Читать книгу My Love At Last - Donna Hill - Страница 10

Chapter 1

Tall, dark, sleek. He stood framed in the doorway. He was clad in all black that only served to emphasize the sensual intensity that wafted around him like musical notes. She watched him, hypnotized by the way his long fingers wrapped around the glass that he lifted to his mouth. He swallowed and could taste the warm amber liquid as it slid down his throat. Sensing his prey, he turned his head slowly in her direction. She should have looked away but she didn’t move. His dark, deep-set eyes sucked her into a vortex of heat that raised the hair on the back of her neck. His mouth, that full, lush mouth, flickered ever so slightly. His eyes settled on her over the rim of his glass and he tipped it subtly in her direction. Her nipples puckered against the fabric of her bra. She shifted her body, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away. A woman crossed her line of vision and played up to him, touching his arm with familiarity, laughing and smiling. She linked her arm through his and they walked out to the back lawn, where the party was in full swing.

Olivia Gray sucked in air, catching the breath that had escaped her. She felt warm all over and her throat was as dry as if she’d slept with her mouth open. She plucked a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter and took a much-needed swallow.

“Having a good time?”

Olivia blinked, turned toward the voice of her hostess. “Yes, Melanie, thanks for inviting me.”

Melanie Harte, owner of The Platinum Society, an elite matchmaking service, was legendary in Sag Harbor for her amazing parties. This one was no exception. “I make it a point that all the newcomers to the Harbor feel welcome and get to know each other.” Her gaze followed the direction of Olivia’s. “His name is Connor Lawson,” she said quietly, with a gleam of knowing in her light eyes.

Olivia flushed. “Who?”

Melanie’s laughter tinkled like fine crystal. “I’m very good at what I do, Olivia, and I know a connection when I see one. The electricity between the two of you lit up the room.” She stepped closer and turned to face Olivia. “I think that an introduction is in order. You both have a lot in common.” She lifted her chin toward the back door. “Lydia won’t hold his attention long. She’s not his type.”

“How do you know all this?”

Melanie sipped her champagne. “Do you want to meet him or not?”

Olivia’s lips parted. “All right.”

They crossed the expanse of the living room, with Melanie stopping every few feet to say a word or make introductions among her guests. She finally stepped outside, scanned the gathering on the lawn. The well-dressed guests lounged at the tables dotting the manicured grass or chatted in tight conversation groups.

“Over there,” Melanie said. She walked in the direction of Connor, who was leaning against a willow tree listening to Lydia.

Olivia followed closely, casually looking about and casting a smile here and there to keep her mind off the next few steps, which would land her right in front of Connor Lawson.

“Connor.” Melanie slid up to him and possessively draped her arm around his waist. “I see Lydia is monopolizing all of your time.” She flashed a false smile at Lydia while she smoothly angled herself between the two of them. “How are you enjoying yourself, Lydia?”

“Wonderful as always.”

“I do want to talk with you about a few things.”

Lydia’s finely arched brows rose in question. “Oh.”

“Excuse my manners. Connor Lawson, this is Dr. Olivia Gray. She’s here from New York on a research project. And you’re working on the restoration of the homestead, right?”

“I am.” He turned the full wattage of his maleness on Olivia.

Her breath hitched. The air around them crackled.

“What are you researching?” he asked her. He pulled her in with his bottomlessness voice.

“The origins of the African-American families of Sag Harbor.” Her own sketchy beginnings might be buried here, but no one needed to know that.

Moonlight pinged the dark orbs of his eyes. “Perhaps we can compare notes.”

“I think that’s a great plan,” Melanie said. “Why don’t you two work out those details while Lydia and I talk about that thing.” She hooked her arm through Lydia’s and ushered her away before she could form the words of protest.

Connor rolled his gaze toward Olivia, and she turned the energy right back on him. The corner of his mouth quirked into a grin. “You have a New York vibe.”

“And what kind of vibe would that be?”

He took a swallow of his drink. “Sophisticated. Savvy. Sexy.”

The bud between her legs twitched in response. “Do you say that to all the girls from New York?”

“Only the special ones.”

Olivia raked her bottom lip with her teeth.

Connor studied the erotic move and wondered if she was intentionally trying to turn him on. It wouldn’t take much. He’d felt the rise for her the instant he spotted her across the room.

