First Impressions (12 page)

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 shallow, 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 percolater.” 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 took 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 make the shop work.” She lifted her eyes now to meet the frown in his. “I didn't fail as a teacher, but I didn't succeed either. I have to make a go of this.”

“By selling the one tangible thing you have left of your grandmother's?” Immediately, he saw he had hit a nerve. He tightened his fingers around hers. “Shane . . .”

“No. It is hard for me. I won't pretend it isn't.” Wearily, she let out a long breath. “I'm not basically a practical person, but in this case I have to be. I have no place to keep that set, and it's very valuable. The money it'll bring into the shop will keep me going for quite a while. And more than that . . .” She broke off with a little shake of her head. “If you can understand, it's more difficult for me having it there, knowing it has to be sold, than if it were already done.”

“Let me buy it. I could—”

“No!”

“Shane, listen to me.”

“
No!
” Pulling her hand from his, she rose to lean against the sink. For a moment she stared hard out the window at the trees splattered with moonlight. “Please, it's very sweet of you, but I couldn't allow it.”

Frustrated, Vance rose, taking her shoulders, he drew Shane back against him. And how, he wondered, was he going to begin to explain? “Shane, you don't understand. I can't bear watching you hurting, watching you work so hard when I could—”

“Please, Vance.” Shane turned to him. Though her eyes were dry, they were eloquent. “I'm doing what I have to do, and what I want.” She took his hands tightly in hers. “It's not that I don't love you even more for wanting to help. I do.”

“Then let me help,” he began. “If it's just a matter of the money right now—”

“It wouldn't make any difference if you were a millionaire,” she said, giving him a little shake. “I'd still say no.”

Not knowing whether to laugh or swear, Vance pulled her against him. “Stubborn little twit, I could make it easier for you. Let me try to explain.”

“I don't want anyone, not even you, to make it easier.” She gave him a fierce squeeze. “Please understand. All of my life I've been cute little Shane Abbott, Faye's sweet, slightly odd granddaughter. I need to prove something.”

Remembering how frustrating it had been to be known as Miriam Riverton Banning's son, Vance sighed. Yes, he understood. And the understanding made him keep his silence on how simple it would be for him to help. “Well,” he said, wanting to hear her laugh, “you are kind of cute.”

“Oh, Vance,” she moaned.

“And sweet,” he added, tilting her face up for a kiss. “And slightly odd.”

“That's no way to endear yourself to me,” she warned. “I'll wash, you dry.”

“Wash what?”

“The dishes.”

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms firmly around her waist. “I don't see any dishes. You have wonderful eyes, just like a cocker spaniel.”

“Watch it, Vance,” she said threateningly.

“I like your freckles.” He placed a light kiss on the bridge of her nose. “I've always thought that Becky Thatcher had freckles.”

“You're heading for trouble,” she told him, narrowing her eyes.

“And your dimples,” he continued blithely. “She probably had dimples too, don't you think?”

Shane bit her lips to hold back a smile. “Shut up, Vance.”

“Yes,” he continued, beaming down at her, “I'd say that's definitely a cute little face.”

“Okay, that does it.” Putting a good deal of effort into it, Shane tried to wiggle out of his hold.

“Going somewhere?”

“Home,” she told him grandly. “You can do your own dishes.”

He sighed. “I guess I have to get tough again.”

Anticipating him, Shane began to struggle in earnest. “If you throw me over your shoulder again, you really are fired!”

Hooking an arm behind her knees, Vance swept her up. “How's this?”

She circled his neck. “Better,” she said grudgingly. The smile was becoming impossible to control.

“And this?” Softly, he placed his lips on hers, letting the kiss deepen until he heard her sigh.