Heart of Winter by Diana Palmer

against his shoulder.
    â€œThere,” she mumbled happily, “I knew you could.”
    â€œI could wring your neck,” he said, forcing himself to smile at her while all around them other people were finally joining them on the dance floor.
    â€œIt’s your house,” she reminded him. “The host is supposed to open the dancing. There are rules about that kind of thing.”
    â€œI can’t dance with this leg,” he said through his teeth.
    â€œYou’re doing it, aren’t you?” She drew back a little and looked up into his darkly glittering eyes. “But if you’re sure you can’t do it, then why don’t you fall on the floor or something?”
    â€œLady,” he breathed through his teeth, “you’re brave in company.”
    â€œIf we were alone, what would you do to me?” she asked with open curiosity, her green eyes wide and twinkling.
    The look in them softened him, just a little. She was a handful, but her heart was in the right place. She wouldn’t let him feel sorry for himself, or slide into thinking he had to give up living because he had a bum leg. And until now, he hadn’t even realized how much he’d used that leg to keep him away from people. It had become his excuse for being a recluse, his excuse for avoiding involvement.
    His fingers edged between hers and caressed them as he turned her with amazing flexibility. He smiled then, the cold anger in his eyes melting into reluctant pleasure.
    â€œYou danced before the accident, didn’t you?” she asked, smiling. “You loved it, too. You’re very good, despite that leg. You move with such grace for a big man.”
    â€œAnd what would you have done, Pollyanna, if I’d gone down on the floor with the first turn?” he asked.
    â€œOh, I’d have made sure I went down with you,” she said matter-of-factly, “so that everyone would have thought I tripped you.”
    He felt his heart start pounding. Something stirred in him that he hadn’t felt since his youth, something young and daring and utterly reckless. He pulled her against him and stood there for one long minute, fighting the urge to kiss her in front of everyone. He liked the way her body melted into his when he drew her close, he liked the faint trembling of her legs against his. She was his the minute he touched her, and he especially liked that. His eyes narrowed as he remembered the feel of her soft mouth, the exquisite pleasure it gave him to kiss her. She’d been engaged once, she’d told him. He felt a sudden heat of unreasonable jealousy. What had the man been like? Why had he jilted her? Was there some secret in her past that she was afraid to share with him?
    â€œAre we doing statue imitations?” she asked breathlessly.
    His lips pursed. “I’m trying to decide whether to kiss you.”
    â€œNot in front of all these people, for heaven’s sake,” she burst out.
    â€œThese people—or Gerald?” he asked softly.
    Her eyebrows went straight up with surprise. “Well, come to think of it, I’m not sure how he’d react to it,” she had to admit. Gerald hadn’t said anything about her interest in Winthrop, and she didn’t think he’d fire her over it. But, then again, she wasn’t sure….
    Winthrop sighed, and drew her back against him. “Never mind, daffodil. Just dance.”
    â€œWhy did you call me that?”
    He smiled against her temple. “There’s nothing more full of hope than a daffodil. It comes before the last snow is gone, fluffing up yellow and pretty and optimistic in the middle of all that freezing white. It takes a lot to kill a daffodil. They’re glorious.”
    Tears stung her eyes. He could call her daffodil forever, if he liked. She snuggled closer. “What a nice compliment,” she said.
    â€œI meant it.”
    â€œI know. You’re not the kind of man