First Impressions by Nora Roberts Page A

eyes directly on his, hoping the fury there would kill the urge to giggle. But the sight of his mud-splattered face had her sides aching with restrained mirth. She hung her head, ostensibly from shame.
    “I’d like to know who the hell told you you could drive,” Vance went on furiously. “And what person with a brain cell working would have parked the car in a swamp to begin with?”
    “It was my grandmother’s garden,” Shane managed in a strangled voice. “But you’re right. You’re absolutely right. I’m so sorry, really . . .” She broke off here as a gurgle of laughter rose dangerously. Clearing her throat, she hurried on. “Sorry, Vance. It was very”—she had to look over his head in order to compose herself—“careless of me.”
    “Careless!”
    “Stupid,” she amended quickly, thinking that might placate him. “Absolutely stupid. I’m really sorry.” Helplessly, she pressed both hands to her mouth, but the giggles came through. “I
am
sorry,” she insisted, giving up as he glared at her. “I don’t mean to laugh. It’s terrible.” Dizzy with the effort of trying to hold back, Shane bent over double. “Really awful,” she added on a howl of laughter.
    “Since you think it looks like fun . . .” he muttered grimly, and grabbed her hand. Shane landed on her seat with a gentle splash and kept on laughing.
    “I didn’t—I didn’t thank you,” she said on a peal of giggles, “for getting my car out.”
    “Think nothing of it.” Most women, he mused, would have been infuriated to find themselves sitting in a pile of mud. Shane was laughing just as hard at herself as she had at him. His grin was completely unexpected and spontaneous. “Brat,” he accused, but Shane shook her head.
    “Oh no, no I’m not, really.” She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “It’s just this terrible habit of laughing at the wrong time. Because I really am sorry.” The last word was drowned in a flood of laughter.
    “I can see you are.”
    “Anyway, I didn’t get it
all
over you.” Scooping up some mud, she wiped it across his cheek. “I missed that part right there.” She made a little choking sound in her throat. “That’s much better,” she approved.
    “You aren’t wearing nearly enough,” Vance returned. He trailed both muddy palms down her face. Trying to avoid him, Shane slid, ending up flat on her back. Vance’s boom of laughter broke into her shriek. “Much better,” he agreed, then spotting the handful of mud she was about to heave, he made a grab for her arm. “Oh, no, you don’t!”
    As he laughed, she shifted. Vance landed half on his chest, half on his side. With a muttered curse, he propped himself up, studying her out of narrowed eyes.
    “City boy,” she mocked on a whoop of appreciation. “Probably never been in a mud fight in your life.” She was too pleased with her maneuver to see the next one coming.
    In a flash, Vance had her by the shoulders. Rolling her over, he straddled her, holding a hand to the back of her head. Lying full length, Shane looked wide-eyed at the mud inches away from her face.
    “Oh, Vance, you
wouldn’t!
” The helpless laughter bubbled still as she struggled.
    “The hell I wouldn’t.” He pushed her face an inch closer.
    “Vance!” Though she was slippery as an eel by this time, Vance held her firmly, clamping his knees around her while his hand urged her down. As the distance between revenge and her nose lessened, Shane closed her eyes and held her breath.
    “Give?” he demanded.
    Cautiously, Shane opened one eye. She hesitated a moment, torn between the desire to win and the image of having her face pushed into the mud. She didn’t doubt he’d do it. “Give,” she said reluctantly.
    Abruptly, Vance rolled her over so that she lay in his lap. “City boy, huh?”
    “You wouldn’t have won if I weren’t out of practice,” she told him. “It was just beginner’s luck.”
    Her eyes were mocking him. Her