My Love at Last

by Donna Hill

  Her entire body was one electrified nerve, sensitive to every touch, kiss, groan and whisper of her name, which all sent her closer and closer to the cliff of no return.

  “Liv… ” he moaned, pushing up hard inside her.

  Her spine curved back, the veins in her neck pulsed, the tips of her nipples rose, the shudder began deep in her soul and like a lid lifted off a boiling pot of soup, she bubbled over. Connor grabbed her hips, holding her in place even as her insides sucked and quickened around him. He was on the brink. The tendons in his neck strained; his muscles tensed. The throb began deep in his loins, tightened, pulsed and expelled in one long upward thrust.

  Olivia collapsed on his chest. Wave after wave of aftershock pleasure rolled through her. She was weak, spent and could easily while away the rest of her day holding Connor between her legs and listening to his heart beat against her ear. She closed her eyes and gave in to the moment.

  Connor was still hard. He wanted her again. His erection jumped in agreement. Crazy. He clenched his jaw and pulled her tight against him and willed himself to chill.

  After they’d both calmed, Olivia reluctantly eased off and rolled onto her back. She reached for his hand and he wrapped his strong fingers around her palm.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Mmm-hmm. You?”

  “Yeah.” He squeezed her hand. “I was thinking about what you said last night.”

  “Humph, that bourbon did a number on me. What did I say?”

  Connor turned his head toward her. “You said that you do what you do to prove your worth, show that you’re of value.” He felt her shrinking. “Don’t. Don’t turn away.” He turned on his side to face her. “There’s nothing that you have to prove to me, Olivia. Nothing. I want you to trust me, to believe that what we have is special. It’s personal — between us — and not for the world to know.”

  Her doe-brown eyes glistened with unshed tears. One escaped and slid down her cheek. “I want that,” she said. Her voice cracked with emotion. “I want to know that I matter to someone, that I wasn’t just a thing to be gotten rid of.”

  “Oh, cher.” He pulled her to him and held her tight. He kissed the top of her head, stroked her back. “You matter to me.” His gaze grazed her face. He caressed her cheek. “More than you could imagine.”

  Her bottom lip trembled.

  He adjusted his position so that he was above her. “Look at me.”

  Her eyes settled on his face.

  “I love you, Olivia.”

  Olivia’s eyelids fluttered; her lips parted ever so slightly. She felt a kind of warmth spread from her belly. Her heart began to pound. She couldn’t catch her breath. She’d never heard those words from anyone before. “I… Connor… ” Tears sprang from her eyes. “No one has ever loved me.”

  His heart nearly broke with the weight of her pain. He squeezed her to him. “Someone loves you now. I do. I love you, Olivia.” He held her and rocked her and whispered to her, soothed her until her cries had subsided.

  Olivia curled into his embrace, wanting to get so close that she became a part of him. Love. It was an emotion that always eluded her. As she’d grown up and moved from place to place, family to family, she’d found a way to strip herself of emotion, surround herself with an invisible barrier so that she wouldn’t become attached. There were times that she was so hungry for love that she grew ill. The doctor prescribed vitamins. There wasn’t a pill for what she needed. And now someone was here to love her, had professed his love for her. Finally, the one thing that she’d longed for had arrived, and she had no experience on how to return it.

  Chapter 19

  Connor knew that Olivia was deeply shaken by his admittance of love. It was still incredibly hard for him to fathom that one could go through life without being surrounded by love. He could only imagine how being a foster child had shaped her life and perception of the world and who she was in it. Unfortunately, not much of it was good. It would take time for her to accept what he’d said and, more important, to believe what he’d said. Her entire life of relationships was built on a temporary and no-commitment foundation. But he was a patient man. He would wait however long it took.

  “Hey,” said a whispered voice behind him.

  Connor looked at Olivia’s reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Hey, sleepyhead.” He stretched his jaw and slowly glided the shaver across the morning stubble.

  She leaned against the door frame. “I kind of like the after-five look.”

  He took a quick glance over his shoulder and grinned. “Oh, yeah. I’ll keep that tomorrow.” He finished up, splashed water on his face and toweled off.

  Olivia smiled at the reveal. “Not bad.”

  “Thanks.” He walked up to her, rested his hands on her hips and took her mouth in a quick, sweet kiss. He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. “I put on coffee.”

  She looped her arm through his. “After a quick shower, I’ll fix breakfast.”

  “No argument from me.”

