Dancers in the Dark by Charlaine Harris

pages, Sean copied as many numbers as he could on a small piece of notebook paper from Rue’s pile of school materials. Several were in one town, Pineville, which had a Tennessee area code. He’d had a vampire friend in Memphis a few years before, and he recognized the number. He’d just replaced the address book when he heard the bathroom door open.
    â€œYou’re taking the history of my country,” Sean said, reading the spines of the textbooks piled on the tiny table that served as Rue’s desk.
    â€œIt’s the history of all the British Isles,” she said, trying not to grin. “But yes, I am. It’s an interesting course.”
    â€œWhat year have you reached in your course of study?”
    â€œWe’re talking about Michael Collins.”
    â€œI knew him.”
    â€œWhat?” Her mouth fell open, and she knew she must look like an idiot. For the first time, she realized the weight of the years on Sean’s shoulders, the knowledge of history and people that filled his head. “You knew him?”
    Sean nodded. “A fiery man, but not to my taste.”
    â€œCould—would—you talk to my class about your recollections?”
    Sean looked dismayed. “Oh, Rue, it was so long ago. And I’m not much of a crowd pleaser.”
    â€œThat’s not true,” she said, adding silently, You please me. “Think about it? My professor would be thrilled. She’s a nut about everything Irish.”
    â€œOh, and where’s she from?”
    â€œOklahoma.”
    â€œA far way from Ireland.”
    â€œYou want another drink?”
    â€œNo.” He looked down at the bottle, seemed surprised he’d drained it. “I must be going, so you can get a little sleep. Do you have classes tomorrow?”
    â€œNo, it’s Saturday. I get to sleep in.”
    â€œMe, too.”
    Sean had actually made a little joke, and Rue laughed.
    â€œSo do you sleep in a regular bed?” she asked. “Or a coffin, or what?”
    â€œIn my own apartment I have a regular bed, since the room’s light-tight. I have a couple of places in the city where I can stay, if my apartment’s too far away when it gets close to dawn. Like hostels for vampires. There are coffins to sleep in at those places. More convenient.”
    Rue and Sean stood. She took the empty bottle from him and leaned backward to put it by her sink. Suddenly the silence became significant, and her pulse speeded up.
    â€œNow I’ll kiss you good-night,” Sean said deliberately. In one step he was directly in front of her, his hand behind her head, his spread fingers holding her in exactly the right position. Then his mouth was on Rue’s, and after a moment, during which Rue held very still, his tongue touched the seam of her lips. She parted them.
    There was the oddity of Sean’s mouth being cool; and the oddity of kissing Sean, period. She was finally sure that Sean’s interest in her was that of a man for a woman. For a cool man, he gave a passionate kiss.
    â€œSean,” she whispered, pulling back a little.
    â€œWhat?” His voice was equally as quiet.
    â€œWe shouldn’t...”
    â€œLayla.”
    His use of her real name intoxicated her, and when he kissed her again, she felt only excitement. She felt more comfortable with the vampire than she’d felt with any man. But the jolt she felt, low down, when his tongue touched hers, was not what she’d call comfortable. She slid her arms around his neck and abandoned herself to the kiss. When Rue felt his body pressing against her, she knew he found their contact equally exciting.
    His mouth traveled down her neck. He licked the spot where he usually bit her. Her body flexed against his, involuntarily.
    â€œLayla,” he said, against her ear, “who did you see that frightened you so much?”
    It was like a bucket of cold water tossed in her face. Everything in her shut