First Impressions

  weeks ago.” Returning his smile, Shane clasped her hands around his neck. “I thought you’d be hungry. It’s after eight.”

  “I smelled food,” he said with a grin. “That’s why I came down.”

  “Oh.” Shane lifted a brow. “Is that the only reason?”

  “What else?”

  Her retort ended on a laugh as he nuzzled her neck. “You could make something up,” she suggested.

  “If it makes you feel better, I could pretend it was because I couldn’t keep away from you.” He kissed her until she was limp and breathless. “That I woke up reaching for you, then lay listening to your clattering in the kitchen and knew I’d never been happier in my life. Will that do?”

  “Yes, I …” She sighed as his hands slid down to caress beneath the loose shirt. Behind her, bacon popped and hissed. “If you don’t stop, the food’s going to burn.”

  “What food?” He chuckled, pleased that she was flushed and breathing unsteadily when she struggled away from him.

  “My own specially doctored tomato soup and prize-winning BLTs.”

  He pulled her back to nuzzle her neck another moment. “Mmm, it does smell pretty good. So do you.”

  “It’s your shirt,” she claimed as she wiggled out of his arms again. “It smells like wood chips.” Deftly, Shane took the sizzling bacon from the frying pan to let it drain. “If you want coffee, the water’s still hot.”

  Vance watched her finish preparing the simple meal. She did more than fill the kitchen with the scents and sounds of cooking. He’d done that himself often enough in the past weeks. Shane filled it with life. He may have repaired and renovated and remodeled, but the house had always been empty. Vance realized now that without her, it would have always been unfinished.

  There would be no living there without her—no living anywhere. Fleetingly, he thought of the large white house in an exclusive Washington suburb—the house he had bought for Amelia. There was an oval swimming pool sheltered by a white brick wall, a formal rose garden with flagstone paths, a clay tennis court. Two maids, a gardener and a cook. When Amelia had been alive there had been yet another maid to tend to her personally. Her dressing room alone had been larger than the kitchen where Shane was now fixing soup and sandwiches. There was a parlor with a rosewood cabinet Shane would adore, and heavy damask drapes she would detest.

  No, Vance thought, he wouldn’t go back there now, nor would he ask Shane to share his ghosts. He had no right to ask her to cope with something he was only beginning to resolve himself. But he would have to tell her something of his former marriage, and of his work, before yesterday could be buried.

  “Shane …”

  “Sit down,” she ordered, busily pouring soup into bowls. “I’m starving. I skipped lunch this afternoon bargaining for this wonderful Sheridan table. I paid a bit more for the clock than I should have, but made it up on the table and the saltcellars.”

  “Shane, I have to talk to you.”

  Deftly, she sliced a sandwich in half. “Okay, I can talk and eat at the same time. I’m going to have some milk. Even I can tell that instant coffee’s dreadful.”

  She was bustling here and there, putting bowls and plates on the table, poking into the refrigerator. Vance was suddenly struck with the picture of his life before she had come into it—the rush, the demands, the work that had ultimately added up to nothing. If he lost her … He couldn’t bear thinking about it.

  “Shane.” He stopped her abruptly, taking both of her arms in a strong grip. Looking up, she was surprised by the fierceness in his eyes. “I love you. Do you believe it?” His grip tightened painfully on the question, but she made no protest.

  “Yes, I believe it.”

  “Will you take me just as I am?” he demanded.

  “Yes.” There was no hesitation in her, no wavering. Vance pulled her toward him.

  A few hours, he thought, squeezing his eyes tight. Just a few hours with no questions, no past. It’s not too much to ask.

  “There are things I have to tell you, Shane, but not tonight.” As the tension drained, he loosened his hold to a caress. “Tonight, I only want to tell you that I love you.”

