My Love At Last. Donna Hill

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      She ran her fingers through her damp hair. Yes, that was what she’d do. Screw his brains out and then she could think clearly.

      The door pushed open. Connor stood in the doorway with the darkened sky as his backdrop, and the raw, animal energy that pushed out of his pores was palpable. His shirt was soaked and clung to the hard outline of his chest, the concave slope of his belly. She wouldn’t look any farther. She didn’t dare.

      Connor wiped water from his face. “It’s getting pretty messy out there. I need to hang around until they’re done with the emergency work. You should probably head on out.”

      To Olivia’s ears he didn’t sound very convincing about why she should leave. Her heart thumped and thumped. “Um, how long do you think they’ll be?”

      “An hour, maybe less. They’re working fast. Fortunately they got started just before it really started coming down. Now it’s a matter of securing what they’ve put up.”

      “I’m not really in a hurry.” She gave a slight shrug of her left shoulder.

      He hesitated for a moment, weighed the options. “I guess I could show you some of the other structures if you don’t mind getting wet.”

      “Not at all.”

      “Come on. I’ll show you where the property begins...at least where we think it does.” He walked to the door and held it open.

      Olivia gathered her things, stuck her camera back in her bag and walked toward him. She stopped in the doorway and was reminded once again of the pure virility of the man when the top of her head brushed beneath his chin and her shoulder came in contact with the rock hard chest. Tremors skittered along her spine and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

      Connor snatched up an umbrella that was leaning against the wall, stepped out and popped it open. “Don’t want you to get too wet.”

      Olivia licked away the retort with a swipe of her tongue. She was already wet in ways that he could only imagine. “Thanks,” she said instead, and ducked under the offered shelter, closing the space between them.

      Connor guided her along the roughed-out path that led to a row of what could barely be called buildings. They were the equivalent of children’s drawings, sitting at odd angles due to years of the makeshift foundations sinking into the ground. Doors were askew or missing altogether. Some structures reminded her of Halloween jack-o-lanterns, with dark cutouts for the missing windows and gouged-out ragged steps that appeared to laugh at the observers. But Olivia knew that the exterior was only the pathway to hidden treasures beyond the weather-beaten walls.

      They stopped at the roofers’ truck.

      “We should be done in about another twenty minutes or so, Mr. Lawson,” the foreman said. “Your men did a good job of getting the temporary tarp up. We’re finishing with the sealing and checking for leaks. When you’re ready we’ll be back for something more permanent.”

      “Thanks, Bobby. Oh, this is Dr. Olivia Gray. She’s doing some research so you may run into her again.”

      Bobby tugged off his glove and stuck out his hand. “Pleasure. What kind of doctor?”

      “Anthropologist.”

      A cloud of confusion moved across his face, which was crisscrossed with lines from years of working under the beating sun. “Sounds important.”

      Olivia smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

      Connor cupped Olivia’s elbow and guided her toward another of the buildings.

      “Watch yourself coming up the steps,” he warned. He extended his hand to help her and sent a jolt of something tingly racing up her arm when his fingers wrapped around hers.

      Olivia sidestepped a gaping hole and hopped up the last step. Connor opened the door.

      The interior was dim, the barest hint of light inching through a sliver of space between the slatted wood walls. The odd shapes of old furnishings draped in sheets and dust cast cartoonish images on the walls and hard-packed dirt floor.

      Connor flipped a switch and the portable floodlight pushed soft white light into the space, throwing every object into sharp relief.

      Olivia’s eyes adjusted and she was instantly taken back hundreds of years. In the corner, the old wood-burning stove still held the huge cast-iron pot waiting to be filled. Spectral images moved around the square room, carrying wood, sweeping the floors, laughing, kissing, arguing. Children played and babies cried.

      Olivia jumped when Connor touched her arm. She blinked and it was only the two of them.

      “You okay?”

      She swallowed and focused on his expression of concern, the way his sleek dark brows drew close. That was when she realized that her heart was racing. “Yes. Fine. This all feels a bit surreal.”

      He pushed out a breath. “I know exactly what you mean. I felt the same way the first time I came into this room. I felt a presence, a warmth.”

      “Exactly!” She wouldn’t tell him that she swore she’d seen images of the former inhabitants. She didn’t what him to think that she was crazy. She didn’t want to think that she was crazy. “It’s all so amazing.” She walked around the space, ran her hand along the knobby wood, stooped down to get a better look at the stone hearth.

      Connor stepped back into the shadows of the room to better watch her movements. He leaned against the wall, studied the precision and economy of everything that she did and wondered what she would be like under his touch. Would she forego her efficiency and take her time, let him take his time? He didn’t want her perfect. He wanted her raw and real, no holds barred.

      The sound of clicking and soft flashes of light snapped him to attention.

      “Hope you don’t mind,” Olivia said, as she moved fluidly around the space, snapping photos. “Couldn’t resist.” She swung around in his direction and took three pictures in rapid succession. She lowered the camera and smiled at him. “Now you’re a part of history.”

      Connor chuckled. He took a step toward her. The shout of his name, along with the sound of knocking, stopped him. His jaw reflexively tightened. He turned to the door and pulled it open.

      The roofer stepped in out of the rain. “All done, Mr. Lawson.” He wiped the water from his face. “Sealed everything. It should hold you until we can get in and do the real work that’s needed.”

      “Good.” Connor nodded his head. “Thanks for coming out on such short notice, Bobby.” He stuck out his hand, enclosing the smaller hand of the roofer in a firm grip.

      “Anytime.”

      “Let’s take a quick look at what got done before your crew heads out.”

      “Sure thing, Mr. Lawson.” He stepped back outside.

      Connor turned toward Olivia. “Ready?”

      “Sure.” She put her camera back in her tote and hoisted it onto her right shoulder.

      Connor took the umbrella from the corner and handed it to Olivia. He turned off the floodlight and everything was momentarily reduced to memory. Connor pushed open the door and she saw his silhouette return, flush against the dull gray afternoon.

      Olivia opened the umbrella and gingerly inched around the hole in the step and down onto solid ground. Connor followed, then ducked beneath the umbrella, reflexively scooping his arm around her waist. It was intimate, cocooned together, shielded from the elements and separated from the world around them.

      She forced herself to concentrate on not tumbling into some unseen ditch, rather than the heat and soap-and-water scent of Connor’s body, which was barely a breath away from hers.

      “What’s on your agenda for the rest of the day?” Connor asked as he gently guided her down the short incline toward her parked