coats.
The star at the top of an enormous, brightly lit Christmas tree winked on and off as if pulsing in time to some unheard tune. A cheerful fire crackled noisily in the hearth of a massive stone fireplace. Conversation and laughter wafted pleasantly in the air. Poppy exhaled a breath and the tension in her shoulders eased.
“I heard you scored a job with social services.” Travis’s eyes held a look of admiration. “They’re lucky to have you.”
“I’m the lucky one.” Poppy adored children. The opportunity to help foster kids, while challenging, had been a dream come true.
The melodious chimes of the doorbell sounded and Travis cocked his head. A rueful smile touched his lips.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” he said smoothly, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m on door duty.”
The other late arrival, Poppy thought.
“Tend to your guests.” She waved to several women across the room. “I’m in the mood to mingle.”
Travis took several steps then turned back and called over his shoulder. “Check out the mistletoe.”
Mistletoe? For a second she was puzzled. Christmas had been a month ago. Then Poppy remembered the retro party the Fishers had hosted last fall, right after she’d returned to Jackson Hole. Tiny sprigs of little red berries and shiny green leaves were everywhere.
When she’d asked, someone told her that mistletoe had been a big part of Mary Karen and Travis’s courtship and they hung it at every party.
Taking Travis’s words as a warning, Poppy glanced up, trying to spot any troublesome berries or waxy leaves. There might have been one in the beamed ceiling but she couldn’t be sure.
A delicious aroma of cinnamon mingled with evergreen while the hum of conversation and laughter wrapped around her shoulders like a favorite sweater. Her lips lifted. Poppy had been invited to several Christmas parties but had declined all offers. She wished now that she’d accepted.
“Poppy,” Mary Karen Fisher shrieked, rushing over. “I’m so happy you made it.”
The intensity and underlying warmth of the greeting made Poppy smile. She chatted easily with Travis’s petite, pretty wife who looked adorable in a sapphire blue tunic dress, her blond hair falling in a mass of curls past her shoulders.
When one of the catering staff asked for a moment of Mary Karen’s time, Poppy meandered over to the tree. It was real, she realized with a start of pleasure, fingering the soft needles of the fir, inhaling the intoxicating scent.
She’d been much too busy to put her own tree up this year. If there had been someone to see it, Poppy might have gone to the effort. But her mom and dad had remained in California for the holidays. They lived in Sacramento now, just down the block from Poppy’s sister and brother-in-law and their three children.
Knowing this would be their oldest daughter’s first Christmas since she’d relocated to Jackson Hole, her parents had offered to make the trip to Wyoming. But Poppy knew how much they’d been looking forward to seeing Aimee’s children open presents on Christmas morning. If her dad were here, he couldn’t dress up as Santa for the grandkids, like he’d done for her and Aimee.
Poppy had seen no option but to inject a hint of regret into her tone and tell them she’d already made plans to celebrate the holidays with friends.
Her parents’ relief had been almost palpable. They believed her, of course. After all, she’d always had a wide circle of friends.
Poppy’s mouth lifted in a wry twist. For as long as she could remember she’d been the pretty, popular older sister. Yet, it was Aimee who now had what Poppy had always wanted: a fulfilling life that included not only a rewarding career but a loving husband and children.
When Poppy had married eight years ago, she’d been certain it would last forever. Never had she imagined that her husband would cheat on her. Or that she’d be divorced, childless and starting over at thirty-four.
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” a deep voice murmured.
An involuntary shiver slid up her spine at the sound of the rich baritone. She snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s silver tray before turning to meet Dr. Benedict Campbell’s steely gray eyes.
As usual, the man looked positively delectable. Tonight he wore brown trousers, a cream-colored button-down shirt open at the collar and shiny Italian loafers. His razor-cut dark hair was short enough to be professional but long enough to tempt a woman to run her fingers through the chestnut strands to see if they were as silky as they looked.
Benedict was an orthopedic surgeon and a darn good one if public opinion could be believed. He was also one of the most eligible bachelors in Jackson Hole. They’d chatted briefly on several occasions. While he’d always been pleasant, she’d done her best to avoid him whenever possible. Goodness knows she’d had enough of arrogant doctors to last this lifetime.
He touched a strand of her dark hair. “This is different.”
“I got it cut yesterday.” She quenched the sudden urge to pull back from his touch. “I wanted to go even shorter but the stylist told me to try it to the shoulders with a few layers first. She said I could always come back and have more cut off.”
Poppy pressed her lips together to stop her nervous chatter.
“It suits you,” he said easily as if they were discussing nothing more personal than the current weather forecast. Yet when his eyes met hers, she saw pure masculine appreciation in the liquid depths.
Lifting his glass of wine he tapped the crystal against hers. “To being adventurous.”
She hesitated. Though his smile was smooth, his expression bland, she sensed an undercurrent of challenge. As she hesitated, he raised a brow. Deciding she was being silly, Poppy took a sip.
They stood there for several heartbeats, gazing over the sea of people. She told herself to make an excuse and walk away but the testosterone wafting off him kept her tethered where she stood.
If anything, she had to fight the urge to lean into him. What had her mother always said? Stand too close to the fire and you’ll get burned.
“Travis warned me about the mistletoe.” She blurted the first thing that came to her mind when the silence lengthened.
Benedict’s lips quirked upward. “I’m surprised he said anything. Both he and Mary Karen seem to take great joy in watching their friends get caught under those tiny sprigs.”
“Seems kind of foolish to me,” Poppy mumbled, then immediately wished she could pull the words back. Just because she had no intention of making a public spectacle of herself didn’t mean other people might not enjoy an unexpected kiss.
Killjoy. Isn’t that what her ex had once called her when she’d complained about the endless parties? Hadn’t he made it clear the reason she wasn’t having fun at the events was because of her attitude? Perhaps he’d been right.
“It’s much too early in the evening for a sigh.” Benedict’s eyes turned sharp and assessing.
Poppy could feel her face warm. “I—”
“Why yes, I’d love to dance.” He took her hand and grinned. “Thanks for asking.”
She almost told him this was a cocktail party, not one of those fancy affairs at the Spring Gulch Country Club. Until she saw a space had been cleared in the middle of the room and more than one couple was swaying to the music from the big band era piped in from overhead.
They reached the edge of the impromptu dance floor before she could protest. When he pulled her to him and they began to move in time to the smooth tune, it was difficult to remember why she’d hesitated. His arms were strong and sure, one hand settling on her waist, the other holding hers in a firm grip.
Poppy told herself that once this song concluded, she’d make an excuse and get as far away from Benedict as possible. For now, dancing was preferable to making small talk. Except when they were simply talking, she hadn’t been quite so aware of his broad chest or the strength in his arms. And she hadn’t realized just how good he smelled.
The scent, spicy with a hint of tang, tickled Poppy’s nose in a very pleasant way and made her want to press close to get a bigger whiff.
A female vocalist was singing about the glories of love. Poppy resisted the urge to snort. She’d once been an incurable romantic, a hopeless optimist, a love-struck fool. She was older now. Wiser.
Then what the heck are you doing in Benedict’s arms having a good time?
Red warning flags began popping up in her head.
“How do you like your new job?” he asked in a low tone, his warm breath tickling the top of her ear.
“It’s very rewarding.” She made the mistake of glancing up, meeting those magnificent eyes framed by thick eyebrows and incredibly long lashes.
There was something in the slate-colored depths that made her stumble. A heat she hadn’t expected. Nor had she expected an answering desire to course through her veins like slick, warm honey.
Feeling more than a bit panicky, she tried to recall what she knew about the man who held her so confidently in his arms. Benedict was dating a fellow doctor. That’s right. He wasn’t interested in her. He was simply being polite. She let her shoulders relax. “How’s Mitzi?”
Okay, so perhaps she could have been a little more subtle, done a better job transitioning into the topic. But darn it, keeping a clear head was difficult when she was breathing in the intoxicating scent of his cologne mixed with the clean fresh smell of soap.
He cocked his head. “Mitzi Sanchez?”
She gave a jerky nod.
