One Night with the Doctor. Cindy Kirk

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,