The Serpent's Curse by Lisa Maxwell (read an ebook week .TXT) 📕

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.”

“I think it’s well worth the risk.” He pulled her closer, his hand at her waist, skimming over the silky softness of her dress, and drew her toward him.

He took his time about it, because he wanted her to understand that what was between them—what had always been between them—was something rare. It wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but it was real and alive and maybe it was even a little dangerous as well.

Leaning toward her, Harte paused before his mouth touched hers, letting himself enjoy this stolen moment. Letting Esta want it as much as he did. He could detect the faintly floral scent of her soap. Then, with his free hand, he gently tipped her chin up, reveling in the shiver of anticipation he felt course through her, and pressed his mouth against hers.

Once again, they were on a dance floor, surrounded by music and moving bodies, but this was nothing like their first kiss. That had been a taking, and a surprise for both of them. That first kiss—and so many others, including the ones on the train—had been a battle of wills. Harte wanted this one to be different, so he started as soft as a question. He didn’t linger too long. He didn’t part her lips with his tongue or force himself upon her. He held himself back as he drank in the truth of their connection and the small moan that escaped from her lips. Then he