  Sensing turmoil and wanting to soothe it, Shane tilted her face back to his. “Tonight it’s all I need to know. I love you, Vance. Nothing you tell me will change that.” She pressed her lips to his cheek and felt some of the tightness in his body loosen. Part of her wanted to coax him to tell her what caused the storm inside him, but she was conscious of the same need for isolation that Vance had. This was their night. Problems were for the practical, for the daytime. “Come on,” she said lightly, “the food’s getting cold.” The fierce hug she gave him made him laugh. “When I fix a gourmet meal, I expect it to be properly appreciated.”

  “I do,” he assured her, kissing her nose.

  “Do what?”

  “Appreciate it. And you.” He dropped a second kiss on her mouth. “Let’s go into the living room.”

  “Living room?” Her brow creased, then cleared. “Oh, I suppose it would be warmer.”

  “Exactly what I had in mind,” he murmured.

  “I tossed a couple of logs onto the fire when I came downstairs.”

  “You’re a clever soul, Shane,” Vance said admiringly as he took her arm and steered her from the room.

  “Vance, we have to take the food.”

  “What food?”

  Shane laughed and started to turn back, but he propelled her into the sparsely furnished, firelit room. “Vance, the soup’ll have to be reheated in a minute.”

  “It’ll be terrific,” he told her as he began to unbutton the oversize shirt she wore.

  “Vance!” Shane brushed his fingers away. “Be serious.”

  “I am,” he said reasonably, even as he pulled her down on the oval braided rug. “Deadly.”

  “Well, I’m not going to reheat it,” she promised huffily while he leaned on an elbow to undo the rest of the buttons.

  “No one would blame you,” he told her as he parted the shirt. “It’ll be fine cold.”

  She gave a snort. “It’ll be dreadful cold.”

  “Hungry?” he asked lightly, cupping her breast.

  Shane looked up at him. He saw the dimples flash. “Yes!” In a quick move, she was lying across his chest, her mouth fixed greedily on his.

  The verve and speed of her passion stunned him. He had meant to tease her, to stroke her desires slowly, but she was suddenly and completely in command. Her mouth was avid, demanding, with her small teeth nibbling, her quick tongue arousing him so quickly he would have rolled her over and taken her at once had his limbs not been so strangely weak. Her weight was nothing, yet he couldn’t move her when she shifted to do clever, torturous things to his ear. Her hands were busy too, stroking through his hair, skimming over his shoulders and chest to find and exploit small, devastating points of pleasure.

  He reached to pull off her shirt, too dazed to realize his fingers shook, but he fumbled, dragging at it. High on her own power, Shane gave a quick, almost nervous laugh. “Too soon,” she whispered into his ear. “Much too soon.”

  He swore, but the curse ended on a groan when she pressed her lips to his throat. She burned even as he did, but she was driven to heighten his pleasure to the fullest. It spun through her mind until she was giddy that her touch, her kisses were enough to make him weak and vulnerable. Under her roaming mouth, his skin grew hot and damp. He stroked her where he could reach, but there was something dreamlike in the touch, as though he had passed the first feeling of desperation. For all his strength and power, he had surrendered to hers.

  The light shifted and jumped with the crackling of the fire. A log broke apart, crumbling in a shower of sparks. The wind picked up, pushing a sluggish puff of smoke back down the chimney so that it struggled halfheartedly into the room to vie with the lingering scent of fried bacon. Neither of them was aware.

  Shane heard the thunderous beat of his heart under her ear, the sh
allow, ragged sound of his breathing. Taking his mouth again, she kissed him deeply, filling herself on him, knowing she drained him. She luxuriated in him, experimenting with angles, allowing her tongue to twine with his. Then she began the journey down his throat.

  Once, he murmured her name as though he were dreaming. She grew bolder. With firm, quick kisses, she ranged down his chest to the taut flat stomach. Vance jolted as though he had been scorched. Shane pressed her lips to the heated skin, wrenching a moan from him, then circled almost lazily with her tongue.

