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With fear? she wondered. Or excitement?
Not that she’d had much experience with fun times in bed. After the initial honeymoon phase, sex during her marriage had been...disappointing.
With the vase of flowers tucked securely in the crook of her left arm, Poppy strolled across the parking lot toward her car. Though she’d left the bar alone, when she was a few feet from the vehicle a prickle along her skin told her she had company. She glanced toward her left in time to see a man dressed in black step from the shadows.
Poppy’s heart slammed against her ribs. Tense muscles rippled. She lifted the vase, poised to fling the flowers in the mugger’s direction and run.
But before she could get her arms to move, the light from a full moon played over the handsome face. Her fear deflated as quickly as a balloon pricked by a sharp pin.
“Ben.” She lowered the vase, pressing her hands firmly against the crystal to still their trembling. “You startled me.”
“Apologies.” His cultured voice reminded her of expensive bourbon, the kind that slid down smooth but packed a wallop. “You were stunning tonight. Your voice is tailor-made for sexy, sultry songs.”
On the surface, he’d offered a simple compliment. But the look in his eyes told her it wasn’t just her voice he found sexy.
The truth was, she found him sexy, too. When she saw him sitting in the audience, dressed simply in black pants and a sweater, her heart had quaked. This was a man who looked good in everything...and probably even better in nothing at all.
Poppy’s cheeks heated. She dropped her gaze toward the roses, now protected from the cool night air by a tent of cellophane. “Thank you for the compliment. And for the lovely flowers. They smell every bit as good as they look.”
When Benedict didn’t immediately respond, a horrible thought struck her. What if he wasn’t the “Ben” who’d sent them?
Before she could backtrack, his lips stole upward in a pleased smile. “The florist assured me you’d get them before the competition started. I’m happy to see he kept his word.”
Break a leg, the note had said. Yes, Ben would have wanted her to receive them before she stepped onto the stage. Poppy saw no purpose in telling him the roses hadn’t arrived until after her performance.
“I was cheering for you tonight,” he added in a deep, sexy rumble. “Congratulations. You deserved the win.”
Although Poppy had friends in the audience tonight, most—like Tripp—were there to support other contestants. The fact that Benedict had been there for her thrilled and terrified her.
“It was fun. Definitely a good cause.” Poppy moved around him to open her car door, trying to ignore the alarming rush of sheer physical awareness at his nearness.
In a self-preservation move, she took an obscene amount of time placing the flowers—secured in the cardboard carrier the florist had left—on the passenger-side floorboard. Yet when she straightened, Benedict was still there.
Poppy raised the collar of her coat and shoved her hands into the pockets. Taking a steadying breath, she cocked her head. “What is it you want?”
Her question was blunt, to the point and totally unnecessary. The look in his eyes proclaimed in big neon letters exactly what he wanted, or rather who he wanted.
He wants me. She fought a surge of pleasure at the thought, a pleasure that sharply spiked when Ben pulled her to him.
“I’d like—” he paused and a slight smile lifted his lips “—to know if you have plans for the rest of the evening?”
He smelled like soap and an indefinable male scent that made her want to lean into him. Instead she made herself focus on the question.
Plans? Yes, she had plans. Of course she had plans. But what were they? And why, now basking in the heat from his body, did they suddenly seem so irrelevant?
“I—I do,” Poppy finally managed to stammer.
His hands dropped and he moved from her, taking the warmth with him.
“I wasn’t aware you were seeing anyone.” An emotion she couldn’t identify flickered in the molten silver of his eyes. “Who is he?”
“Rocky.” Her grin came quick and fast, surprising them both. “Rocky Road.”
Beneath the expensive cut of his dark wool coat, Ben’s shoulders relaxed. The harsh planes of his face softened, making him look younger and more vulnerable. Approachable.
“You may not be aware—” He reached out and adjusted her collar. When his fingers brushed her neck, Poppy was disconcerted to feel her breath quicken. “—that Rocky and I are well acquainted.”
“Yeah, well, Rocky gets around.”
He chuckled, a low pleasant rumbling sound, his gaze lingering on her lips. “Have dinner with me. Rocky can wait.”
“Ben.” While he hadn’t given her permission to use it, the name came easily. Poppy liked the way it felt on her tongue. Liked it a little too much, she realized.
Poppy started to rake her fingers through her hair then stopped when she realized she’d muss the waves Cassidy had labored so hard to perfect. God, she was confused.
The only certainty was that accepting a dinner invitation from this man would be a first step down a path she had no intention of traveling. Spontaneous was one thing. Foolhardy quite another. “I don’t believe our having dinner is a good idea.”
Poppy immediately realized her mistake when puzzlement filled his gray eyes. She should have simply lied and said she’d eaten before the show. Or been completely honest and confessed she was fighting an urge to feast on him.
“Why isn’t it a good idea?” he asked, leveling a steady gaze.
While Poppy was telling herself to shut this down and get in her car, Ben shot her a wolfish grin showing a mouthful of perfect white teeth.
“I promise I won’t bite.” He lifted his right hand and offered a two-fingered salute. “Scout’s honor.”
The thought of this prominent physician ever sleeping in a tent or starting a fire with sticks brought a laugh to Poppy’s lips. “You were never a scout.”
“I made it all the way to Eagle.”
“I was a Brownie.”
This time it was his turn to laugh.
Poppy tilted her head. “Do you have badges?”
“A whole box of them,” he said with a sheepish smile. “How about you?”
“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.”
