First Impressions by Nora Roberts

that he could passionately kiss her one second and turn his back on her the next? Miserably, she looked down at her clenched hands. She had always made too much of things, she reminded herself. A romantic? Yes, and a dreamer, her grandmother had called her. For too long she’d been waiting for the right man to come into her life, to complete it. She wanted to be cherished, respected, adored.
    Perhaps, she mused, she was looking for the impossible—to keep her independence and to share her dreams, to stand on her own and have a strong hand to hold. Over and over she had warned herself to stop looking for that one perfect love. But her spirit defied her mind.
    From the first instant, she had sensed something different about Vance. For the flash of a second when their eyes had first held, her heart had opened and shouted.
Here he is!
But that was nonsense, Shane reminded herself. Love meant understanding, knowledge. She neither knew nor understood Vance Banning.
    With a jolt, she realized she might have offended him. She was going to be his employer, and the way she had kissed him . . . he might think she wanted more than carpentry for her money. He might think she intended to seduce him while dangling a few much-needed dollars under his nose.
    Abruptly, she burst into laughter. As her mirth grew, she threw back her head and pounded both fists on the table. Shane Abbott, seductress. Oh Lord! she thought, wiping tears of hilarity from her eyes. That was rich. After all, what red-blooded man could withstand a woman with dirt on her face who tries to punch holes in walls?
    She sighed with the effort of laughing. Her imagination, she decided, needed a rest. Shane went back to her inventory.

Chapter 4
    Vance couldn’t sleep. He had worked until late in the evening, sweating off anger and frustrated desire. The anger didn’t worry him. He knew that emotion too well to lose sleep over it. Neither was he a stranger to desire, but having to acknowledge he felt it for a snippy little history buff infuriated him . . . and made him restless.
    He should never have agreed to take the job, he told himself yet again. What devil had provoked him into doing it? Annoyed with himself, Vance wandered outside to stand on the porch.
    The air had cooled considerably with nightfall. Overhead, the stars were spread in a wide, brilliant pattern around a white half-moon. Venus was as clear as he’d ever seen it. An army of crickets sent out their high, monotonous signal while fireflies danced, tiny yellow lights, over the fallow field to his right. When he looked straight ahead, he could see to the edge of the trees but no farther. The woods were dark, mysterious, secret. Shane slept on the other side in a room with faded wallpaper and a Jenny Lind bed.
    He imagined her cuddled under the wedding ring quilt he’d seen on the bed. Her window would be open to let in the sounds and scents of night. Did she sleep in one of those fussy cotton nightgowns that would cover her from neck to feet, he wondered, or would she slip under the quilt in solitary nakedness?
    Furious with the direction of his thoughts, Vance cursed himself. No, he should never have taken the damn job. It had appealed to his ego and his humor. Six dollars an hour. He laughed shortly, startling an owl in a nearby tree. Leaning on a post, he continued to stare into the woods, seeing nothing but silhouettes and shadows.
    When was the last time he’d worked for an hourly wage? To answer his own question, Vance looked back, trying to remember. Fifteen years? Good God, he thought with a shake of his head. Had so much time passed?
    He’d been a teenager starting out at the bottom of his mother’s highly successful construction firm. “Learn the ropes,” she had told him, and he’d eagerly agreed. Vance had wanted nothing more than to work with his hands, and with wood. He’d had his share of youthful confidence—and youthful arrogance. Administration was for old men in business