“Melanie said you’re doing restoration work. The Homestead?” she said, shifting the tone and direction of the conversation.

He slid his free hand into his pocket to keep from touching her. “One of the original string of cabins. Challenging work. There’s a lot of history buried out there. Every day is a treasure hunt.”

Olivia felt his energy and his passion from the pitch of his voice and the spark in his eyes. He loved what he did, and she knew that he was good at it. He would be good at anything he did.

“I’d love to see it...what you’re working on. I’m sure it would help me with my own work.”

“We’ll have to work that out, and then you can tell me all about your research.” His eyes snaked over her, teasing her flesh. Was her skin as silky as it looked encased in that body-hugging royal blue? His jaw clenched. And those legs...wrapped around his back.

She brought her glass to her lips. “What got you involved in restoration?”

“Long story.” For the first time his steady gaze wavered. He shifted his body weight. “What about you? What kind of doctor are you?”

“Anthropologist.”

His right brow flicked in admiration. “Beauty and brains.”

Her black lashes lowered over her lids. “How long is your story?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you about it over dinner.”

Her brown eyes settled on his face. “Are you asking me out, Mr. Lawson?”

“All my friends call me Connor. And yes, in answer to your question, I’m asking you to join me for drinks and dinner.”

Why did it sound like so much more, or was it only her libido talking?

“There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Olivia glanced over her bare right shoulder and smiled. “Desiree. Sorry. Melanie whisked me away.”

“I see you’ve met Connor.” She stepped up to him and kissed his cheek. “I hope you haven’t been using that naughty Lawson charm of yours on Olivia.”

Connor grinned, baring a flash of even white teeth. “I never thought of myself as naughty. We were having a very intense business discussion.” He slid his gaze toward Olivia. “Isn’t that right?”

“All business.”

Her lips pursed ever so slightly, and he had every intention of tasting them before the night was over.

Desiree looked from one to the other. “Hmm. Well, Lincoln and I are leaving soon,” she said to Olivia. “Ready?”

“Oh...okay.” Olivia made a move as if to leave.

“I’d be happy to drive you home if you aren’t ready now.”

Olivia flashed him a look. Did she need to be hemmed up with him in a car, with the irrational way her body was reacting to him? “If you’re sure you don’t mind?”

His eyes narrowed. “Looking forward to it.”

“Then, I will see you two later,” Desiree said. She squeezed Olivia’s upper arm and wagged a warning finger at Connor. “Play nice.”

“Always.” He winked.

Desiree chuckled and went in search of her husband, Lincoln.

“You’re staying at The Port?” Connor asked.

“Yes. I am.”

“My cousin-in-law Layla runs the spa over there.”

Olivia brightened as the pieces clicked in place. “You’re related to Maurice and Layla?”

“Maurice is my first cousin.”

“You get discounts on the massages?”

“No. But I give pretty good massages.” Connor tipped his head to the side and looked at her from beneath a veil of thick lashes. “So I’ve been told.”

Her heart thumped.

“Walk?”

She gave a slight shrug. “Sure.”

He placed his hand at the small of her back, right above the rise of her very round derriere. He took a quick peek. Lovely.

She felt the heated imprint of his palm, wanted it lower. Warmth spread between her inner thighs.

Connor guided her away from the house and across the slope toward the beach. The rushing sound of the ocean rolling toward the shore and beating against the rocks grew stronger.

“How long have you been here?” Connor asked.

“Just about three weeks.”

“Surprised we haven’t met sooner.”

“I’ve been buried in notes and journals since I arrived. Desiree convinced me that I needed a break and got me invited here tonight.”

“I’ll have to thank Desiree.”

“For what?”

“For realizing that you needed to take a break. Otherwise think of all the time wasted before we would’ve met.”

Everything he said was an invitation. He kept opening the door, waiting for her to step through. She wouldn’t be that easy. Not now. Not just yet. “What about you? How long have you been here?”

“Almost a year. I got commissioned to work on the restoration last summer.”

“What are some of the other projects you’ve worked on?”

“Hmm, brownstones on Strivers Row, theaters, African burial grounds in Manhattan...” He shrugged. “Things like that. What about you?”