“She’s fine.” He looked perplexed. “But why ask me?”
“Because you’re dating.” Poppy spoke almost primly. “It’s polite to inquire about a person’s significant other.”
He laughed then, a booming laugh that caused the couple dancing next to them to turn and smile.
“Mitzi and I are friends, colleagues.” Benedict dropped a hand to her arm then steered her to an area where it was less crowded so they could talk. If he noticed the stiffening in her spine, he didn’t mention it. “We haven’t dated in months.”
Poppy wondered if Bill had explained her away so easily to all the women he’d seen when they were married. “I saw the two of you together at The Coffee Pot only a couple of weeks ago.”
At Benedict’s puzzled look, she continued, filling in the blanks.
“It was a Sunday morning. You were seated beside her.” Poppy lifted her chin. “I saw you,” she repeated.
His expression turned thoughtful. “Large table? Back of the room?”
“That’s correct,” she said hesitantly now, wishing she could think of a way to change the subject.
All the attention he was giving the matter caused a knot to form in the pit of Poppy’s stomach. Too late she realized her error. She’d made him think that somehow it mattered to her if he was dating Dr. Sanchez. When it didn’t. Not at all.
“There’s a group that meets at The Coffee Pot every week after church.” His eyes filled with understanding. “I can see where you might have gotten the wrong impression.”
“Forget I said anything.” Poppy waved an airy hand. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“But I do,” he murmured.
Startled, she widened her eyes. “Why?”
“Because I want to kiss you.” Benedict trailed a finger down her cheek. “It wouldn’t be right to do that if I were involved with someone. Or if you were. Are you seeing anyone, Poppy?”
“Me?” Her voice rose then cracked. “No. I’m not seeing anyone. What’s this about kissing? You can’t—”
“Look up,” was all he said.
Poppy lifted her gaze. Directly above her head hung a sprig of shiny dark green leaves. Her heart stuttered. “Mistletoe.”
The word barely made it past her lips when his mouth was on hers. She didn’t know a whole lot about mistletoe other than it seemed that most who found themselves under the leaves settled for a peck on the cheek. Apparently Benedict hadn’t gotten that memo.
The kiss started out sweet. His lips were firm and warm as they molded against hers. Just when she expected him to pull away, his tongue swept across her lips and she’d opened her mouth to him before she realized what she was doing.
By then it was too late. Desire, hot and insistent, filled her veins. Her arms wound around his neck and she pulled him closer. By the time the kiss ended, her breath came in short puffs and her body ached for more.
She took a step back, feeling his gaze on her. Poppy resisted the urge to straighten her dress and smooth her hair. Instead she placed a polite smile on her lips, mumbled something about needing to speak with someone across the room...and bolted.
Chapter Two
Poppy ignored him the rest of the evening.
From across the room Benedict watched the pretty brunette laughing with Lexi Delacourt, a fellow social worker. Even though Poppy had a clear line of vision to him, she didn’t once glance in his direction.
Benedict rocked back on his heels and blew out a breath.
“Perfect Poppy is hot.” Tripp Randall, the CEO of Jackson Hole Hospital, spoke over Benedict’s left shoulder.
“Perfect Poppy?” Benedict raised a brow.
“That’s what everyone called her back in high school.”
“Why?”
“Always looked perfect, I guess.” Tripp shrugged. “You should go after her.”
“Save your breath, Randall.” The smile he sent the administrator showed a lot of teeth. “I don’t need a matchmaker.”
Still, Benedict understood the hopeful undertone. Tripp obviously found it encouraging that he was showing interest in Poppy, rather than Tripp’s younger sister, Hailey. The fact that he and Hailey had gone out on several dates in the past six months hadn’t sat well with the hospital administrator.
Though Tripp considered him a friend, heck they even played on the same basketball league, he was protective of Hailey and believed that, at twenty-six, she was much too young for him.
Benedict didn’t agree with that assessment but he didn’t care enough to argue the point.
“That was some kiss you shared under the mistletoe,” Tripp continued in an offhand tone that Benedict guessed was anything but casual.
“So good—” Benedict pulled his gaze from Poppy and frowned “—she hasn’t spoken to me since.”
He had to resist the urge to turn back to Poppy, to keep her in sight. But that would make him look desperate, which he most certainly had never been and wasn’t now.
“How odd.” Tripp brought a glass of champagne to his lips. “From where I stood earlier it appeared she enjoyed locking lips with you.”
Benedict lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug and studied the dark burgundy liquid in his glass. Poppy’s reaction after the kiss puzzled him, as well. He was positive, or almost positive, he hadn’t misread the interested signals she’d been giving off.
It wasn’t as if they’d been strangers. He’d originally met Poppy last fall at another of Travis Fisher’s parties. Benedict had enjoyed their brief conversation that night. Enjoyed it so much he found himself hoping their paths would cross again at one of the parties over the holidays. She hadn’t shown her face at any of the events. Until tonight.
Although he’d arrived late, the moment he spotted Poppy he was glad he’d come. It had been going well until he’d stolen a quick kiss with all the finesse of a schoolboy in the throes of a first crush.
Benedict raked a hand through his hair and expelled a harsh breath. He had no one to blame for the current situation but himself.
“Why don’t you ask her to dance again?”
“Why don’t you mind your own damn business?” Benedict shot back, frustration twisting his gut into a knot.
“Okay, okay.” Tripp raised his hands, palms out.
The sound of feminine laughter rang out and Benedict slanted a quick glance in Poppy’s direction. God, she was beautiful. The red dress hugged her body like a second skin.
“Want to hit the Flying Crane with me?”
Benedict jerked his attention back to Tripp.
“On the fourteenth.” The hospital administrator’s eyes took on a hopeful gleam.
“That’s Valentine’s Day,” Benedict reminded him. “I’m pretty sure you don’t want to spend the evening with me when you could be with her.”
He gestured with his head to where Tripp’s bride stood speaking with the hostess. Adrianna, or Anna as she’d recently instructed him to call her, was lean and voluptuous with thick dark hair and a face that belonged on a cover of a fashion magazine. She was also a well-respected midwife.
Tripp shifted his gaze and Benedict experienced a stab of envy at the pride and love in the newly married man’s eyes.
“Anna will be at the Crane participating in a Torch Singing competition that night.” Tripp snatched a canapé from a passing waiter’s silver tray. “It’s a fund-raiser for Community Safety Net.”
“A worthy cause.” It was impossible to live in Jackson Hole and not be aware of all the good work being done by the nonprofit. The organization provided shelter and advocacy to victims of domestic violence and sexual assault.
“I thought you might want to come and help me cheer her on,” Tripp added.
Since he wasn’t dating anyone special, Benedict hadn’t given much thought to Valentine’s Day. He supposed spending an hour or so at the popular bar knocking back a couple of beers with Tripp while watching Anna sing could be fun. “What exactly is torch singing?”
Tripp hesitated. His face took on a pained expression. “The contestants sing sentimental love songs—”
The words came more quickly at Benedict’s snort of laughter.
“—with a distinctly jazz and blues influence.”
“I’ll check my calendar,” Benedict told him. “If it turns out I can’t make it, tell Anna I’ll happily make a donation.”
“Coward.”
Benedict laughed. He sobered when he saw Winn Ferris swagger over to speak with Poppy and Lexi. His gut tightened as Lexi sauntered off, leaving Poppy alone with the man.
Last summer, Winn had blown into Jackson Hole as an emissary of GPG. His employer, a large investment firm based in Atlanta, had deep pockets and a mission to develop every inch of Jackson Hole.
Although Winn pushed and pushed hard, his golf course project had gotten hung up in the environmentally sensitive guidelines passed by the county several years earlier. Those who expected Winn to give up and return to Georgia with his tail between his legs had been mistaken. He’d stayed and continued to fight.
Benedict liked the business executive, had found him to be intelligent with a good sense of humor. But Winn wasn’t the right guy for Poppy. She needed someone different, someone more...grounded in Jackson Hole.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her flash Winn a brilliant smile. When Winn responded by looping a friendly arm around her shoulders, a knife twisted in Benedict’s gut. Though he’d planned to stay and enjoy the evening, Ben had the feeling if he didn’t walk away now he might do something stupid. Like tell Winn to back the hell off.
