Cindy Kirk - One Night with the Doctor

“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.”