First Impressions (15 page)

He should have known that anyone with as open a heart as Shane's could be hurt just as deeply as she could be made happy. And how, he wondered, could anyone who had dealt with that kind of pain since childhood be so generous and full of joy? The trial of a careless mother, the embarrassment and hurt of a broken engagement, the loss of the one constant family member she had known—none of it had broken her spirit or her simple kindness.

But tonight she needed an arm around her. It would be his tonight—and whenever she needed him. Unconsciously he drew her closer as if to shield her from anything and everything that could hurt.

“Vance.”

He thought she spoke his name in sleep and brushed a light kiss over her hair.

“Vance,” Shane said again, so that he looked down to see the glint of her eyes against the darkness. “Make love with me.”

It was a quiet, simple request that asked for comfort rather than passion. The love he already thought infinite tripled. So did his concern that he might not be gentle enough. Very softly, cupping the shape of her face in one hand, he touched his lips to hers.

Shane let herself float. She was too physically and emotionally drained to feel stinging desire, but he seemed to know what she asked for. Never had she felt such tenderness from him. His mouth was warm and softer than she had thought possible. Minute after minute, he kissed her—and only kissed her. His fingers stroked soothingly over her face, then moved to the base of her neck as if he knew the dull, throbbing ache that centered there. Lovingly, patiently, he drew the quiet response from her, never asking for more than she could give. She relaxed and let him guide her.

With slow care, he roamed her face with kisses, touching his lips lightly to her closed lids as he shifted the gentle massage to her shoulders. There was a concentrated sweetness in his touch that was more kind than loverlike. When his mouth came back to hers, he used only the softest pressure, taking the kiss deep without fire or fury. With a sigh, she answered it, letting her needs pour out.

Passively, she let him undress her. His hands were deft and slow and undemanding. With a sensitivity neither of them had been aware he possessed, he made no attempt to arouse. Even when they were naked, he did nothing more than kiss her and hold her close. She knew she was taking without giving any in return and, murmuring, reached for him.

“Shh.” He kissed her palm before turning her gently onto her stomach. With his fingertips only at first, he stroked and soothed, running them down her back, over her shoulders. She hadn't known love could be so compassionate or unselfish. With a sigh, she closed her eyes again and let her mind empty.

He was drawing out the pain, bringing back the warmth. As she lay quietly, Shane felt herself settle and balance. There was no need to think, and no need to feel anything but Vance's strong, sure hands. All of her trust was his. Knowing this, he took even more care not to abuse it.

The old bed swayed slightly as he bent to kiss the back of her neck. Shane felt the first stir of desire. It was mild and wonderfully easy. Content, she remained still to allow herself the full enjoyment of being treasured. He was treating her like something fragile and precious. She wallowed in the new experience as he ranged soft kisses down her spine. Tension and tears were a world away from the Jenny Lind bed with a sagging mattress and worn linen sheets. The only reality now was Vance's sweet loving and the growing response of her pampered body.

He heard the subtle change in her breathing, the faint quickening, which meant relaxation was becoming desire. Still, he kept his hands easy, not wanting to rush her. The clock in the sitting room struck the hour again with low, ponderous bongs. Creakily the house settled around them with moans and groans. Vance heard little but Shane's deepening breathing.

The moonlight shivered over her skin, seeming to chase after his roaming hands. It only made him see more clearly how slender her back was, how slight the flare of her hips. Pressing his lips to her shoulder, he could smell the familiar lemon tang of her hair mixed with the lavender sachet lingering on the sheets. The room was washed in shadows.

Her cheek rested on the pillow, giving him a clear view of her profile. She might have been sleeping had it not been for the breath hurrying between her lips and the subtle movements her body was beginning to make. Still gentle, he turned her onto her back to press his mouth to hers.

Shane moaned, so lost in him she noticed no sound, no scent that didn't come from him. But his pace never altered, remaining slow and unhurried. He wanted her, God, yes, but felt no fierce, consuming drive. Love, much more than desire, pulled him to her. When he lowered his mouth to her breast, it was with such infinite tenderness that she felt a warmth, half glow, half ache, pour into her. His tongue began to turn the warmth into heat. She rose up but seemed to take the journey on a cloud.