With frustration fueling his steps, Benedict was halfway across the room when Poppy’s eyes met his. He told himself to just keep walking. But something inside him locked into place at the connection.
She held his gaze long enough for him to see the heat shimmering in those beautiful green eyes. Heat directed not at Winn Ferris, but at him. Then Winn touched her arm and Poppy shifted her gaze back to the business executive.
Yet there was no denying for that one instant there’d been a tangible connection between him and Poppy. Benedict found himself whistling as he walked out the door.
* * *
Over the next two weeks, Benedict’s thoughts strayed to Poppy at odd times. But he didn’t have a chance to do more than wonder how she was doing. A rash of skiing and motor vehicle accidents had kept his surgical schedule full.
After finishing an emergency open reduction of a comminuted tibia fracture, Benedict left the hospital to return to his office. He still had to see the handful of patients who’d chosen to wait, rather than reschedule. To his surprise, he discovered that one of his associates, Dr. Mitzi Sanchez, had stayed to help him out.
By the time the last patient limped out the door, even the receptionist had gone home. Apparently most of the staff had plans for Valentine’s Day.
Other than me, he thought. And Mitzi.
He and his beautiful colleague had once been involved. Now they were simply friends.
Benedict sat behind his desk and dictated a letter back to a primary care physician thanking him for a referral. So many surgeries in the past fourteen days had left him behind on such paperwork. Since he didn’t have anything going this evening, he told himself it would be a good opportunity to get caught up.
“Tell me you’re not hanging around here all night.”
Benedict recognized Mitzi’s voice and a jolt of uneasiness swept through him. He hoped she wasn’t on the verge of suggesting they go out for dinner or something equally crazy.
“Your concern about my social life warms my heart.” He kept his tone light and his eyes focused on the monitor.
“What’s the matter, Ben? Couldn’t find a date?”
He heard a hint of laughter in Mitzi’s tone as well as the familiar bite.
Finally glancing toward her, Ben noticed she’d exchanged her white lab coat and work clothes for a dress that hugged her curves and reminded him of stretchy silver lace. High heels in the same color showed off slender legs. He didn’t blink an eye when he noticed her hair. Instead of the color of honey streaked with caramel as it had been yesterday, it was now a rich dark walnut.
He narrowed his gaze even as relief flooded him. There was no way she’d gotten herself all dolled up for him. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
Her full lips lifted. “Kelvin Reid.”
Ben had treated the NFL linebacker several months earlier when he’d been injured in a skiing accident while vacationing in Jackson Hole. “Proximal humerus fracture with dislocation.”
Mitzi chuckled. “Kelvin will be happy to know you remembered him so personally.”
Pushing back his chair, Benedict stood, but remained behind his desk. “I didn’t realize the two of you were friendly.”
“We chatted several times when he came into the office to see you,” she said with a studied nonchalance deserving of an Academy Award.
“If he came back to take you out on Valentine’s Day, you must have hit it off.”
“What can I say?” She drew up one shoulder in a slight shrug. “Men find me irresistible. Unless, of course, we’re talking about you.”
“Mitz,” he began.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Her eyes held an impish gleam. “I’m over you every bit as much as you’re over me.”
“That’s good to know,” he said in a dry tone that made her chuckle.
“But you are my friend.” She fluffed her hair with her fingers. “That’s why I stayed late to help see patients. By the way, you’re welcome.”
Though he’d already expressed his appreciation to her earlier, he smiled. “Thank you, again.”
“You know, Ben—” she brought a manicured finger to her mouth, tapped it against her lips “—you should check out the Torch Singing competition tonight at the Flying Crane.”
“Thanks for the offer, Mitz.” He spread his hands on the desk and leaned forward. “But I have no desire to spend the night with you and your new boyfriend. That would be awkward for all concerned.”
“Well, for starters, Kelvin is my friend, not my boyfriend. And I didn’t invite you to spend the evening with us. Kelvin and I have dinner reservations at the Gun Barrel,” Mitzi said, referring to a place known for their mesquite grilled steaks and wild game. “You’ll like the atmosphere at the Flying Crane. Trust me.”
“I’ve been there before,” Benedict informed her. “It’s a nice enough place, but I’m not really in the mood to listen to a bunch of schmaltzy love songs.”
“Even if Poppy Westover is singing?”
Feeling the weight of Mitzi’s assessing gaze, Benedict deliberately kept his expression bland. “Anna Randall is also competing. Tripp asked me to go with him to support Community Safety Net. I turned him down.”
Mitzi pointed to the phone on his desk. “Tell him you’ve changed your mind.”
“Why would I want to do that?” he drawled, even as he considered the possibility.
“Because you want to do your duty and support this important fund-raiser.” Mitzi’s brightly painted lips lifted in a Cheshire cat smile. “Why else?”
* * *
Poppy gazed into the dressing table mirror and added a touch of gloss to her cherry red lips. A stranger stared back at her. Cassidy Kaye, the backstage stylist and former high school classmate, had arranged Poppy’s hair into a “top reverse roll.” Poppy had been apprehensive but had to admit the pompadour-like style suited her face. And she decided the two bright sparkly pins that winked back at her—one from above her temple, the other just behind her ear—added a festive touch.
Her dress, a 1940s era floral sheath, nipped in at the waist and fell just below her knees. Bending over, Poppy adjusted the seams of her stockings then lifted to straighten the strand of red beads encircling her neck.
“You’re up next.” The balding stage manager with a walrus mustache motioned Poppy forward. “Break a leg.”
Offering the man a shaky smile, Poppy smoothed suddenly sweaty palms on the skirt of her dress. What had she been thinking when she agreed to participate?
Granted, she loved to sing. That was the reason she’d joined the church choir. In fact, it had been after one of the evening rehearsals when Lexi had ambushed—er, pulled her aside—and innocently asked if she wanted to volunteer for a Jaycee fund-raiser. Being civic-minded, Poppy had immediately said yes. When she learned what she’d agreed to do, she’d considered pulling out. It had been years since she’d set foot on a stage.
How could she possibly perform with only a few weeks to pick her song and practice? But then, she reminded herself to stop setting impossibly high standards. The performance didn’t need to be flawless or perfectly choreographed. This was a fund-raiser, not a Broadway musical.
From where Poppy stood just offstage she could see that not only were all the tables full, there were people standing in the back. Of course, she reminded herself, more people meant that a community organization, which did a lot of good, could do even more.
When she heard the applause for Anna Randall and saw the midwife take a bow, Poppy’s stomach quivered. Adrenalin mixed with a healthy dose of fear surged. In less than a minute she’d be the one standing under that spotlight.
She reminded herself that the only person she might disappoint tonight was herself. Unlike most of her fellow contestants, Poppy didn’t have anyone in the audience who’d come specifically to hear her.
“Please put your hands together for Poppy Westover.” David Wahl, an emergency medicine physician and emcee for the evening’s event, held out his hand to her.
Poppy took a deep breath and strode onto the stage to a smattering of applause. She glanced over the crowd and froze. The man whose torrid kiss had never been far from her thoughts the past two weeks sat at a small table in the front row.
Benedict saw the look of startled surprise in her green eyes before she looked away.
“She’s happy to see you,” Tripp observed, then took a sip of beer. His lips twitched.
Shock was closer to the word that had come to Benedict’s mind. Had he been mistaken about the desire he’d seen in her eyes two weeks ago as he’d left the party? Still, she didn’t look angry. That was some consolation. Though he now had to wonder if the gesture he’d made before leaving the office had been a smart move.
Since it was too late to change anything now, Benedict took a pull from the bottle of Dos Equis and sat back, ready to enjoy the show.
It took only a few notes for Benedict to realize that Poppy had a voice suited to this style of singing, warm with a bluesy richness. As the song continued he leaned forward, mesmerized.
She drew out the final note and the crowd rose to their feet. Cheering filled the bar. Even as he clapped, Benedict turned to Tripp. “She’s as good as any professional.”
