My Love At Last. Donna Hill

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