My Love at Last (8 page)

Chapter 7

T
he local jazz station played an old Billie Holiday classic, “My Man,” while Connor cut and chopped the peppers and sausage and prepared the spices for his jambalaya. He took a swallow of bourbon as he worked.

He was truly looking forward to the evening. He didn’t cook for many women and he certainly didn’t invite them to his place with the real intention of getting to know them, spend quality time. But from the very beginning Olivia Gray was different. All his standard patterns of behavior had gone out the window. Deep in his gut he understood that Olivia wasn’t the kind of woman that would deal with his half-ass way of engaging in relationships. Maybe that was the attraction.

Connor opened the fridge and took out the tray of deveined shrimp that had been marinating overnight and placed it on the counter. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was almost three. He placed all the ingredients in the slow cooker. By six it would be perfect, then he would add the rice and let it all simmer for another hour.

He strode out of the kitchen just as his cell phone rang. He tugged it out of his pocket, saw the name on the face of the phone and thought about letting it go straight to voice mail. But that wouldn’t matter, not to Adrienne.

With reluctance, he pressed the green talk icon. “Yes, Adrienne.” His voice was a flat monotone.

“At least pretend that you’re glad to hear from me,” she whined.

“How are you, Adrienne?” he responded instead.

“Better now that I hear your voice.”

“I’m busy.”

“I… was thinking about you. I wanted to know how you are.”

“I’m fine, really. As I’m sure you are.”

“I read an article in
Historic Restoration Magazine
about the work you’re doing down in Sag Harbor. How is it going?”

“Going well. Day by day.”

“You were always so modest about your work and your accomplishments. That was one of the things I really loved about you.”

“Adrienne—”

“I just got back into New York for an, uh, project I’m working on,” she quickly interjected, “and I thought about coming out there. Maybe we could get together for drinks… for old times’ sake.”

“Old times’ sake? You’re kidding, right? Nothing good could come out of us having a drink together.”

“Why do you have to be so difficult? It doesn’t have to be like this between us. We had something once.”

“
You
had something once.
I
had something else. Look, Adrienne, this conversation isn’t going anywhere. Take care of yourself. I’ve got to go.”

“Connor… wait… I know I messed up. I know I did a lot of things that I can’t take back. But I’m sorry.”

“Apology duly noted. I’ve got to go. Goodbye, Adrienne.” He disconnected the call before she had a chance to say anything else that would really piss him off. He shoved the phone across the counter as if it could somehow distance him even further from the sound of her voice.

He flattened his palms on the countertop and lowered his head as a whirlwind of dark thoughts and images of the past whipped through him. He wasn’t going to let a call from Adrienne Forde ruin his mood. Not today.

Shaking off the effects of a wrong turn down memory lane, he adjusted his attentions toward preparing dinner. Thinking about the evening ahead brought the hint of a smile back to his lips and loosened the tightness across his shoulders. In all honesty, whenever he thought of Olivia he smiled. That was pretty rare for him. Not that he was stoic, but it wasn’t often that a woman brought a smile to his face by simply thinking of her. He shouldn’t be surprised. Everything about Olivia was different from any other woman he’d known — at least so far.

With the slow cooker under way there was very little to do in terms of preparation. He did want to run into town and pick up a couple bottles of wine before it got late. Although Olivia liked her apple martinis, he wasn’t the best at mixing drinks. Wine would have to do for tonight, unless, of course, she wanted to join him for a shot of bourbon. He grabbed his car keys and cell phone, checked his pocket for his wallet and headed out.

* * *

“He’s fixing you dinner at his place?” Desiree asked, her voice climbing in pitch with every word.

Olivia laughed. “Yes and yes.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. And you haven’t had sex yet?” she asked in disbelief.

Olivia rolled her eyes and shook her head. “No.”

“Humph. Well, whatever you put on that man you sure put it on good.”

“Desiree, you make him out to be… I don’t even know what.”

