One Night with the Doctor Page 4

  “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 h
is 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.”