Cindy Kirk - One Night with the Doctor

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.