“I’ve visited the burial grounds and examined the remains. It was quite surreal to realize who those people were...our ancestors,” she said with quiet reverence. “How did you get started?”

He was thoughtful for a moment, looked skyward. “The incident that pushed me was when I took a trip to Goree Island in Senegal during my first year in college.”

“Incredible place,” she enthused. She stopped, bent down and took off her shoes. She looped the straps over her fingers.

Connor followed suit as they approached the sandy beach. “How long is your project?”

“Much of it depends on what I find.” She tilted her head toward him for a moment, then looked away. The sand was warm beneath her feet. She flexed her toes, letting the grains run over and between them. “This feels good.”

“What night are you free?”

“Free?”

“For drinks and dinner.”

“Oh. Umm, Tuesday,” she said randomly.

“Eight good for you.” It wasn’t really a question.

“Yes. Eight sounds fine.” His scent drifted to her. Her lids fluttered.

“Let me know when you’re ready.”

Ready. There was that tone of invitation again, skidding up her spine.

“I could stay out here until sunrise,” she said, wistfully gazing out to the horizon. “But—” she angled her head toward him “—I do have a busy day tomorrow.”

Connor placed his hand at the dip in her back again. She sucked in air.

“Then, I’d better get you home.”

* * *

“I really appreciate this,” Olivia said while she fastened her seat belt. The entire interior of the vehicle held his scent, something hunky and sensual that she couldn’t quite name but wanted more of.

“Not a problem. Besides—” he put the car in gear “—I was ready to leave. These gatherings aren’t really my thing.”

“I would have never thought that.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a half grin. “Why not?”

She recalled the way Lydia had clung to him, the way the women in the room reacted when he passed, his relaxed demeanor. “You seemed in your element. Comfortable.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” he said. “As we both know from the work we do.” He tossed her an amused look.

“Hmm, true,” she conceded. “So why isn’t it your thing?”

“Let’s just say that the Lawson legacy is steeped in ‘gatherings.’ Instead of sleepovers or street games or sports with your friends, we were indoctrinated in the art of ‘climbing the social ladder’ through an endless stream of things like tonight.”

The jaded tone of his voice was not lost on Olivia.

“I’d want to go hang out with my friends, drink, smoke, stuff that teens do, but I would be corralled along with my siblings and cousins to attend galas and coming-out parties and political fund-raisers.” He pushed out a sigh. “So, yeah, I guess you could say that I appeared to be in my element. It’s second nature. I can move through these things with my eyes closed.” He turned his head toward her. “Then there you were.”

A shiver raced through her system, halting her breath for a hot second. She didn’t respond. She couldn’t.

“And no...I don’t say that to all the girls,” he said, with a wink and a smile that loosened the knot in her throat.

“That’s what all the boys say,” she teased back.

“Touché.”

They pulled onto the property of The Port.

“I’m on the end. At the top of the ridge.”

Connor made the turn and continued on the short winding road.

“It’s the one on the right.”

He pulled up in front of her cottage and cut the engine.

Olivia’s pulse kicked up a notch.

Connor opened his door and came around to open hers. He took her hand to help her to her feet. Only air separated them when she stood. She was forced to look up or stare at the three opened buttons of his black shirt. Staring into the dark depths of his eyes was worse. She felt as if she was falling until his arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her flush against him. Then the world disappeared. The hard lines of his body met her curves, and then he kissed her. Whatever sense she’d had of standing on solid ground was gone.

Olivia hungered after the pillow-soft yet firm feel of his luscious lips. The lingering sweet heat from his drink lingered on his mouth. Her tongue peeked out to take just a small taste, which set off a low rumble in his throat. His fingers pressed into the curve of her spine. Then, just as quickly as it had happened, it ended.

Connor took a step back, braced her waist with his hands. He tilted his head toward her front door. “You should go inside.” His voice was so low, so deep and ragged that it reverberated inside her.

Olivia nodded. She stepped out of his light hold, walked around him and toward her front door. She took a look over her shoulder. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Tuesday. Eight.” He got back in his car, waited for her to step inside and then pulled off.

Olivia closed the door behind her, rested her back against the door and squeezed her eyes shut. She licked the taste of him off her bottom lip. “Connor Lawson. Damn, damn, damn.”