The crowd cheered loudly. As she glanced over the enthusiastic throng, Benedict, er, Ben, gave her another thumbs-up and she offered him a smile, not a flirty one but the kind you’d give your grandmother or the helpful stranger next door.
But when his eyes held hers an instant longer than comfortable, friendly didn’t begin to describe the jolt. Poppy realized with a twinge of alarm that she wanted this man. Not in her life, oh most certainly not there, but in her bed.
It was a startling revelation. She’d had many opportunities for trysts since her divorce, but no interest. It was as if her desire for sex had died when she discovered her husband had been unfaithful for most of their married life.
Now, one smoldering look from Benedict had stirred those embers. No, not just stirred. The spark in those gray eyes had ignited a bonfire hot enough to paint the sky in bold red strokes.
Being blindsided by this unexpected desire didn’t change the fact that, for Poppy, sex had always followed love. And Benedict wasn’t the kind of man she would allow herself to love.
Once bitten...
There was one more round of applause for all the contestants before they were ushered off the stage. She told herself not to look but Poppy couldn’t help it. She cast a quick glance in the doctor’s direction.
He was gone.
She shoved aside something that felt an awful lot like disappointment. It was a blessing, she assured herself. Always best to have temptation out of reach.
Once she reached the dressing room Poppy scooped up the roses along with her purse, trying to block the other contestants’ excited chatter about their evening activities.
She wasn’t sure why she suddenly felt blue. After all, it wasn’t as if she didn’t have plans. Exciting plans that included a bowl of ice cream and a favorite DVD.
After declining a last-minute offer to have a drink with Cassidy and a group of her friends, Poppy slipped out the back door, telling herself quite firmly that Colin Firth on screen would have to do. Rolling around on the sheets with Benedict wasn’t an option. Not tonight. Not any night.
Though for a moment, the thought of a spontaneous night of pure fun made her heart quicken.
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