One Winter's Night

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Lori Borrill. One Winter's Night

“Dance with me,” Kit whispered

One Winter’s Night. Lori Borrill

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Contents

Prologue

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Epilogue

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Only then did Monica hear from the stage “Blue Christmas”—a slow smoky version meant for snuggling close. She opened her mouth to say no, but her lips wouldn’t form the word. Her body was too busy screaming yes. And in the wake of her indecision, he took her hand and led her to the dance floor.

He held her gently at her waist, heat resonating from his palms and tingling down to her toes. He kept at a respectable distance, giving the appearance of a polite dance between associates. But there was nothing polite about the hunger in his gaze or the way it made her feel. That was Grade-A carnal, and as they rocked to the music, a giddy dizziness came over her.

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“Although, some of us are smarter than others,” Stryker went on. “Monica got stuck in Florida, the poor thing, having to deal with all that sunshine while we were snowshoeing our way through Chicago.”

About half the crowd laughed while Monica stood there, a pasted smile chiseled on her face. It looked as though she’d lost the pricey Santa, but was quickly inheriting his rosy red cheeks.

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