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The convention had started the day before, and so far the ballots had been inconclusive, but they both knew it was only a matter of time until the presidential nominee would be decided. Once that happened, the Antistasi would attack, unless he and Esta got to them first and convinced them to abandon their plan.

Esta had described the Green Mill as a saloon, but that was underselling it a bit. The establishment took up nearly an entire city block. But unlike some of the German-run beer halls back in Manhattan, the Green Mill’s many rooms and gardens were all polish and shine.

They passed through the crowded saloon in the front of the building, ignoring the mahogany bar that served a menu of seltzers and juice, then continued on to the sunken gardens that stood at the center of the complex. Open to the warm summer night air, the gardens were filled with people dancing and laughing. Harte still didn’t quite understand the whole concept of Prohibition. He couldn’t figure out why anyone thought it would be necessary—or even possible—to make alcohol illegal. From all appearances, his instincts were right—the people bouncing around the dance floor, their arms and legs flying in all directions, looked far less sober than the so-called dry gardens should have allowed.

“The entrance to the speakeasy is over there,” Esta said, frowning at the crowded dance floor.

Her lips were a dark, deep red, and she’d done something to accent the peaked bow in the center, so her frowning only served to draw Harte’s eyes to her mouth. Which only served to remind him how her lips had felt against his a few days before. Which reminded him how her whole body had felt against his. And that made him damn uncomfortable in a lot of different ways. It made him remember just how badly he wanted things that he could not have.

Harte realized suddenly that Esta was looking at him expectantly—he’d missed whatever she’d just said. “What?”

She let out a frustrated breath. “I said that we’ll have to go around the dance floor. Do you have a preference which direction?”

In for a penny…

Harte took Esta’s hand and, though she jumped at his touch, he didn’t let her pull away as he led her toward the swirl of dancers. For the last few minutes, the couples crowding the dance floor had been doing some sort of dance that involved kicking and hopping, but now the music had shifted into something slower.

“What are you doing?” Esta asked as Harte swept her into a formal embrace and then whirled her onto the floor and into the crush of other couples.

“I’m dancing with you,” he murmured.

“Clearly,” she said dryly.

He felt sure she would pull away from him. She had every reason to, with how badly he’d mucked up everything a few days before. But when she didn’t immediately, Harte moved a little closer.

“This isn’t really the time or place,” Esta told him, but she followed his lead, her feet tracing the easy loping circles of the waltz they were caught up in.

Harte leaned back and raised a single brow as he looked at her. “I’m not sure I could think of a much better one.” Then he lifted his arm and pushed Esta gently into a twirling spin before closing the frame of their position again. “It reminds me a little of the night we met.”

She gave him a smile that was all teeth. “I must remember things differently. How long did it take for your tongue to heal, anyway?”

He bit back a laugh at her tartness, glad to have something other than ice from her. “Nearly a week,” he told her, remembering his surprise when their first kiss—a ruse he’d forced upon her to stop her from using magic where she shouldn’t—had turned dangerous. At least for him. “I should have never let you go,” he whispered, repeating the words he’d said that night.

“What?” Her steps faltered, but Harte kept her upright and continued their waltz.

“It’s what I said to you that night. Back at the Haymarket. You were dancing with some old goat, and I was trying to get you away from him and warn you about how dangerous it was to use your magic with Corey’s men watching. I had to distract you somehow. It worked well enough then.” He looked into her eyes. “Is it working now?”

“Don’t, Harte,” she whispered, her words coming to him on the back of the melody that surrounded them.

But he wasn’t listening. Or rather, he was, but he needed Esta to understand. “I thought it was all nothing but a ruse, you know.” He twirled her again. They were near the middle of the floor now, making their way across to the far side of the gardens. “My ridiculous words. That kiss.”

“We need to focus,” Esta reminded him, but her voice caught as she spoke.

“You’re right.” He took a moment to really look at her, a golden flame among peacocks, an Amazonian goddess among bits of fluff. It was more than her beauty; there was a strength emanating from within her that was unmistakable. That was irresistible. It always had been.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said.

“I’d like to kiss you now,” he told her. They’d stopped dancing for some reason, probably because he’d stopped, but the rest of the dancers continued to move around them.

Esta’s brows drew together. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“It’s probably a terrible idea,” Harte told her. “But it’s all I’ve been able to think about for days.”

“Are you sure you weren’t really thinking about complications?”

“I’d like to kiss you,” he repeated, because there wasn’t room for lies between them any longer, especially not there, embracing as they were on the swirling dance floor.

Her pink tongue darted out, licking her crimson lips, a clear sign she was every bit as nervous as he was. Her eyes, the same liquid gold as her dress, were serious as they studied him. Unreadable. Finally, as the song was winding down, she spoke. “I can’t promise I won’t bite you again.”