With the same infinite care, he took his lips and hands over her. Her skin hummed at his touch but softly. There was no sweet pain in the passion he brought her, but such pleasure, such comfort, she desired him all the more. Her thoughts became wholly centered on her own body and the quiet delights he had awakened.

Though his lips might stray from hers to taste her neck or her cheek, they returned again and again. Her mindless answer, the husky breath that trembled into his mouth, had the fires roaring inside him. But he banked them. Tonight, she was porcelain. She was as fragile as the moonlight. He wouldn't allow his own passion and needs to overtake him, then find he had treated her roughly. Tonight he would forget her energy and strength and only think of her frailty.

And when he took her, the tenderness made her weep.

Chapter 12

In a thick, steady curtain, the snow fell. Already the road surface was slick. Trees had been quickly transformed from dark and stark to glittery. Vance's windshield wipers swept back and forth with the monotonous swish of rubber on glass. The snow brought him neither annoyance nor pleasure. He barely noticed it.

With a few phone calls and casual inquiries, he had learned enough about Anne Abbott—or Anna Cross, as she called herself professionally—to make his anger of the night before intensify. Shane's description had been too kind.

Anne had been through three turbulent marriages. Each had been a contact in the film industry. She had coolly bled each husband for as much as she could get before jumping into the next relationship. Her latest, Leslie Stuart, had proven a bit too clever for her—or his attorney had. She'd come out of her last marriage with nothing more than she had gone into it. And, as she had a penchant for the finer things, she was already badly in debt.

She worked sporadically—bit parts, walk-ons, an occasional commercial. Her talent was nominal, but her face had earned her a few lines in a couple of legitimate films. It might have earned her more had her temper and self-importance not interfered. She was tolerated more than liked by Hollywood society. Even the tolerance, it seemed, was due more to her various husbands and intermittent lovers than to herself. Vance's contacts had painted a picture of a beautiful, scheming woman with a streak of viciousness. He felt he already knew her.

As he drove through the rapidly falling snow, his thoughts centered on Shane. He'd held her through the night, soothing her when she became restless, listening when she needed to talk. The shattered expression in her eyes would remain with him for a long time to come. Even that morning, though she had tried to be cheerful, there'd been an underlying listlessness. And he sensed her unspoken fear that Anne would come back and put her through another emotional storm. Vance couldn't change what had happened, but he could take steps to protect her in the future. That was precisely what he intended to do.

Vance turned into the lot of the roadside motel and parked. For a moment, he only sat, watching the snow accumulate on the windshield. He had considered telling Shane he intended to see her mother, then had rejected the idea. She'd been so pale that morning. In any case, he didn't doubt she would have been against it—even violently opposed to it. She was a woman who insisted on solving her own problems. Vance respected that, even admired it, but in this instance he was going to ignore it.

Stepping out of the car, he walked across the slippery parking lot to find the office and the information he needed. Ten minutes later, he knocked on Anne Abbott's door.

The crease of annoyance between her brows altered into an expression of consideration when she saw Vance. He was certainly a very pleasant surprise. Vance eyed her coolly, discovering that Shane's description hadn't been exaggerated. She was lovely. Her face had a delicacy of bone and complexion complemented by the very deep blue eyes and mane of blond hair. Her body, clad in a clinging pink dressing gown, was ripe and rounded. Though her glittery fairness was the direct opposite of Amelia's sultry beauty, Vance knew instantly they were women of the same mold.

“Well, hello.” Her voice was languid and sulky, her eyes amused and appraising. Though he looked for it, Vance found not the slightest resemblance to her daughter. Overcoming a wave of disgust, he smiled in return. He had to get in the door.

“Hello, Ms. Cross.”

He saw instantly that the use of her stage name had been a wise move. She flashed him the full-power smile that was one of her best tools. “Do I know you?” She touched the pink tip of her tongue to her top lip. “There is something familiar about you, but I can't believe I'd forget your face.”

“Vance Banning, Ms. Cross,” he said, keeping his eyes on hers. “We have some mutual friends, the Hourbacks.”