  Her excitement was almost unbearable. He was hers, and she was learning his secrets. Her body felt weightless and capable of anything. The gnawing hunger in the pit of her stomach was growing, but the need to learn, to explore was greater. With a kind of greedy wonder, she took her hands and lips over him, reveling in a man’s taste—her man’s taste. The hair on his chest tapered down. Shane followed it.

  Slowly, with a light touch, she loosened his jeans and began to draw them over his hips. Curious, Shane moved her lips over his hipbone and down to his thigh.

  She heard him call out to her, hoarse, desperate, but she found the corded muscles of his thighs fascinating.

  So strong, she thought as her heart began to thud painfully. She ran fingers down his leg, aroused by the lean firmness and straining sinews. Testing, she replaced her fingers with her tongue, then her teeth. Vance shifted under her, murmuring something between his short, ragged breaths. His taste was everything male and mysterious. Shane felt she would never get her fill of him.

  But he was on the point of madness. Her slender fingers, her curious tongue had him plunging down and rocketing up so that each breath he drew was an agony of effort. His body was alive with pleasure and pain, his blood swimming with passion that was both tantalized and frustrated. He wanted her to go on touching him, driving him mad. He wanted to take her quickly before he lost his mind. Then slowly, her small avid mouth roamed back up over his stomach, so that his skin quivered with fresh dampness. The heat was unbearable and more wonderful than anything he had ever known. Her breasts with their hard, erect points brushed over him, making him long to taste them. She gave him her mouth instead. Lying full length on his, her body was furnace hot and agile.

  “Shane, in the name of God,” he breathed, groping for her. Then she slid down, taking him inside her with a shuddering sigh of triumph.

  His sanity shattered. Not knowing what he did, Vance seized her shoulders, rolling her over roughly, driving inside her with all the fierce, desperate strength that was pent up in him. Passion hammered through his core. Need was delirium.

  She cried out as her hips arched to meet him, but he was far beyond any control. Harder and faster he took her, never feeling the bite of her nails on his flesh, barely hearing her harsh, quick breathing. She dragged him closer when he could get no closer. He drove her, drove himself to a crest that was dangerously high. Even the plummet was a shattering thrill.

  She was shuddering beneath him, dazed, weak, powerful. Experimentally, Vance ran a hand over her arm, then linked his fingers around it. His thumb and forefinger met. “You’re so small,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to be rough.”

  Shane brushed a hand through his hair. “Were you?”

  His sigh ended on a chuckle. “Shane, you make me crazy. I don’t usually toss women around.”

  “I don’t think this is a good time to go into that,” she said dryly.

  Shifting, he supported himself on his elbow so he could look down at her. “Would it be better to tell you that you inflame me into violent seizures of passion?”

  “Infinitely.”

  “It appears to be true,” he murmured.

  She smiled at him, running her hand down his shoulder to the arm taut with muscle. “Would you rather I didn’t?”

  “No,” he said definitely, then covered her laughing lips with his.

  “Actually,” she began in a considering tone, “since you do the same to me, it’s only fair.”

  He liked seeing her with the sleepy, just-loved look on her face. Her eyes were soft and heavy, her mouth slightly swollen. With shifting shadows and a red glow, firelight danced over her skin. “I like your logic.” Gently, he traced the shape of her face with a fingertip, imagining what it would be like to wake beside her every morning. Shane captured his hand, pressing his palm to her lips.

  “I love you,” she said softly. “Will you get tired of hearing that?”

  “No.” He kissed her brow, then her temple. Slipping an arm under her, he drew her close. “No,” he said again on a sigh.

  Shane snuggled, running a casual hand over his chest. “The fire’s getting low,” she murmured.

  “Mmm.”

  “We should put some more wood on.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Vance.” She tilted her face to look up at him. His eyes were closed. “Don’t you dare go to sleep. I’m hungry.”

