First Impressions by Nora Roberts
darkness. After making a quick circle of the lower floor, he went upstairs. At once he caught the scent of cooking. But the kitchen was empty. Absently turning off the oven, Vance went back into the hall. The thought struck him that she might have lain down after closing the shop and had simply fallen asleep. Amused more than concerned now, he walked quietly into her bedroom. All the amusement fled when he saw her curled up in the chair.
Though the room was in darkness, there was enough moonlight to make her out clearly. She wasn’t asleep, but was curled up tightly with her head resting on the arm of the chair. He’d never seen her like that. His first thought was that she looked lost; then he corrected himself. Stricken. There was no innate vivacity in her eyes, and her face glowed palely in the silvery light of the moon. He might have thought her ill, but something told him that even in illness Shane wouldn’t lose all of her spark. The thought ran through his mind in only seconds before he crossed the room to her. She made no sign that she saw him, nor was there any response when he spoke her name again. Vance knelt in front of her and took her chilled hands.
“Shane.”
For a moment, she stared at him blankly. Then, as though a dam had burst, desperate emotion flooded her eyes. “Vance,” she said brokenly, throwing her arms around his neck. “Oh, Vance.”
She trembled violently, but didn’t weep. The tears were dry as stone inside her. With her face pressed into his shoulder, she clung to him, breaking out of the numbed shock which had followed her earlier bout of tears. It was the warmth of him that made her realize how cold she had been. Without questions, with both strength and sweetness he held her to him.
“Vance, I’m so glad you’re here. I need you.”
The words struck him more forcibly than even her declaration of love. Up to that moment he had been almost uncomfortably aware that his needs far outweighed hers. Now it seemed there was something he could do for her, if it was only to listen.
“What happened, Shane?” Gently he drew her away only far enough to look into her eyes. “Can you tell me?”
She drew a raw breath, making him eloquently aware of the effort it cost her to speak. “My mother.”
With his fingertips, he brushed the tousled hair from her cheeks. “Is she ill?”
“No!” It was a quick, furious explosion. The violence of the denial surprised him, but he took her agitated hands in his.
“Tell me what happened.”
“She came,” Shane managed, then fought to compose herself.
“Your mother came here?” he prompted.
“Near closing time. I didn’t expect … She didn’t come for the funeral or answer my letter.” Her hands twisted in his, but Vance kept them in a gentle grip.
“This is the first time you’ve seen her since your grandmother died?” he asked. His voice was calm and quiet. Shane’s eyes were still for a moment as she met his eyes directly.
“I haven’t seen Anne in over two years,” she said flatly. “Since she married her publicity agent. They’re divorced now, so she came back.” Shaking her head, Shane drew in a breath. “She almost made me believe she cared. I thought we could talk to each other. Really talk.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “It was all an act, all the tears and grief. She sat there begging me to understand, and I believed—” Breaking off again, she shuddered with the effort of continuing. “She didn’t come because of Gran or because of me.” When she opened her eyes again Vance saw they were dull with pain. With a savage effort he kept his voice calm.
“Why did she come, Shane?”
Because her breathing was jerky again, she took a moment to answer. “Money,” she said flatly. “She thought there would be money. She was furious that Gran left everything to me, and she wouldn’t believe me when I told her how little there had been. I should have known!” she said in a quick rage, which then almost immediately subsided. “I did know.” Her shoulders slumped as though she bore an intolerable weight. “I’ve always known. She’s never cared about anyone. I’d hoped there might be some feeling in her for Gran, but … When she came running up here to paw through my papers, I said horrible things. I can’t be sorry that I did.” Tears sprang to her eyes, only to be swiftly controlled. “I gave her half of what’s left and made her leave.”
“You gave her money?” Vance demanded, incredulous enough to interrupt.
Shane gave him a weary look. “Gran would have given it to her. She’s still my mother.”
Disgust and rage rose in his throat. It took all the willpower he had not to give in to it. His anger wouldn’t help Shane. “She’s not your mother, Shane,” he said matter-of-factly. When she opened her mouth to speak, he shook his head and continued. “Biologically, yes, but you’re too smart to think that means anything. Cats have kittens too, Shane.” He tightened his grip when he saw the flicker of pain on her face. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to hurt you.”
“No. No, you’re right.” Her hands went limp again as she let out a sigh. “The truth is, I very rarely think of her. Whatever feelings I have for her are mostly because Gran loved her. And yet …”
“And yet,” he finished, “you make yourself sick with guilt.”
“How can it be natural to want her to stay away?” Shane demanded in a rush. “Gran—”
“Your grandmother might have felt differently, might have given her money out of a sense of obligation. But think, who did she leave everything to? Everything important to her?”
“Yes, yes, I know, but …”
“When you think of the meaning of ‘mother,’ Shane, who comes to your mind?”
She stared at him. This time when the tears gathered, they brimmed over. Without a word, she dropped her head back onto his shoulder. “I told her I didn’t love her. I meant it, but …”
“You don’t owe her anything.” He drew her closer. “I know something about guilt, Shane, about letting it tear at you. I won’t let you do that to yourself.”
“I told her to stay away from me.” She gave a long, weary sigh. “I don’t think she will.”
Vance remained silent for a moment. “Is that what you want?”
“Oh God, yes.”
He pressed his lips to her temple before lifting her into his arms. “Come on, you’re exhausted. Lie down for a while and sleep.”
“No, I’m not tired,” she lied as her lids fluttered down. “I just have a headache. And dinner’s—”
“I turned off the oven,” he told her as he carried her to the bed. “We’ll eat later.” After flipping down the quilt, he bent to lay Shane between the cool sheets. “I’ll go get you some aspirin.” He slipped off her shoes, but as he started to pull the quilt over her, Shane took his hand.
“Vance, would you just … stay with me?”
Touching the back of his hand to her cheek, he smiled at her. “Sure.” As soon as he had pulled off his boots, he slipped into bed beside her. “Try to sleep,” he murmured, gathering her close. “I’ll be right here.”
He heard her long, quiet sigh, then felt the feather-brush of her lashes against his shoulder as her eyes shut.
How long they lay still, he had no idea. Though the grandfather clock which stood in Shane’s sitting room struck the hour once, Vance paid no attention. She wasn’t trembling anymore, nor was her skin chilled. Her breathing was slow and even. The fingers that absently soothed at her temple were gentle, but his thoughts were not.
No one, nothing, was ever going to put that look on Shane’s face again. He would see to it. He lay staring at the ceiling as he thought out the best way to deal with Anne Abbott. He’d let the money go, because that’s the way Shane wanted it. But he couldn’t resign himself to allowing her to deal with a constant emotional drain. Nothing had ever wrenched at him like the sight of her pale, shocked face or pain-filled eyes.
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 si
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 Twelve
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 informatio
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.”