“Oh, Tod and Sheila!” Though she couldn't abide them, Anne infused her voice with rich pleasure. “Isn't that marvelous! Oh, but you must come in. It's freezing out there. Appalling Eastern weather.” She closed the door behind him, then stood leaning back against it a moment. Perhaps, she mused, the hometown visit wouldn't be so boring after all. This was the best-looking thing to knock at her door for quite some time. And, if he knew the stuffy Hourbacks, chances were he'd have a few dollars as well. “Well, well, isn't it a small world,” she murmured, gently tucking a strand of delicate blond hair behind her ear. “How are Tod and Sheila? I haven't seen them for an age.”

“Fine when I last spoke to them.” Well aware where her thoughts were traveling, Vance smiled again, this time with cold amusement. “They mentioned that you were in town. I couldn't resist looking you up, Ms. Cross.”

“Oh, Anna, please,” she said graciously. With a sigh, she gave the room a despairing glance. “I must apologize for my accommodations, but I have some business nearby, and . . .” She gave a tiny shrug. “I'm forced to make do. I can offer you a drink, however, if you'll take bourbon.”

It was barely eleven, but Vance answered smoothly, “If it's not too much trouble.”

“None at all.” Anne glided to a small table. She felt particularly grateful that she had packed the silk dressing gown and hadn't yet drummed up the energy to change. It was, she knew, both becoming and alluring. A quick glance in the mirror as she poured assured her she looked perfect. Thank God she'd just finished putting on her makeup. “But tell me, Vance,” she continued, “what in the world are you doing in this dull little place? You're not a hometown boy, are you?”

“Business,” he said simply, nodding his thanks as she handed him a neat bourbon.

Anne's eyes narrowed a moment, then widened. “Oh, of course. How could I be so foolish!” She beamed at him as the wheels began to spin in her head. “I've heard Tod speak of you. Riverton Construction, right?”

“Right.”

“My, my, I am impressed.” Her tongue ran lightly over her teeth as she considered. “It's about the biggest in the country.”

“So I'm told,” he answered mildly, watching her eye him over the rim of her glass. Without much interest, he wondered how much bait she would toss out before she tried to reel him in. If it hadn't been for Shane, he might have enjoyed letting her make a fool of herself.

With her carefully languid grace, Anne sat on the edge of the bed. As she sipped again, she wondered how soon he would try to sleep with her and how much resistance she should feign before she obliged him. “Well, Vance, what can I do for you?”

Vance swirled the bourbon without drinking. He sent her a cool, direct stare. “Leave Shane alone.”

The change in her expression might have been comical under any other circumstances. She forgot herself long enough to gape at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Shane,” he repeated. “Your daughter.”

“I know who Shane is,” Anne said sharply. “What has she to do with you?”

“I'm going to marry her.”

Shock covered her face, then dissolved with her burst of laughter. “Little Shane? Oh, that's too funny. Don't tell me my cute little daughter caught herself a live one! I've underestimated her.” Tossing her head, she sent Vance a shrewed glance. “Or I overestimated you.”

Though his fingers tightened on the glass, he controlled his temper. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously mild. “Be careful, Anne.”

The look in his eye checked her laughter. “Well,” she continued with an unconcerned shrug, “so you want to marry Shane. What's that to me?”

“Not a damn thing.”

Masking both apprehension and irritation, Anne rose gracefully. “I suppose I should go congratulate my little girl on her luck.”

Vance took her arm. Though he applied no pressure, the meaning was very clear. “You'll do nothing of the kind. What you're going to do is pack your bags and get out.”

Enraged, Anne jerked away from him. “Who the hell do you think you are? You can't order me to leave.”

“Advise,” Vance corrected. “You'd be wise to take the suggestion.”

“I don't like the tone of your suggestion,” she retorted. “I intend to see my daughter—”

“Why?” Vance stopped her cold without raising his voice. “You won't get another dime, I promise you.”

“I haven't any idea what you're talking about,” Anne claimed with frigid dignity. “I don't know what nonsense Shane's been telling you, but—”

“You'd be wise to think carefully before you say any more,” Vance warned quietly. “I saw Shane shortly after you left her last night. She had to tell me very little before I got the picture.” He gave her a long, hard look. “I know you, Anne, every bit as well as you know yourself. There'll be no more money,” he continued when Anne fell silent. “You'd be smarter to cut your losses and go back to California. It would be a simple matter to stop payment on the check she's already given you.”

That annoyed her. Anne cursed herself for not getting up early and cashing the check before Shane thought better of it. “I have every intention of seeing my daughter.” She gave him a glittering smile. “And when I do, I'll have a few words to say to her about her choice of lovers.”