“Poppy had the lead in several musicals when we were in school. She’s even better now.” Tripp shook his head. “I can’t imagine anyone topping that performance.”
The words barely registered. Benedict’s entire focus remained on the stage. He gave Poppy a thumbs-up and she blushed.
When Poppy bowed one last time, Benedict didn’t take his eyes off her. He’d been given a second chance to make an impression.
This time he wouldn’t blow it.
Chapter Three
After her performance, Poppy headed straight to the dressing room. She reached the small table with her name written on a strip of paper taped to the mirror and came to an abrupt halt. The makeup brushes littering the tabletop had been pushed aside. In their place sat a crystal vase holding a dozen long-stemmed burgundy roses.
She brought a hand to her breast and glanced around. “Are—are these for me?”
Although she’d spoken to no one in particular, Cassidy Kaye, owner of the Clippety Do-Dah salon, looked up from the supplies and brushes she’d been stuffing into an oversize purple bag.
The silver sparkles in Cassidy’s atomic blue eyeshadow glittered in the artificial light. “And you told me you weren’t dating anyone.” Her shocking pink lips curved up in a smug tilt. “You had to know I’d find out.”
Like a fine wine, some people got better with time. Others, well... Poppy sighed. The hairstylist was just as nosy as she’d been back in high school when she’d written the Loose Lips gossip column.
Dressed in skintight purple pants and a bright emerald green sweater, Cass still marched to her own beat. Her blond hair, jagged to her shoulders, currently held a streak of fuchcia. Canary yellow glasses were tipped up at the corners and studded with rhinestones.
Even when she’d been small, Cassidy had exhibited a bold, eclectic and totally unpredictable fashion sense. In kindergarten, she’d regularly worn a Halloween catsuit to school in lieu of more traditional attire. In sixth grade she’d come to school with her hair buzzed, demanding they call her Sinead.
Not everyone had been kind to her.
Remembering, Poppy felt her irritation ebb. She reached out, rubbing a soft, fragrant petal between her fingers. How long had it been since anyone had sent her flowers? Years, she decided.
She wished these beautiful blossoms were hers. But she’d learned long ago wishing didn’t change reality.
“I bet these were simply placed on the wrong table.” Regret filled Poppy’s voice.
“The flowers are yours.” Cassidy’s chin lifted. “I was here when they were delivered.”
Poppy widened her eyes at the stylist’s defensive tone. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“See.” Cassidy plucked a card from the bouquet and shoved it under Poppy’s nose. “Your name is right here.”
Conscious of the curious glances from the other contestants now directed her way, Poppy took the envelope from the stylist and glanced down. Her name in elegant cursive stared back at her.
Unable to contain a shiver of anticipation, Poppy broke the seal with one finger and slowly pulled out the card nestled inside.
“Break a leg” had been scrawled in bold masculine strokes followed by a single name, “Ben.”
The warmth that rushed through her was chased by a prickle of alarm. Doctor Benedict Campbell wasn’t someone she wanted to notice her, much less buy her flowers.
Cassidy jostled close, rising on tiptoes to peer over her shoulder.
Biting back annoyance at the woman’s obvious attempt to see what was on the card, Poppy casually dropped it into her purse. The last thing she wanted was for rumors to get started about her and Benedict.
“Who sent them?” Poppy demanded.
“A friend.” Poppy’s tone came out light and breezy, just as she’d intended.
“Puh-leeze.” The stylist rolled her eyes and emitted a braying laugh. “I’m not stupid.”
“It happens to be the truth. Regardless of what you may think, Be—” Poppy stopped and cleared her throat. “The man who sent the flowers is merely a friend. Really a friend of a friend. Actually, more of an acquaintance.”
Cassidy hooted and glanced meaningfully around the room, but found herself playing to a dwindling audience. Without an immediate answer the other contestants had quickly lost interest in the “who sent the roses” game.
“A guy would never send something that pricey to a woman he considered an acquaintance or even a friend.” The stylist spoke loudly. “A gesture like that has lover written all over it.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Poppy saw Anna Randall cast a sympathetic glance in her direction. Anna had gone to school with her and Cassidy and was well aware of the stylist’s predilection for drama.
Poppy retrieved the cardboard carrier and the cellophane the florist had left next to the dressing table. Although she knew better, she clung to the hope Cassidy would give up the snooping and wander off. But when she looked up, the woman was still there.
Cassidy tapped a finger against her lips. “A dozen long-stemmed set this guy back plenty,” she said as if thinking aloud. “Florists jack up the prices something fierce around Valentine’s Day.”
Poppy simply shrugged and pretended to check her makeup. As she leaned close to the mirror, rose petals—soft as cashmere—caressed her cheek.
Now that the bouquet was up close and personal, Poppy realized that, unlike some of the inbred varieties, these roses possessed a wonderful scent, sweet without being cloying. Giving in to impulse, she buried her face in the fragrant blossoms and inhaled deeply.
“Give me a hint,” Cassidy said the second Poppy lifted her head. Apparently deciding to go with the subtle approach, the stylist used a persuasive tone that invited confidences. “Who is your mystery man, Poppy? Do I know him?”
Poppy was spared the need to respond when she and the other contestants were called back to the stage. After considerable fanfare, David Wahl announced she was the winner of the competition. Poppy stared in stunned disbelief when he pressed a small silver microphone trophy into her hand and presented her with a check for $50. She kept the trophy but promptly donated the money to Community Safety Net.
The crowd cheered loudly. As she glanced over the enthusiastic throng, Benedict, er, Ben, gave her another thumbs-up and she offered him a smile, not a flirty one but the kind you’d give your grandmother or the helpful stranger next door.
But when his eyes held hers an instant longer than comfortable, friendly didn’t begin to describe the jolt. Poppy realized with a twinge of alarm that she wanted this man. Not in her life, oh most certainly not there, but in her bed.
It was a startling revelation. She’d had many opportunities for trysts since her divorce, but no interest. It was as if her desire for sex had died when she discovered her husband had been unfaithful for most of their married life.
Now, one smoldering look from Benedict had stirred those embers. No, not just stirred. The spark in those gray eyes had ignited a bonfire hot enough to paint the sky in bold red strokes.
Being blindsided by this unexpected desire didn’t change the fact that, for Poppy, sex had always followed love. And Benedict wasn’t the kind of man she would allow herself to love.
Once bitten...
There was one more round of applause for all the contestants before they were ushered off the stage. She told herself not to look but Poppy couldn’t help it. She cast a quick glance in the doctor’s direction.
He was gone.
She shoved aside something that felt an awful lot like disappointment. It was a blessing, she assured herself. Always best to have temptation out of reach.
Once she reached the dressing room Poppy scooped up the roses along with her purse, trying to block the other contestants’ excited chatter about their evening activities.
She wasn’t sure why she suddenly felt blue. After all, it wasn’t as if she didn’t have plans. Exciting plans that included a bowl of ice cream and a favorite DVD.
After declining a last-minute offer to have a drink with Cassidy and a group of her friends, Poppy slipped out the back door, telling herself quite firmly that Colin Firth on screen would have to do. Rolling around on the sheets with Benedict wasn’t an option. Not tonight. Not any night.
Though for a moment, the thought of a spontaneous night of pure fun made her heart quicken.
With fear? she wondered. Or excitement?
Not that she’d had much experience with fun times in bed. After the initial honeymoon phase, sex during her marriage had been...disappointing.
With the vase of flowers tucked securely in the crook of her left arm, Poppy strolled across the parking lot toward her car. Though she’d left the bar alone, when she was a few feet from the vehicle a prickle along her skin told her she had company. She glanced toward her left in time to see a man dressed in black step from the shadows.
Poppy’s heart slammed against her ribs. Tense muscles rippled. She lifted the vase, poised to fling the flowers in the mugger’s direction and run.
But before she could get her arms to move, the light from a full moon played over the handsome face. Her fear deflated as quickly as a balloon pricked by a sharp pin.
“Ben.” She lowered the vase, pressing her hands firmly against the crystal to still their trembling. “You startled me.”
