Dancers in the Dark by Charlaine Harris Page B

and when Megan had gone through the heavy curtain at one end of the room, Rue turned to her silent companion. Sean lay on his back with his hair spread out on the pillow. His lips were slightly parted, his eyes closed, his chest still. The absence of that rising and falling, the tiny motion of life, was very unnerving. Did he know she was there? Did he dream? Was he truly asleep, or was he just held motionless, like a paralysis victim? She’d almost forgotten what they’d fought about. She stroked his hair, kissed his cool lips. She remembered what they’d done together, and a flush suffused her face.
    What Carver had done to her, when he’d attacked her years before, didn’t qualify as sex. It had been an assault, using his sex organ as the weapon. What she’d done with Sean had been real sex, making-love sex. It had been intimate and primal and wonderful. Carver had made her into a shell of a human being overnight. Over the course of a few weeks, Sean had helped her become a full person once more.
    She wasn’t going to chicken out just because he was dead part of the time.
    So, when darkness fell, Rue made sure her arm was across his chest, her leg lying over his. Suddenly she knew he was awake. The next second, his body reacted.
    â€œGood evening to you, too,” she said, startled and intrigued by his instant readiness.
    â€œWhere is Megan?” he asked, his voice still a little fuzzy from sleep.
    â€œI told her to go. I’m better.”
    His eyes widened as he remembered. “Show me,” he demanded.
    â€œYou seem to be ready for anything,” she said, greatly daring, her hand wandering down his abdomen in a tentative way.
    â€œI have to see your injuries first,” he said. “I shouldn’t even be...it’s your smell.”
    â€œOh?” she tried to sound insulted, failed.
    â€œJust the smell of you. Your skin, your hair. You make me hard.”
    Not a compliment she’d ever gotten before, but she could see the evidence of the sincerity of it.
    â€œOkay, check me out,” she said mildly, and lay down. Sean raised himself on one elbow, and his left hand began to turn her face this way and that.
    â€œIt’s my fault,” he said, his voice steady but not exactly calm. “I shouldn’t have stopped to lock up the studio.”
    â€œThe only fault is Carver’s,” she said. “I’ve played that blame game too many years. We don’t need to start it all over again. For the first year after he attacked me, I thought, ‘What if I hadn’t worn that green dress? What if I hadn’t let him hold my hand? Kiss me? Slow dance with me? Was it my fault for looking pretty? Was it my fault for treating him as I would any date I liked? No. It was his fault, for taking a typical teenage evening and turning it into the date from hell.”
    Sean’s fingers gripped her chin gently and turned her face to the other side so he could examine her bruises. He kissed the one on her cheek, and then he pulled the cover down to look over her body. She had to stop herself from pulling it right back up. This level of intimacy was great and very exciting, but she sure wasn’t used to it.
    â€œThis is the closest anyone’s been to me in years,” she said. “I haven’t even seen a doctor who looked at this much of me.” Then she told herself to shut up. She was babbling.
    â€œNo one should ever see this much of you,” he said absently. “No one but me.” His fingers, whiter even than her own magnolia skin, brushed a dark bruise on her ribs. “How much are you hurting?”
    â€œI’m pretty stiff and sore,” she admitted. “I guess my muscles were all tensed up, and then, when I got knocked around...”
    He touched her side gently, his hand very close to her breast. “Will you be able to dance tonight? We need to call Sylvia and cancel if you will not be able. She