His eyes neither heated nor chilled, but became faintly bored. Nothing could have infuriated her more. “You won't see Shane again,” he corrected.

Under the silk, her lovely bust heaved. “You can't keep me from seeing my own daughter.”

“I can,” Vance countered, “and I will. If you contact her, if you try to wheedle another dollar out of her or hurt her in any way, I'll deal with you myself.”

Anne felt the first prickle of physical fear. Warily, she stepped back from him. “You wouldn't dare touch me.”

Vance gave a mirthless laugh. “Don't be too sure. I don't think it'll come to that though.” Casually, he set down the glass of liquor. “I have a number of contacts in the movie industry, Anne. Old friends, business associates, clients. A few words in the right ears, and what little career you have is out the window.”

“How dare you threaten me,” she began, both furious and afraid.

“Not a threat,” he assured her. “A promise. Hurt Shane again, and you'll pay for it. You're getting the best of the deal, Anne,” he added. “She doesn't have anything you want.”

Smoldering, she took a step toward him. “I have a right to my share. Whatever my grandmother had should be split fifty-fifty between Shane and me.”

He lifted a brow in speculation. “Fifty-fifty,” he said thoughtfully. “You must be desperate if you're willing to settle for that.” Without pity, he shrugged off her problems. “I won't waste my time arguing legalities with you, much less morals or ethics. Just accept that what Shane gave you yesterday is all you'll ever get.” With this he turned toward the door. In a last-ditch effort, Anne sank down on the bed and began to weep.

“Oh, Vance, you can't be so cruel.” She lifted an already tear-drenched face to his. “You can't mean to keep me from seeing my own daughter, my only child.”

He studied the beautiful tragic face, then gave a slight nod of approval. “Very good,” he commented. “You're a better actress than they give you credit for.” As he pulled the door to behind him, he heard the sound of smashing glass on the wood.

Springing up, Anne grabbed the second glass, then hurled it as well. No one,
no one
, she determined, was going to threaten her. Or mock her, she fumed, remembering the cool amusement in his eyes. She'd see he paid for it. Sitting back on the bed, she clenched her fists until she could bring her temper to order. She had to think. There had to be a way to get to Vance Banning. Riverton Construction, she reflected, closing her eyes as she concentrated. Had there been any scandal connected with the firm? Frustrated, she hurled her pillow across the room. She could think of nothing. What did she know about a stupid firm that built shopping centers and hospitals? It was all so boring, she thought furiously.

Grabbing the second pillow, she started to toss it as well when a sudden glimmer of memory arrested her. Scandal, she repeated. But not about the firm. There had been something . . . something a few years back. Just a few whispers at a party or two.
Damn!
she swore silently when her recollection took her no further. Sheila Hourback, Anne thought, tightening her lips. Maybe the stuffy old bird could be useful. Scrambling over the unmade bed, Anne reached for the phone.

***

Shane was busy detailing a skirmish of the Battle of Antietam for three eager boys when Vance walked in. She smiled at him, and he heard enthusiasm in her voice as she spoke, but she was still pale. That alone brushed away any doubts that he had done the right thing. She'd bounce back, he told himself as he wandered into the antique shop, because it was her nature to do so. But even someone as intrinsically strong as Shane could take only so much. Spotting Pat dusting glassware, he went over to her.

“Hi, Vance.” She sent him a quick, friendly grin. “How're you doing?”

“I'm fine.” He cast a look over his shoulder to be certain Shane was still occupied. “Listen, Pat, I wanted to talk to you about that dining room set.”

“Oh yeah. There was some mix-up about that. I still haven't gotten it straight. Shane said—”

“I'm going to buy it.”

“
You?
” Her initial surprise turned into embarrassment. Vance grinned at her, however, and her cheeks cooled.

“For Shane,” he explained. “For Christmas.”

“Oh, that's so sweet!” The romance of it appealed to her immediately. “It was her grandmother's, you know. She just loves it.”

“I know, and she's determined to sell it.” Idly, he picked up a china demitasse cup. “I'm just as determined to buy it for her. She won't let me.” He gave Pat a conspirator's wink. “But she can hardly turn down a Christmas present, can she?”