  “God, the woman’s insatiable.” After a long sigh, he cupped her breast. “I might find the energy with the right incentive.”

  “I want my dinner,” she said firmly, but made no move to stop his caressing hand. “You’re going to reheat the soup.”

  “Oh.” Vance considered that a moment, running a lazy finger over the peak of her breast. “Aren’t you afraid I might interfere with that special touch you have?”

  “No,” she told him flatly. “I have every confidence in you.”

  “I thought you might,” he said as he sat up to tug on his jeans. Leaning over, he planted a quick kiss on her mouth. “You can toss some logs in the fire.”

  But after he had gone to the kitchen, Shane lay dreaming a moment. The hiss of the fire was comforting. She drew the soft flannel of Vance’s shirt closer around her, smiling as his scent stayed with her. Could it really be true that he needed her so much? she wondered sleepily. Love, yes, and desire, but she had a deep, innate knowledge that he very simply needed her. Not just for lovemaking, for holding, but to be there. Though she was unsure what it was, Shane knew there was something she had—or something she was—that Vance needed. Whatever she brought to him, it was enough to balance his anger, his mistrust. Fleetingly, she wondered again what had caused him to retreat behind cynicism. Disillusioned, he had said. Who or what had disillusioned him? A woman, a friend, an ideal?

  Shane watched the sizzling red coals in the fire and wondered. The anger was still there. She had sensed it when he had demanded to know if she would take him just as he was. Patience, she told herself. She had to be patient until he was ready to share his secrets with her. But it was difficult for Shane to love and not try to help. Shaking her head, she sat up to rebutton her shirt. She’d promised him that love was enough for tonight; she had to abide by it. Tomorrow would be soon enough for problems. Expertly, she arranged more wood on the coals before she went to the kitchen.

  “About time,” Vance said coolly as she walked in. “There’s nothing I hate more than having food get cold.”

  Shane shot him a look. “How inconsiderate of me.”

  After setting the bowls back on the table, Vance shrugged. “Well, no harm done,” he told her in a forgiving tone. His eyes brimmed with amusement as Shane sat. “Coffee?”

  “Not yours,” she said witheringly. “It’s terrible.”

  “I suppose if someone really cared, they’d see to it that I had decent coffee in the morning.”

  “You’re right.” Shane lifted her spoon. “I’ll buy you a percolator.” Grinning, she began to eat. The soup was hot and tangy causing her to close her eyes in appreciation. “Good grief, I’m starving!”

  “You should know better than to miss meals,” Vance commented before applying himself to the meal. He quickly discovered he was famished.

  “It was worth it.” Shane shot him another grin. “The Sheridan I bought is fabulous.” When he only lifted a brow, she chuckled. “Then I had intended to have an early dinner … but I was distracted.”

  Vance reached over to take
her hand. Gently, he lifted it to his lips, then bit her knuckle. “Ow!” Shane snatched her hand away as he picked up his sandwich. “I didn’t say it wasn’t an enjoyable distraction,” she added after a moment. “Even if you did make me furious.”

  “The feeling was mutual,” he assured her mildly.

  “At least I control my temper,” she said primly. She eyed him coolly as he choked over his soup. “I wanted to punch you,” she explained. “Hard.”

  “Again the feeling was mutual.”

  “You’re not a gentleman,” she accused with her mouth full.

  “Good God, no,” he agreed. For a moment, he hesitated, wanting to choose his words carefully. “Shane, will you hold off for a little while on that dining-room set?”

  “Vance,” she began, but he look her hand again.

  “Don’t tell me I shouldn’t have interfered. I love you.”

  Shane stirred her soup, frowning down at it. She didn’t want to tell him how pressing her bills were. In the first place, she had every confidence that between her current stock and the small amount of capital she had left, she could straighten out her finances. And more, she simply didn’t want to heap her problems on him.

  “I know you did what you did because you cared,” she began slowly. “I appreciate that, really. But it’s important to me to