“Apologies.” His cultured voice reminded her of expensive bourbon, the kind that slid down smooth but packed a wallop. “You were stunning tonight. Your voice is tailor-made for sexy, sultry songs.”
On the surface, he’d offered a simple compliment. But the look in his eyes told her it wasn’t just her voice he found sexy.
The truth was, she found him sexy, too. When she saw him sitting in the audience, dressed simply in black pants and a sweater, her heart had quaked. This was a man who looked good in everything...and probably even better in nothing at all.
Poppy’s cheeks heated. She dropped her gaze toward the roses, now protected from the cool night air by a tent of cellophane. “Thank you for the compliment. And for the lovely flowers. They smell every bit as good as they look.”
When Benedict didn’t immediately respond, a horrible thought struck her. What if he wasn’t the “Ben” who’d sent them?
Before she could backtrack, his lips stole upward in a pleased smile. “The florist assured me you’d get them before the competition started. I’m happy to see he kept his word.”
Break a leg, the note had said. Yes, Ben would have wanted her to receive them before she stepped onto the stage. Poppy saw no purpose in telling him the roses hadn’t arrived until after her performance.
“I was cheering for you tonight,” he added in a deep, sexy rumble. “Congratulations. You deserved the win.”
Although Poppy had friends in the audience tonight, most—like Tripp—were there to support other contestants. The fact that Benedict had been there for her thrilled and terrified her.
“It was fun. Definitely a good cause.” Poppy moved around him to open her car door, trying to ignore the alarming rush of sheer physical awareness at his nearness.
In a self-preservation move, she took an obscene amount of time placing the flowers—secured in the cardboard carrier the florist had left—on the passenger-side floorboard. Yet when she straightened, Benedict was still there.
Poppy raised the collar of her coat and shoved her hands into the pockets. Taking a steadying breath, she cocked her head. “What is it you want?”
Her question was blunt, to the point and totally unnecessary. The look in his eyes proclaimed in big neon letters exactly what he wanted, or rather who he wanted.
He wants me. She fought a surge of pleasure at the thought, a pleasure that sharply spiked when Ben pulled her to him.
“I’d like—” he paused and a slight smile lifted his lips “—to know if you have plans for the rest of the evening?”
He smelled like soap and an indefinable male scent that made her want to lean into him. Instead she made herself focus on the question.
Plans? Yes, she had plans. Of course she had plans. But what were they? And why, now basking in the heat from his body, did they suddenly seem so irrelevant?
“I—I do,” Poppy finally managed to stammer.
His hands dropped and he moved from her, taking the warmth with him.
“I wasn’t aware you were seeing anyone.” An emotion she couldn’t identify flickered in the molten silver of his eyes. “Who is he?”
“Rocky.” Her grin came quick and fast, surprising them both. “Rocky Road.”
Beneath the expensive cut of his dark wool coat, Ben’s shoulders relaxed. The harsh planes of his face softened, making him look younger and more vulnerable. Approachable.
“You may not be aware—” He reached out and adjusted her collar. When his fingers brushed her neck, Poppy was disconcerted to feel her breath quicken. “—that Rocky and I are well acquainted.”
“Yeah, well, Rocky gets around.”
He chuckled, a low pleasant rumbling sound, his gaze lingering on her lips. “Have dinner with me. Rocky can wait.”
“Ben.” While he hadn’t given her permission to use it, the name came easily. Poppy liked the way it felt on her tongue. Liked it a little too much, she realized.
Poppy started to rake her fingers through her hair then stopped when she realized she’d muss the waves Cassidy had labored so hard to perfect. God, she was confused.
The only certainty was that accepting a dinner invitation from this man would be a first step down a path she had no intention of traveling. Spontaneous was one thing. Foolhardy quite another. “I don’t believe our having dinner is a good idea.”
Poppy immediately realized her mistake when puzzlement filled his gray eyes. She should have simply lied and said she’d eaten before the show. Or been completely honest and confessed she was fighting an urge to feast on him.
“Why isn’t it a good idea?” he asked, leveling a steady gaze.
While Poppy was telling herself to shut this down and get in her car, Ben shot her a wolfish grin showing a mouthful of perfect white teeth.
“I promise I won’t bite.” He lifted his right hand and offered a two-fingered salute. “Scout’s honor.”
The thought of this prominent physician ever sleeping in a tent or starting a fire with sticks brought a laugh to Poppy’s lips. “You were never a scout.”
“I made it all the way to Eagle.”
“I was a Brownie.”
This time it was his turn to laugh.
Poppy tilted her head. “Do you have badges?”
“A whole box of them,” he said with a sheepish smile. “How about you?”
“I have a whole box, too,” Poppy said rashly.
“Really?”
His tone was clearly skeptical and, well, it rankled. She was positive—or almost positive—that she had five or six badges packed away...somewhere. And six was almost a boxful.
Feeling suddenly relaxed, Poppy ignored the warning flags popping up in her head.
“I’ll show you my badges if you show me yours,” she taunted.
“You’ve got a deal.” He caught her hand in his, lifted it to his mouth and pressed a kiss against her wrist before she could stop him.
She jerked her hand back, the warm moist imprint of his lips searing her skin.
He smirked. “If there’s going to be a badge showing tonight, we’ll need to fuel up. Dinner then badges. It’s part of the deal.”
Deal? For a second, panic clogged her throat. They didn’t have a deal. She’d been merely enjoying a little lighthearted conversation. Okay, and maybe practicing her rusty flirting skills. Some very rusty skills. Even a high-school girl would know better than to bring up scouting badges.
Poppy cleared her throat, searching for a painless way out of this mess. “Even if I agreed to dinner, all the restaurants in Jackson Hole are booked for the evening.”
“A challenge.” His gray eyes reminded her of a shimmery fog. “Do you like Italian?”
Though the wind had picked up, Poppy wasn’t cold. Heat, mixed with an intoxicating dose of testosterone, rolled off him and wrapped around her. “Doesn’t everyone? But—”
“Hold that thought.” He pulled a slim phone from his pocket, waited a few seconds for the call to connect then asked for Angelo. “Tell him it’s Ben Campbell.” A moment later, he confirmed a table for two.
He pocketed the phone. Satisfaction blanketed his face. “We have a reservation at the Trattoria.”
Poppy’s resolve to keep her distance wavered as her stomach emitted a low growl. Visions of her favorite pasta dish danced in her head. “The Ravioli di Granchio is my favorite.”
Ben smiled. “What’s not to love about large ravioli stuffed with stone crab and shrimp in a creamy lobster sauce?”
“I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be,” he said with a laugh. “My familiarity with the menu merely tells you how often I eat out.”
“How did you get a reservation? The place was booked solid for tonight.” Poppy distinctly remembered Lexi mentioning that fact to her only last week.
He merely shrugged.
Poppy wondered who Angelo was and what his connection was to Ben. Before she could press for details he slanted a dismissive glance at her small Ford. “We’ll take my vehicle. I’ll bring you back after dinner to pick up yours.”
She began shaking her head before he finished speaking. Riding with him would make the evening feel more like, well, a date. She didn’t want to date Ben Campbell. Sharing a meal with an acquaintance, a friend of a friend, was as spontaneous as she wanted to be this evening. Poppy planned to enjoy the ravioli before heading home to Rocky.
“I’ll meet you at the restaurant.” Instead of drill sergeant brisk, as Poppy had intended, her voice sounded oddly breathless. As if she’d spent the past five minutes running uphill instead of standing still.
His mouth tightened briefly. For a moment she thought he might argue. After a heartbeat, the determined look on his face eased. “Fine.”
Poppy glanced down as if she could see the WWII era dress through her cashmere coat. “I should go home and change.”
“Please don’t.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “The dress is very pretty.”
“But hardly...modern.” She found it difficult to think when he stood so near she could see the faint hint of stubble on his jawline. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”
His brows pulled together as if trying to make sense of the sarcasm in her tone.
“Will you be uncomfortable wearing it?” he asked after a long moment.
