First Impressions

listening. She was rooting through the cupboards, clattering something. Water was running. The scent of bacon grew stronger. How long, he wondered, had he waited to feel this way?
Complete.
He hadn’t known he had been waiting, but he did know what he had found. She filled the emptiness that had nagged at him for years, healed an old, festering wound. She was all the answers to all the questions.
    And what would he bring her? his conscience demanded. Vance closed his eyes. He knew himself too well to pretend he would give her a smooth, serene life. His temper was too volatile, his responsibilities too intrusive. Even with adjustments to both, he could paint her no soft pastoral scene. His life, past, present and future, had too many complications. Even this, their first night together, would have to be marred by one of his ghosts. He had to tell her about Amelia. There was a burst of rage followed by a prickle of fear.
    No, he wouldn’t accept the fear, he told himself as he rose quickly from the bed. Nothing, no one was going to interfere with him. No shadow of a dead wife or demands of a hungry business were going to take her from him. She was strong, he reminded himself, trying to override the apprehension. He could make her see his past as it was—something that had happened before her. It might shock her to learn he was president of a multimillion-dollar firm, but she could hardly be displeased once it was out in the open. He would tell Shane everything and wipe the slate clean. When it was done, he could ask her to marry him. If he had to make professional adjustments, he’d make them. He had sacrificed his own youthful dream for the good of the company, but he wouldn’t sacrifice Shane.
    As he pulled on his jeans, Vance tried to work out the best way to tell her and, perhaps more important, to explain why he had yet to tell her.
    ***
    Shane added a dash of thyme to the canned soup she was heating. She rose on her bare toes to reach for a bowl on the shelf, the hem of Vance’s shirt skimming her naked thighs. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks flushed. Vance stood for a moment in the doorway watching her.
    Then in three strides, he was behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in the curve of her neck. “I love you,” he murmured in a low, fierce whisper. “God, how I love you.”
    Before she could answer, he spun her around to take her mouth with his. Both stunned and aroused, Shane clung to him as her knees buckled. But she met the kiss with equal passion with soft, willing lips until he slowly drew her away. As the flame mellowed to a glow, Vance looked down at her and smiled.
    “Any time you want to drive me crazy, just put on one of my shirts.”
    “If I’d known the kind of results I’d get, I’d have done it 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