Cindy Kirk - One Night with the Doctor

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.