by Cindy Kirk
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 t
hrough 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 again
st 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.
