One Night with the Doctor. Cindy KirkЧитать онлайн книгу.
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” a deep voice murmured.
An involuntary shiver slid up her spine at the sound of the rich baritone. She snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s silver tray before turning to meet Dr. Benedict Campbell’s steely gray eyes.
As usual, the man looked positively delectable. Tonight he wore brown trousers, a cream-colored button-down shirt open at the collar and shiny Italian loafers. His razor-cut dark hair was short enough to be professional but long enough to tempt a woman to run her fingers through the chestnut strands to see if they were as silky as they looked.
Benedict was an orthopedic surgeon and a darn good one if public opinion could be believed. He was also one of the most eligible bachelors in Jackson Hole. They’d chatted briefly on several occasions. While he’d always been pleasant, she’d done her best to avoid him whenever possible. Goodness knows she’d had enough of arrogant doctors to last this lifetime.
He touched a strand of her dark hair. “This is different.”
“I got it cut yesterday.” She quenched the sudden urge to pull back from his touch. “I wanted to go even shorter but the stylist told me to try it to the shoulders with a few layers first. She said I could always come back and have more cut off.”
Poppy pressed her lips together to stop her nervous chatter.
“It suits you,” he said easily as if they were discussing nothing more personal than the current weather forecast. Yet when his eyes met hers, she saw pure masculine appreciation in the liquid depths.
Lifting his glass of wine he tapped the crystal against hers. “To being adventurous.”
She hesitated. Though his smile was smooth, his expression bland, she sensed an undercurrent of challenge. As she hesitated, he raised a brow. Deciding she was being silly, Poppy took a sip.
They stood there for several heartbeats, gazing over the sea of people. She told herself to make an excuse and walk away but the testosterone wafting off him kept her tethered where she stood.
If anything, she had to fight the urge to lean into him. What had her mother always said? Stand too close to the fire and you’ll get burned.
“Travis warned me about the mistletoe.” She blurted the first thing that came to her mind when the silence lengthened.
Benedict’s lips quirked upward. “I’m surprised he said anything. Both he and Mary Karen seem to take great joy in watching their friends get caught under those tiny sprigs.”
“Seems kind of foolish to me,” Poppy mumbled, then immediately wished she could pull the words back. Just because she had no intention of making a public spectacle of herself didn’t mean other people might not enjoy an unexpected kiss.
Killjoy. Isn’t that what her ex had once called her when she’d complained about the endless parties? Hadn’t he made it clear the reason she wasn’t having fun at the events was because of her attitude? Perhaps he’d been right.
“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