The Dead Girls' Dance by Rachel Caine Page A

jiggled her foot under the table and started gathering up the cash and cards from the table. Her hands brushed Shane’s, and he let go of the cards and took hold.
    And then, somehow, she was in his lap, and he was kissing her. Hadn’t meant to do that, but…well. She couldn’t exactly be sorry about it, because he tasted amazing, and his lips were so soft and his hands were so strong…
    He leaned back, eyes half-shut, and he was smiling. Shane didn’t smile all that much, and it always left her breathless and tingling. There was a secrecy about it, like he only ever smiled with her, and it just felt…perfect. “Claire, you’re being careful, right?’” He smoothed hair back from her face. “Seriously. You’d tell me if you got into trouble.’”
    â€œNo trouble,’” she lied, thinking about Monica’s not-so-veiled threats, and that glimpse of Shane’s dad seated across from Oliver in the coffee shop. “No trouble at all.’”
    â€œGood.’” He kissed her again, then moved down her jawline to her neck, and, wow, neck nibbles that took her breath away again. She closed her eyes and buried her fingers in his warm hair, trying to tell him through every touch how much she liked this, liked him, loved…
    Her eyes came open, fast.
    She did not just think that.
    Shane’s warm hands moved up her sides, thumbs grazing the sides of her breasts again, and he traced his fingers across the thin skin of her collarbone…down to where the neck of her T-shirt stopped him. Teasing. Pulling it down an inch, then two.
    And then, maddeningly, he let go and leaned back, lips damp. He licked them, watching her, and gave her that slow, crazy sexy smile again.
    â€œGo to bed,’” he said. “Before I decide to come with.’”
    She wasn’t sure she could stand up, but somehow, she got her legs to steady under her, and made it up the stairs. Michael was in Eve’s room, the door was open, and they were sitting together on her bed. Michael was so bright, with his golden hair and china blue eyes, and he didn’t match the room all draped in dramatic black and red. He looked like an angel who’d taken a massive wrong turn.
    He was holding Eve in his arms and rocking her, very gently, back and forth. As Claire looked in, he met her eyes and mouthed, Close the door .
    She did, and went to her own bed.
    Sadly, alone.
    Â 
    It occurred to Claire that she’d be smart to know what Jason Rosser looked like, in order to avoid him, but she had the strong feeling that it wouldn’t be a very good idea to ask Eve for a peek at the family album. Eve was pretty touchy just now about anything to do with her brother…which, if Shane’s pessimistic assessment was right, probably wasn’t the wrong attitude.
    So Claire went researching. Not the university library, which—while not too bad—didn’t really have a lot of info about Morganville itself. She’d checked. There was some history, all carefully blanded down, and some newspaper archives.
    But there was a Morganville Historical Society. She found the address in the phone book, studied the map, and calculated the time it would take to walk the distance. If she hustled, she could get there, find what she needed, and still make it to her noon class.
    Claire showered, dressed in blue jeans and a black knit top with a screen-printed flower on it—one of her thrift-shop buys—and grabbed her backpack on the way to the door. She set herself a blistering pace once she hit the sidewalks, heading away from the university and into the unexplored guts of Morganville. She had the map with her, which was handy, because as soon as she was out of sight of the Glass House, things became confusing. For having been master planned, Morganville was not exactly logical in the way its streets ran. There were culs-de-sac, dead ends, lots of unlit deserted