“No.” Poppy liked the dress, liked the way it accentuated her curves. Liked the way it made her feel pretty and feminine.
He reached around to open the car door. “I’ll see you at the restaurant.”
Poppy shifted from one foot to the other. She furrowed her brow. Was she worrying for nothing? It was just dinner, right?
Apparently sensing the evening’s plans still hadn’t been solidified, Ben brushed his knuckles across the curve of her cheek. “Trust me.” His voice was smooth, persuasive. “We’ll have a good time.”
As Poppy stared into those liquid silver eyes, she realized that’s just what had her scared.
Chapter Four
By the time the waiter brought out the tiramisu, Poppy had to admit Ben kept his promise. From the moment they’d been escorted to a table in a cozy alcove that felt private despite the crowded restaurant, it had been a lovely evening.
The doctor appeared to be a regular at the Trattoria. Once they were seated, the waiter asked if he’d like a bottle of his favorite wine brought over. Angelo, who Poppy discovered was the owner, stopped by for a few minutes after they’d finished the main course to make sure everything was satisfactory.
Angelo raved about her “bel vestito” and when Ben enthusiastically agreed it was indeed a very pretty dress, Poppy felt the last of her embarrassed tension slip away. After explaining about the Torch Singing competition, he made Poppy produce the silver microphone trophy from her purse for Angelo to admire.
Ben’s enthusiasm took her by surprise. Perhaps he wasn’t exactly like her ex-husband, who would have been horrified by her participation in such an event. And he certainly never would have agreed to go out for dinner with her dressed in circa 1943 garb.
After refilling her glass of wine, Ben lifted his own into the air. “To new friendships.”
Finding nothing objectionable about such a toast, Poppy tapped her glass against his. The crystal sang. When she lowered the glass, she realized he was staring.
She raised a hand to her cheek. “Do I have something on my face?”
He gave a slow sideways shake of his head before his lips lifted in a lazy smile.
She wondered if Ben was aware how irresistible he looked at that moment. “Then what?”
“You’re incredibly lovely.”
Embarrassed, yet oddly pleased, Poppy gave a shaky laugh. “Right back at you.”
Ben chuckled and it took everything she had not to blather and insist it was the truth. His chiseled jaw held the merest hint of a shadow, which only added to his attractiveness quotient. And then there were those silver eyes...
Heat raced through her body to pool between her thighs. It had to be the wine, she decided. She set down the glass she’d lifted for the toast and told herself it was time to switch to coffee.
Ben watched her for a second longer then his gaze flicked to the right. The waiter, dressed in dark pants and a crisp white shirt, immediately moved tableside.
“We’ll take coffee now,” Ben informed him.
“Of course, sir.” The man slipped silently away.
Poppy took a sip of water, disturbed by his take-charge behavior. “What makes you think I want coffee?”
“It goes well with dessert.” Ben gestured to the tiramisu. Seconds later the waiter placed the coffee on the table.
Ignoring the steaming brew, Poppy glanced around the crowded room. Her gaze lingered on a couple holding hands. They were staring into each other’s eyes with such passion Poppy swore she saw a fat little cupid and pink hearts floating above them. She exhaled a sigh.
Ben lightly touched her arm. “Problem?”
She shifted her gaze back to him. Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Well, for starters it’s Valentine’s Day and I’m out with you.”
The coffee cup paused several inches from his lips. “That’s flattering.”
“Oh, my goodness, that didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean—” She stopped prattling when she saw a faint look of amusement in his eyes. “It’s just that we’re...strangers.”
“Isn’t that why we’re here?” At her blank look, he continued. “To get to know each other.”
He reached over and covered Poppy’s hand with his, his eyes mesmerizing.
“Tell me why you decided to become a social worker,” he continued in a deep sexy rumble that made her insides quake.
She’d told him about her childhood in Jackson Hole over dinner. But when she’d reached her college years, the conversation had taken a turn to favorite books and movies.
Other than mentioning he’d been sent back East to boarding school at twelve, Ben had kept the conversation squarely focused on her. Poppy had gone along, convinced if she asked too many questions, it might give the erroneous impression she was interested in him.
Slipping her hand out from under his, she kept her answer short and sweet. “I started out in fashion merchandising. But I had to do some volunteer work to satisfy a humanities requirement and a free clinic was close to campus.”
He leaned slightly forward, offered an encouraging smile.
“Since the sight of blood makes me queasy, I was assigned to help in the social services area.” It had been an eye-opening experience for the young sorority girl. “Marlene, the social worker there, was inspiring. Helping people felt right. After that semester I changed my major and never looked back.”
“I applaud you.” Ben forked off a piece of tiramisu. “Servicing the public isn’t always easy. People who need help often don’t want it. And sometimes a person’s worst enemy is themselves.”
Though he’d kept his tone offhand, something in the words sparked Poppy’s interest. Don’t ask. Don’t ask.
“Sounds to me like you’ve had some personal experience with such people,” she heard herself say.
She thought he might refuse to share. Hoped he would. Then his eyes met hers and she saw the frustration.
Ben lifted one hand and began counting off fingers. “Not returning for follow-up appointments. Not doing the therapy they’ve been given. Letting the kid jump on the bed when they have a cast so the child ends up reinjuring themselves.”
Poppy grimaced at the sudden image of a small boy tumbling to the floor and a healing bone resnapping like a brittle tree branch.
Bringing the dessert to his lips, Ben chewed, swallowed. “I don’t understand it.”
He cared, she grudgingly admitted, and obviously wanted the best for all his patients. Including patients who—for whatever reason—were noncompliant.
After several years in the social work field, Poppy often likened human behavior to a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle. A stiff look at each individual piece was usually necessary before one could understand where the segment fit into the big picture.
“It could be a cultural or a language issue,” she murmured. “Or something as simple as the postoperative instructions needing to be more basic. Often there’s more than one reason we don’t do what’s best for us.”
She was seconds away from offering to consult on these issues when she clamped her lips together. The fact she was tempted to prolong the conversation was a red flag.
“What you’re saying makes sense.” He lifted the bottle and refilled her wineglass before topping off his. “I realize there can be extenuating circumstances. It just gets frustrating to repair a fractured bone or a torn tendon and then not have it heal correctly because the patient doesn’t do their part.”
“I’m sure it does.” Poppy took another sip of the dry but zesty white. “Tell me how you’re currently dealing with those patients.”
“Some other time perhaps.” Ben waved a dismissive hand. “I didn’t bring you here tonight to bore you with talk of my problem patients.”
No, Poppy thought, remembering what he’d said only moments before. He wants us to get better acquainted. A shiver traveled up her spine.
Well, she certainly didn’t want him to probe any further into her life. A few questions more about her work history and the only topic left would be the extremely personal tale of her ill-fated marriage. It was a time she didn’t like to revisit even on the best of days. That meant she must keep the focus off of her. “Did you always want to be a doctor?”
His eyes lit up, apparently pleased by her interest. “With my grandfather and father both being physicians, medicine has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember.”
Poppy absently took a sip of wine. “What made you decide to go with the same specialty as your dad?”
“It was a perfect fit.” Ben’s gaze grew thoughtful. “I enjoy doing what’s necessary to make a person whole again.”
“I think it’d be stressful.” Poppy had done a stint in the hospital when she was in training. She remembered the orthopedic patients and their often lengthy surgeries.
“I work well under pressure,” he said with a hint of a smile. “And I’m good with my hands.”
Poppy couldn’t stop herself. Her gaze dropped to his fingers that were currently wrapped around the wineglass. Strong, straight fingers with short filed nails. Large, talented hands that could finesse surgical tools or a woman’s breast—
She inhaled sharply and glanced up. Her gaze locked with Benedict’s and a volatile heat swirled around her. Around him.
Around them.
“I want you, Poppy.” His low tone stirred her already overheated blood. The longing that had been aroused earlier by him simply touching her hand morphed into a full-fledged ache. “I have ever since we kissed at the party.”
She tried to keep the intense feelings from showing but knew she hadn’t been successful when satisfaction blanketed his face.
“You want me, too,” he said quietly.
