and underlying warmth of the greeting made Poppy smile. She chatted easily with Travis’s petite, pretty wife who looked adorable in a sapphire blue tunic dress, her blond hair falling in a mass of curls past her shoulders.
When one of the catering staff asked for a moment of Mary Karen’s time, Poppy meandered over to the tree. It was real, she realized with a start of pleasure, fingering the soft needles of the fir, inhaling the intoxicating scent.
She’d been much too busy to put her own tree up this year. If there had been someone to see it, Poppy might have gone to the effort. But her mom and dad had remained in California for the holidays. They lived in Sacramento now, just down the block from Poppy’s sister and brother-in-law and their three children.
Knowing this would be their oldest daughter’s first Christmas since she’d relocated to Jackson Hole, her parents had offered to make the trip to Wyoming. But Poppy knew how much they’d been looking forward to seeing Aimee’s children open presents on Christmas morning. If her dad were here, he couldn’t dress up as Santa for the grandkids, like he’d done for her and Aimee.
Poppy had seen no option but to inject a hint of regret into her tone and tell them she’d already made plans to celebrate the holidays with friends.
Her parents’ relief had been almost palpable. They believed her, of course. After all, she’d always had a wide circle of friends.
Poppy’s mouth lifted in a wry twist. For as long as she could remember she’d been the pretty, popular older sister. Yet, it was Aimee who now had what Poppy had always wanted: a fulfilling life that included not only a rewarding career but a loving husband and children.
When Poppy had married eight years ago, she’d been certain it would last forever. Never had she imagined that her husband would cheat on her. Or that she’d be divorced, childless and starting over at thirty-four.
“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
