My Love at Last

  The right one is always worth waiting for…

  Dr. Olivia Gray’s passion for history is sparked by the mystery surrounding her own birth parents. A research project in Sag Harbor promises to be her most intriguing assignment yet — especially when she meets Connor Lawson. Shared interests and easy banter give way to searing, unforgettable nights. Yet until she uncovers her past, she can’t consider anything other than temporary bliss…

  The sting of his ex-fiancée’s betrayal has left the intense, charismatic restoration specialist resistant to every matchmaking attempt — until Olivia moves to town. She’s gorgeous, talented and determined to avoid commitment. That makes their wild attraction just perfect… until it’s not nearly enough. One soul-baring revelation at a time, she’s restoring his belief in love, but can he convince her he’s offering the kind that lasts forever?

  Connor watched her for a moment before he reached out and brushed a stray hair away from her face. His fingers lingered on her cheek. “I thought about you all night.”

  Olivia’s throat felt tight. “So did I… about you.”

  He leaned closer. His hand drifted down from her cheek to rest for a moment on her shoulder before slowly tracing the rise of her breast beneath her white cotton shirt.

  Her breath caught. For a moment her eyelids fluttered.

  She heard his deep groan an instant before his mouth covered hers. This kiss was no kiss of invitation, or one that asked permission. It was immediately raw and demanding and insistent on having its way with her.

  Connor cupped the back of her head, threaded his fingers through the wild tangle of her hair and pulled her close. His tongue dipped into her mouth, explored it, made it his own.

  Olivia gave in, gave all. Her fingers pressed into the hard muscle of his arms to keep from floating away.

  “I could make love to you right here, right now,” he groaned against her mouth. He pulled away, stared into her eyes. “But I’ll wait.”

  Dear Reader,

  I so love the Lawsons! Don’t you? And what better way to keep the steam going than to introduce you to another hunky Lawson man.

  In My Love at Last, I introduce Connor Lawson, first cousin to Rafe and the crew. Connor specializes in historic restoration, with his latest project being in the idyllic town of Sag Harbor. But there is no point in having a sexy man without a hot woman who is just right for him, even if they can’t admit it quite yet. Dr. Olivia Gray is an anthropologist who specializes in researching original inhabitants and lost communities. Of course these two wonderful people have their own issues that are buried beneath the surface. And once they are dug up, they will need a lot of love to fix them.

  When I was mulling over the idea for my next novel, I thought about the things that I was interested in. I love old homes and the history that goes along with them. Coincidently, this semester, I’ve been teaching African and Caribbean literature and African American lit. The readings were so inspiring and eye opening for my students and the seed of “discovery” was planted. One of these titles was from Zora Neale Hurston.

  As many of you know Zora Neale Hurston was an anthropologist, and my best friend Gwynne Forster was a demographer. Both of them were invested in discovering the intricacies of communities. They inspired Dr. Olivia Gray, and combined with my love and fascination for old homes and a sexy Lawson man, you have My Love at Last. I hope you enjoy it.

  Until next time,

  Donna

  Donna Hill began writing novels in 1990. Since that time she has had more than forty titles published, which include full-length novels and novellas. Two of her novels and one novella were adapted for television. She has won numerous awards for her body of work. She is also the editor of five novels, two of which were nominated for awards. She easily moves from romance to erotica, horror, comedy and women’s fiction. She was the first recipient of the RT Book Reviews Trailblazer Award, won the RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award and currently teaches writing at the Frederick Douglass Creative Arts Center.

  Donna lives in Brooklyn with her family. Visit her website at donnahill.com.

  Books by Donna Hill

  Harlequin Kimani Romance

  Love Becomes Her

  If I Were Your Woman

  After Dark

  Sex and Lies

  Seduction and Lies

  Temptation and Lies

  Longing and Lies

  Private Lessons

  Spend My Life with You

  Secret Attraction

  Sultry Nights

  Everything Is You

  Mistletoe, Baby

  The Way You Love Me

  My Love at Last

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  This novel is lovingly dedicated in memory of my dearest friend, confidant and mentor Gwynne Forster.

  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.”