He was completely and totally right. But to say so would take them places she couldn’t, wouldn’t, go.
“No. No, I don’t.” Her voice sounded shaky and faint, as if it had traveled a long distance.
His gaze dropped pointedly to her chest where her breasts strained against the fabric, yearning for his touch.
From another part of the restaurant, a woman began to sing an aria from Don Pasquale. Poppy fought the urge to fall into hysterical laughter. The beautiful music, the golden glow of candlelight and the sweet scent of flowers spun a seductive web.
Still, she wasn’t foolish enough to believe what she felt had anything to do with romance.
Lust, yes.
Romance, no.
Poppy consumed the last of the Jermann Vinnae in her glass. “I’ve never had a one-night stand. Never been tempted.”
“I don’t make a habit of that kind of thing, either.” Ben’s voice sounded as matter-of-fact as hers.
Thankfully he didn’t hint that this needn’t be a onetime thing, or intimate he’d be open to more. If he had that would have been enough to send her fleeing to her car and heading home.
The fact that there were no expectations meant she was free to consider the possibility of a night of simple pleasure. Poppy couldn’t remember the last time sex had been fun, easy or spontaneous.
Could she really use this man for sex? Yet, would it really be using him if he wanted it, too?
“If we decide to extend the evening—” Poppy lifted her chin even as heat spiked up her neck “—we’d need to establish a few ground rules.”
“Such as?”
It was a question easy enough to answer. Then why Poppy wondered, did she feel as if she were standing on an unstable shore, poised to plunge into water where she’d be over her head in seconds?
Take a step back, she told herself.
But when Ben took her hand and his thumb began to lightly caress her palm, Poppy’s brain faltered. She knew there were several important points she should clarify, but right now she couldn’t think of one.
“The most important rule is to make the night count,” she heard him say.
“Night?” She shook her head to clear the fog. “It shouldn’t take more than an hour.” And that’s probably being generous.
His lips twitched. “The heat between us is hot enough to melt iron. We need to give ourselves time.”
Ben brought her fingers to his mouth in a leisurely gesture that made her stomach clench. Each separate tip sizzled beneath his lips.
Alarm bells rang. Poppy thought about pulling back but told herself if she was seriously considering having sex with Ben, this casual intimacy could be viewed as a logical first step in that process. Besides, it felt too good to ask him to stop.
After a moment, he lowered her hand and laced his fingers through hers. She inhaled sharply when his thumb began to stroke the top of her hand.
“Don’t shortchange yourself,” Ben told her.
He obviously meant the words to be encouraging, but instead they were a splash of cold water. Wouldn’t shortchanging herself be exactly what she’d be doing if she followed through on this plan? No, that was her mother’s voice whispering the warning in her ear. Hers was the one telling her to stop overthinking and go for spontaneous.
“I’m not the type to shortchange myself,” she said firmly.
“Me, either.” He grinned. “That’s why we’re well-suited.”
She straightened abruptly and jerked her hand from his.
“In terms of going after what we want,” he said in a calming tone, his expression bland. “Neither of us is interested in pretending that tonight is about anything more than quenching a good old-fashioned case of lust.”
Relief flooded Poppy as the waiter appeared with the check. Before she could pull out her wallet, the server took Ben’s credit card and disappeared.
“I’m paying for my own meal.” Poppy tugged a couple of bills from her purse and shoved them across the table. “And half the wine.”
“I invited you. This is a celebration.” He pushed her money back toward her.
Poppy puffed out her cheeks then reluctantly nodded. “Thank you.”
When the waiter returned and effusively wished them a fabulous evening, his enthusiasm told Poppy he’d gotten a huge tip. Ben hadn’t disappointed him. Poppy hoped he wouldn’t disappoint her either.
But first things first...
“Birth control,” she said once the waiter walked away. It was simply a little necessary housekeeping. Being wild and crazy didn’t mean being stupid.
Ben’s brows rose. “I assume you’re on the pill.”
“Actually, I’m not,” Poppy admitted and saw surprise flash in his eyes. “My husband and I weren’t able to have children. No cause was ever determined but Bill had already fathered two children during his first marriage so it had to be me.”
Poppy waited for the look of sympathy. When it thankfully didn’t come, she continued. “Then I found out he’d been unfaithful—”
“He cheated on you?” The shock on Ben’s face was too real to be faked.
“Almost from day one.” Poppy’s laugh lacked any humor. “I was too stupid to see it.”
“You trusted him.” Ben’s expression softened. “He was the fool.”
A lump formed in Poppy’s throat, but she determinedly swallowed past it. “The point is, when I discovered his infidelity, I had every STD test known to man. I haven’t been with anyone since.”
When her gaze landed on Ben, he seemed to understand she needed a similar assurance. “I’m clean, too.”
Poppy nodded. Though Ben had a reputation for being arrogant, he also was known as a straight shooter. If he said he was clean, she could accept his word.
“Still, we’ll use condoms,” he said, as if anticipating her next request.
She looked over his shoulder, to all the couples laughing and talking with the ones they loved. Is this what my life has come to?
Before Poppy let herself become maudlin, she reminded herself she’d already tried the traditional route. Where had that gotten her?
“No reason to take chances,” he added when she didn’t respond.
“But we are taking a chance.” Poppy chewed on her lower lip. “Making lov—er having sex, is not the same as getting together with someone on the golf course. Heck, we could both be duds.”
Poppy thought back to all those romantic evenings she’d planned that had ended up falling flat. Her heart twisted. No, she couldn’t make any guarantees in that area.
Benedict shot her a wink. “I’m not worried.”
Well, that made one of them.
Poppy grabbed her bag. “We might as well get started.”
She’d show him that she could be as spontaneous and as good in bed as the next woman.
His smile widened at her businesslike tone. “Might as well.”
“We can meet at your house. I’ll need your address.” This way if things went south, she could simply walk out the door, instead of having to kick him out of her place.
His eyes met hers and her body began to tremble.
“When it’s done, we walk away and never speak of this night again.” Dear God, had those words actually come from her mouth?
Ben’s look never wavered. “If that’s how you want it.”
Poppy stared into his eyes and felt her heart flip-flop. Had she really just negotiated the terms of a one-night stand? Yeah, spontaneity was definitely her middle name. “I’m sure some would call the arrangement cold-blooded.”
“I’ve never set much stock by what others say,” Ben said in that easy, confident way of his. “And we both know what’s simmering between us right now is anything but cold.”
Whether it was the wine, the teasing glint in his eyes or simply the relief at having the details worked out, Poppy laughed and did what she’d wanted to do all evening.
Leaning forward, she skimmed a finger down his cheek then kissed him full on the mouth. A heat hot enough to melt Alaska speared through her.
“Not cold.” Her lips curved in a satisfied smile as she pulled back. “Not cold at all.”
Chapter Five
On this night for romance the only tunes flowing from the radio in Poppy’s bright red Ford Fiesta were love songs. As Luther wailed about the power of the most basic of emotions, Poppy watched Ben’s sleek black sedan reach the edge of Jackson and turn west.
After carefully looking both ways, she turned onto the highway behind him and thought not of love, but of sex. Hot, quick and steamy. A shiver of anticipation coursed up her spine as she followed his Mercedes down the dark ribbon of asphalt toward the quiet residential area just outside of Jackson.
Though she hadn’t seen his home, she was prepared to be impressed. Willowbrook boasted three-acre lots, an amazing view of Grand Teton and a plethora of native birds and animals.
When Ben turned into a driveway and motion lights flicked on, Poppy slowed her own vehicle and gaped. The surrounding wilderness provided a perfect backdrop for the two-story home with its dramatic stone entry.
A large expanse of winter white flowed like a blanket to the street. Perfectly landscaped trees and bushes pushed through pristine snow. As stunning as it was now, Poppy could only imagine how beautiful the yard would be in a few months when the trees were green and flowers and bushes in full bloom.
One of the garage doors slid smoothly up and Ben eased his car into the opening. Almost immediately, a second rose.