“Look, when I said that he doesn’t date, I meant it. He may do a dinner-out thing but that’s about it. The single women in this little town have been after him from day one. Nonstop. He barely gives them the time of day. You are special. Period.”

“It’s only dinner.”

“At his house!”

Olivia laughed. “Okay, okay, at his house.”

“And I want all the details tomorrow. Unless of course you’re too tired,” she teased.

“Very funny. Bye, Desi.”

“Seriously, though. Have a good time.”

“Thanks.”

Olivia put the phone down and mused over Desiree’s comments. Was she special? Guess she would find out later. In the meantime, she had some notes to transcribe and then had to get ready for her evening with Connor.

* * *

Olivia took extra care with her preparations for her date, making sure that everything above and below the waist was coiffed and neat. She spent nearly an hour soaking in the tub filled with her favorite bath oil. When she finally got out her skin felt like pure silk. She stood naked in front of the full-length mirror that hung on the back of the door.

For a thirty-four-year-old woman, she still had it. Gravity hadn’t taken over as of yet, and between the running around with her job and her weekly workout, she stayed in fairly good shape. Her tummy could use a bit of toning up, but she hadn’t reached the Spanx threshold yet. Her favorite feature of her body was her legs. They were long and shapely. With her line of work she’d didn’t get to show them off as often as she would like. But tonight, like the other evening, was her opportunity.

By the time she finished selecting the perfect set of undies, and putting on her new dress, it was almost six.
What if she stayed the night?
Should she be so bold as to toss a toothbrush in her purse and a change of clothes? Who was she kidding? She knew she was staying. She was looking forward to it with a giddy anticipation that she hadn’t felt in far too long.

It had been many months since she’d been intimate with anyone. She chalked it up to work. The truth was that she had no interest in anyone. There wasn’t a man who made sparks go off inside her, or turned her on with a simple look, a smile or a touch. Until she met Connor.

She ran her hands across the rise of her breasts and down the valley of her stomach. She could barely contain her need to be touched… to be touched by him. But if she could wait this long, a few more hours was nothing. She turned away from her reflection and started to get ready.

Promptly at seven her front doorbell rang. As she shut the door and followed Connor to his car, she reminded herself one last time that whatever transpired between them was only temporary.

When they pulled up in front of his place, Olivia’s heart was racing so rapidly that it was hard for her to breathe.

* * *

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, and extended his hand toward the couch.

Olivia took a look around. Totally male. Totally Connor. The rich dark tones and minimal furnishings spoke to the rugged side of him, the transient side. There was no permanence here. Two of his paintings hung on the wall. One was of the docks; the other was an oil of a woman with her back to the viewer as she looked out across the horizon. His name was etched across the bottom. They were good, really good.

Olivia crossed the room to where a stack of paintings rested against the wall. She went through the half dozen of them. They were mostly images of the town and surrounding area. Others where framed sepia photographs of what appeared to be early settlers.

“I’m working on getting those restored,” he said, coming up behind her and offering a glass of wine.

She took the glass. “Thank you. Where did you find these? They have to be more than a hundred years old.”

“In one of the buildings at the edge of the property. Most of them have been damaged by the weather and age, but—” he shrugged slightly “—something can be done with them.”

“I agree. I’d like to study them, as well.” She turned to him. He was so close. She could see the light reflected in the darkness of his eyes. She raised the glass to her lips. “Your work is equally as impressive. You have real talent.”

“Thanks. Uh, dinner’s about ready,” he said.

She sensed a nervous tension in him that was unfamiliar. It was in the way he wouldn’t look directly at her, the way he held himself just out of reach. The notion that Connor Lawson was actually uncertain around her bolstered her confidence, made her bold. She took a step closer.

“Everything smells delicious.”

He half smiled and took a swallow of his wine. “I take you for a jazz kind of girl.” He turned away and walked over to the stereo system on the other side of the living room. “Instrumental cool?”

“Sure.”

He sifted through the CD stand, selected several and put them on. The baleful horn of Coltrane floated through the space.

Olivia took a seat on the couch and set her drink down on the table. “How did things go at the site today?”

