Читать книгу My Love At Last - Donna Hill, Donna Hill - Страница 12
Оглавление“So...what do you think of Connor Lawson?” Desiree asked. She stuck her fork in the chicken salad and took a mouthful.
Olivia took a sip of her tea. “He’s...nice enough.”
Desiree nearly choked. “Nice enough. You. Are. Kidding. Right?”
Olivia laughed. “What do you want me to say, Desi?”
“I saw the two of you together at the party. There was definitely chemistry.”
“I think you’re imagining things.”
“Hmm. And my name is Don’t Know Any Better.”
Olivia pushed out a feigned sigh. “Okay, okay, you twisted my arm. The man is fine. All caps. Sexy seeps from his pores and he’s smart. Lethal combination. Would I kick him out of my bed? I don’t think so,” she added with a grin. “We’re going to dinner tonight. So...we’ll see.” She gave a half shrug.
“That’s more like it. Where are you going?”
“I have no idea.” She picked up her chicken panino. “He didn’t say, just that he was going to pick me up between seven and seven thirty.”
Desiree leaned in. “Connor doesn’t date.”
“What?” Olivia frowned in confusion.
Desiree tilted her head to the side. “Connor is... How can I say this...”
“Just say it.”
Desiree pursed her lips a moment before responding. “He’s noncommittal. He may meet a woman at a party or a restaurant, but he doesn’t do the ‘date’ thing. At least not in all the time he’s been here.” Her brows rose for emphasis.
“So...what are you telling me...exactly?”
“I’m saying that I think he likes you.”
Olivia playfully rolled her eyes. “You’re reading waaay too much into a simple dinner.”
“Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
* * *
After lunch at The Port with Desiree, Olivia treated herself to a mani-pedi, followed by a stop at the local boutique. The bulk of her wardrobe was jeans, T-shirts and one dress fit for a corporate meeting, not a date with the hottest guy in town. But since she had no idea where they were going or what was de rigueur, she opted for the can’t-go-wrong simple black dress with a cap sleeve, V-neckline that offered a hint of the gems beneath, and the hem just above her knees. The fabric was simple jersey that subtly cupped her curves. Her one pair of black dress shoes with a modest two-inch heel would do fine.
Olivia turned from side to side in front of the mirror and was pleased with her reflection, although she often wondered if she resembled anyone. Did she have her mother’s wide doe-shaped eyes or her father’s narrow nose? Whose genes had given her the tiny cleft in her chin? Was her nut-brown complexion a family trait? Did wild springy curls run in the family? As much as she wanted to stop asking the litany of questions, she never could. The answers were always out of her reach. She leaned forward and added a bit of bronze-toned lip gloss, then gave her naturally long lashes a couple of swipes of mascara.
Her cell phone shimmied across the dresser top. She snatched it up and pressed the green phone icon.
“Hello.”
“Hey. I should be to you in about ten minutes. Ready?”
“Just about. See you then.”
Olivia set the phone down and noticed that her hand was shaking every so slightly, as a warm flush, the kind you feel from good liquor, moved through her. She inhaled deeply, took her phone and keys from the dresser and dropped them both in her purse, smoothed her dress and then walked up front. For a few moments she practiced walking back and forth across the living room floor of her cottage rental. Walking and balancing in heels was a far cry from her sneakers and work shoes.