Poppy hesitated only an instant before pulling inside. She supposed it made sense to have her vehicle under wraps. No sense advertising to the neighbors he was “entertaining.” The door slid silently down as Poppy stepped from her car to the sound of staccato barks coming from inside the house.
Ben glanced over the top of her car, a question in his eyes. “I should have asked before now if you’re allergic to dogs.”
When she shook her head, relief crossed his face.
“Angela was leaving at five so he’s been alone for several hours.” As the barking continued, Ben glanced in the direction of the door. “Don’t let that racket worry you. Groucho loves people.”
Poppy heard fondness in his tone. She assumed Groucho was the dog. But the woman’s identity—and her relationship to Ben—remained a mystery. “Who’s Angela?”
“My housekeeper.” He waited while Poppy rounded the front of her car. “She cooks, cleans and takes care of Groucho.”
Does she also take care of you? Poppy wondered, then immediately reminded herself that information was none of her business. Still, she was curious.
“How long has she worked for you?” Her voice came out casual and offhand, just as she intended.
“Five years.” They crossed a spotless garage floor to the door leading inside the house, his hand resting lightly against her back. “Her days and hours vary, depending on my schedule. I appreciate the fact she’s flexible.”
He keyed in a few numbers to unlock a security system then pushed open a door, stepping aside to let Poppy enter.
“Groucho, sit,” Ben called from behind her, and the small silver-and-black schnauzer dropped midleap to sit at her feet.
The dog’s entire body wiggled as if filled with a bag of jumping beans. His beautiful dark eyes shifted from Benedict to Poppy. A whine hummed from the back of his throat.
Benedict squatted down and picked up the dog, giving him an affectionate hug, scrubbing his hand across the top of the furry head. “How’s my boy?”
Groucho responded by licking his neck, bringing a laugh to Benedict’s lips. “Yeah, I’m happy to see you, too.”
He turned the animal in his arms, tucking him securely against his body. “Poppy, this is Groucho. He’s only two, so he still has lots of puppy in him.”
Poppy tentatively stroked the dog’s fur and received her own appreciative lick on the hand. “He’s a handsome boy.”
“I think so.” Grabbing a leash from a rack, Benedict clipped it to the dog’s red collar and placed him on the floor. He shot Poppy an apologetic look. “I should take him outside for a few minutes.”
“I’ll come with you.” While she stood on the sidewalk alongside the garage, Ben let Groucho check out various trees and bushes. “It surprises me you have a dog.”
He looked mildly amused. “Why is that?”
“For starters, you’re a busy man.”
“There’s more to life than practicing medicine.” Ben gestured toward the animal inspecting a small bush shaped like a globe. “He was found abandoned out on Route 22, near Brown’s curve, when he was six months old. His leg and a couple ribs were fractured.”
Poppy’s breath caught. She brought a hand to her chest. “He’d been hit by a car?”
“He’d been hit.” Benedict’s lips thinned. “But not by a vehicle.”
“Someone hurt then dumped him?” Anger warred with the shock in her voice.
“That’s how it appeared.” For a second Ben’s eyes flashed then he lifted a shoulder. “Anyway, a friend at the animal shelter told me about him. He needed a home. I had one.”
The dog appeared content and happy as he wandered from bush to bush. It was difficult to imagine he’d had such a rough beginning. As if aware of her sympathy, Groucho looked over his shoulder at her and wagged his tail.
“I bet he misses you during the day.”
“Sometimes.” Ben chuckled. “Other times I don’t think he notices...or cares. Especially on the days Angela brings her granddaughter with her. He’s crazy about kids.”
Poppy wasn’t sure what surprised her most. That the woman she’d envisioned as a dark-haired temptress was a grandmother or that the doctor could be so accommodating. “You don’t mind her bringing a child with her while she’s working?”
“Why should I?” Puzzlement filled his gray eyes. “Liliana is well-behaved. And, as I said, Angela is flexible so I try to be, too.”
Though Ben acted as if the concession was no big deal, Poppy knew it would have been a different story at her New York penthouse. Her ex obviously hadn’t minded stealing their housekeeper away from her duties for sex, but he’d have been horrified if she’d ever had the temerity to ask to bring her child with her to work.
“Looks like he’s ready to head inside,” Ben announced.
Instead of reentering the home through the garage, Ben steered her toward the front door. While he put away the leash and wiped Groucho’s feet in the entryway, Poppy’s curiosity propelled her farther into the house.
With its amber-colored walls, massive stone fireplace and intricately woven rugs on shiny hardwood, the large room with the soaring ceilings had a surprisingly cozy feel.
Feet now clean and dry, the dog padded across the room to hop onto a leather sofa. After rearranging a navy blanket into a makeshift nest, he settled down to gnaw contently on a small green bone.
Ben hung up their coats before he returned to her side. “Can I interest you in a tour?”
The gleam shimmering in his eyes told her exactly what room he’d like to show her.
Poppy shivered.
“Cold?” He captured her hand and brought her fingers to his lips. “Let’s see if I can warm you up.”
With brilliant gray eyes focused on hers, he kissed each finger lightly then pressed a kiss into her palm.
A sizzle of electricity shot up her arm. Heat flooded her body.
Ah, yes. This was the reason she was here—with him—this evening.
“I’d love to see your—” she paused and offered him what she hoped was an enigmatic smile “—the rest of your lovely home.”
Ben took her hand. “Come with me.”
With his fingers laced loosely through hers, he took her through a state-of-the-art kitchen with commercial grade appliances and enough cabinet space to make her drool. She was still thinking that those cupboards could hold anything an aspiring gourmet cook could ever want when Ben ushered her down the hall to show her several bedrooms, bathrooms and his home office. Then they headed up the curving stairs to the second level.
The suite that encompassed most of the upper floor was clearly designed for comfort. Especially if one equated comfort with space. There was a bed the size of Wyoming and a sitting area large enough to hold a couple of neighboring states, as well.
Conscious of Benedict’s perusal, Poppy strolled past a desk with triple screen monitors to peer into a closet with enough clothes and shoes to fill a small department store. But in her mind, next to the magnificent bed, the pièce de résistance was the bathroom.
With a wealth of natural lighting, sleek stone floor and a shower with knobs and spray heads reminding her of a car wash, the luxury—and the decadence of it all—stole her breath.
“That—” Poppy gestured toward the glass-enclosed shower big enough for a party of five “—is a fantasyland. If I got in there to play, you’d never get me out.”
His gaze slid slowly over her and she got the distinct feeling he was imagining her inside those glass walls...naked.
Her skin prickled. She wondered if he suspected she’d been envisioning him in there with her, also sans clothes.
Turning back to the sitting area with its arched window and massive stone fireplace, Poppy stepped toward the warmth and held out her hands.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Groucho bound into the room and make a beeline for a dog pillow next to the desk, a tiny green bone sticking out of his mouth.
Ben gestured toward a long sofa in muted peach. “Would you like some wine?”
Though a nice glass of red sounded good, more alcohol was the last thing Poppy needed. If she was going to have sex, she’d at least like to remember it. With more than a little regret, she shook her head.
Ben moved close, his hand cupping the back of her neck. “You’re right. We have something more pressing on the agenda.”
His mouth closed over hers with a hunger that made her heart stutter. Still, he didn’t rush. As if they had all the time in the world, he continued to kiss her, slow, leisurely kisses that stoked the fire in her belly.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his lips against her hair, his arms strong around her.
Breathing in the spicy scent of him, Poppy reveled in the warmth of his embrace. She raked her fingers through his thick dark strands and found them soft as silk. “You’re kind of pretty yourself.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. He laughed softly, a deep rumbling sound that pleased her.
“I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing,” she whispered, then paused, not sure what else to say.
“Tonight we’ll be lovers.” With one finger he gently brushed back a lock of her hair that had tumbled from its glittery clip.
“Yes,” she answered, her voice as unsteady as her heartbeat. “Yes, we will.”
“It’s been a while for you.” He spoke softly.
“After my divorce I swore off men.” Poppy stepped from his arms and took a seat on the sofa, smoothing her skirt with a sweaty palm.
“What made you change your mind?” Ben took a seat next to her.
“You.”

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