“I left everything in the hands of my foreman, Jake. No calls, no problems.” Connor came and sat next to her.

“So are you trying to say that you slaved over a hot stove all day?” She angled her body toward him.

“Definitely.” His eyes drifted slowly across her face. “You look beautiful. Did I tell you that?”

“Not today,” she said softly.

“You do.” He draped his arm along the back of the couch and let his fingertips dangle along her shoulder.

Olivia contained the shiver that latched on to her spine.

“More wine?” His index finger stroked the side of her neck.

Her lids fluttered.
What did he just say?

He leaned forward, took the bottle from the table and topped off her glass. “Ready to eat?”

She swallowed. “Yes.”

He stood up from his seat, plucked her drink from her hand and extended his to help her to her feet. Olivia placed her hand in his and his long fingers wrapped around her palm. Gently he pulled her to stand flush against him. Whatever nervous tension she’d thought she’d witnessed in him earlier was gone.

Before she could think or react, his mouth covered hers. The sweet taste of the wine burst in her mouth as his tongue refused to wait for permission to tango with hers.

Her sigh flowed through him like water rushing through open faucets. He cupped her cheeks and drew her farther into his kiss. The sweet heat of her wrapped around him; her scent short-circuited his senses. She made him crazy. There was no other way to explain it. And getting crazy over a woman was trouble and dangerous. He wanted neither, even as much as he wanted Olivia.

Connor broke away and took a step back. Without a word he turned away and walked into the adjoining kitchen. He had to clear his head. Some distance between them was what he needed.

“Thought we could eat in here. Keep it casual,” he added, with his back still to her.

Olivia stood in the entryway of the kitchen, staring at his rock-solid outline.

“Have a seat.” He lifted the lid of the slow cooker and the mouthwatering aroma of the jambalaya permeated the air. He brought the pot to the table and set it on the warming tray in the center, then he spooned the rice from a second pot into a large bowl and brought that to the table, as well. “I don’t want to presume how much you want. One thing I can guarantee is that you will want more.” He grinned but didn’t look directly at her. “Help yourself.”

Olivia hopped up on the high seat, thankful that it had arms that she could hold on to. Her entire body was still vibrating. Connor sat on the opposite side of the table.

They filled their plates in relative silence; instead of drawing them closer, the kiss had erected an invisible barrier. Olivia kept her focus on her plate, but she couldn’t hold back the hum of pleasure with each mouthful.

Finally, Connor dared to look at her. He smiled with pleasure. His right brow arched in question. “Like it?”

“That would be an understatement. This is some good eating.”

Connor tossed his head back and laughed and the tight line of tension between them snapped.

“Family recipe?”

“Yep, and a few things I’ve learned along the way… to kind of give it my own twist.”

“If you ever give up restoration work, you definitely have a second career.” She forked more food and chewed slowly, studying his profile. “So was it Mom or Dad’s recipe?” She watched his jaw tighten and knew she’d inadvertently stepped on another land mine.

“My father wouldn’t know a kitchen if you drew him a map. And my mother… Well, she wasn’t around much.”

“Oh… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s cool. Part of who I am.” He looked up at her. “Used to it by now.” He settled into his seat and leaned slightly to the side. “Grandma Sylvia — God rest her soul — taught me everything I know about cooking.” He reached across the table for the unopened bottle of wine, uncorked it and filled their glasses. “Spent most of my summers at Grandma’s house in
Nawlins
,” he said with a twang.

“Must have been nice,” she said, working hard to keep the wistfulness out of her voice. She wanted to know more about him, his family, his life, but what she didn’t want was for the conversation to shift in her direction. “Where did you go to school?”

“MIT.”

Olivia’s eyes widened with admiration. “I’m impressed. Not easy to get into MIT.”

“Hmm.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “I suppose.”

“Education in general is getting more and more difficult to achieve. I really feel for the young people now. They will either be broken by student loan debt or not attend at all — at least those that don’t have a college fund or parents that can afford to help.”