Her heart leaped. “I didn’t realize you remembered that old nickname.”
“What, Daisy?” He was holding her close as they danced: she could feel the heat of him all up and down her front, making her prickle all over. "Of course I remember it. I gave it to you. I hope you don’t intend me to stop using it.”
“Of course not. I like it.” She forced herself not to move her gaze from his. Goodness, his eyes were startling up close. They were the color of golden syrup, almost shocking against the black of his pupils. She had heard the whispers, knew people found his eyes odd and alien, a sign of his difference. She thought they were lovely: the color of fire and gold, the way she imagined the heart of the sun. “Though I don’t think it suits me. Daisy sounds like a pretty little girl in hair ribbons.”
“Well,” he said. “You are at least -”