  * * *

  Connor toyed with his coffee cup and mulled over how best to spring the news on Olivia about the book. He didn’t want to give her false hope, but he couldn’t keep it from her. She was a highly skilled researcher. If there was evidence one way or the other about her origins in the pages of that book, Olivia would find it.

  Olivia spooned the scrambled eggs onto a platter along with the grilled Italian sausages. “Not my finest effort,” she said lightly. She put the platter in the center of the table. “But it’s guaranteed to hit the spot. I saw some OJ in the fridge. Want some?”

  “Sure.” He watched her move around his living space with the ease of someone who belonged there. Even as heavy as things had become between him and Adrienne, he’d rarely had her stay at his place. He could probably count the times on one hand. It never occurred to him until now why. He didn’t want to share his space, his sanctuary, with anyone else. He lifted the coffee mug to his lips and stared at Olivia above the rim. Now he did.

  “What?” Olivia said with a curious grin when she caught him staring. “Egg on my face?”

  “No. Nothing like that. Just looking.”

  She sat down opposite him. “Something’s on your mind. I can feel it. What is it?”

  He pushed out a breath. “Stay right here.” He got up and went into the living room. He went to the bookcase and took the book from between a Jeffery Deaver thriller and a journal on modern restoration. For a moment he felt the weight of it in his hands, then went back to the kitchen. Gingerly he set it down on the table between them.

  “What’s that?”

  He told her about running into Ms. Farmer and coming across the book in her attic. “I don’t know what it means or if it means anything at all but I couldn’t let it go.” He pushed the book toward her.

  The badly faded embossed lettering on the front cover was barely legible. She could just make out “Dayton-Gray.” Her gaze flew to Connor.

  Her fingers trembled ever so slightly as she opened the book. Much of it was hard to make out without the proper equipment. The pages were stiff from water and smoke damage and the words and images were faint as ghosts. And then she turned a page and a picture of what could easily have been her stared back at her.

  Olivia’s breath caught in her chest. She blinked, stared, peered closer. She tenderly ran her hand across the image and the name below. Ellen Dayton. The resemblance was remarkable.

  But as remarkable as it was, it didn’t make sense until she read a bit further about the Dayton-Gray line. The last entry was about the great-granddaughter of Ellen. Her name was Leslie. The entries and story ended there. The subsequent pages were totally destroyed. The name Leslie Gray was the only identifier on Olivia’s birth certificate, which she’d had to fight to obtain. But as hard as she’d tried, and despite all the resour
ces that she’d used, she’d never been able to uncover anything beyond the name Leslie Gray — until now.

  Trancelike, Olivia closed the book and rested her hands on the cover. “I… I’m not sure what it all means.” She swallowed. “But maybe now I have a new place to start.” She shook her head. “It couldn’t be… could it?”

  Connor stretched his hand across the table and covered hers. “It could be the answer that you’ve been searching for or it could be a twisted coincidence.” He squeezed her hands. “Whatever way it goes, I’m not going anywhere.”

  Olivia sniffed. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  * * *

  Connor dropped Olivia off at home with the promise to see her later. He had a lot of catching up to do at the site.

  Before Connor was fully out of the driveway Olivia was on her cell phone scrolling through her contact list. She had a friend, Naomi Hailey, who worked for the National Endowment for the Arts, one of the agencies helping to fund the project that she was working on. Olivia was hoping that Naomi could work her magic and come up with some background on Leslie Gray, now that she finally had something more to go on than a name.

  “Olivia, good to hear from you. How are things?”

  “Good. Busy. Listen, I have a favor to ask.”

  “Sure. If I can.”

  “I need you to see if you can find any information on a Leslie Gray. She is related to Ellen Dayton of Dayton Village.”

  “Really? Okay. I’ll look into what we have on file and get back to you as soon as I can.”

  “Thanks, Naomi.”

  Olivia’s nerves twanged with every breath she took as she waited for Naomi to call back. The chances of her being related to Leslie Gray were remote at best. But stranger things had happened. She must have walked a country mile and then some by the time Naomi called back.

  “Did you find anything on Leslie Gray?” she spouted on the heels of hello.

  “Well, not exactly. There’s nothing on her at all other than her mother is Constance Dayton Gray. Her I have information on.”

  Olivia’s heart galloped at racetrack speed. “I’m listening. No, wait. Let me get a pen.”

  “Relax, I’m going to email everything to you. Just a little heads-up. She lives in Harlem on what was once Strivers Row. I’ll send over the phone number, as well.”

  Olivia could barely get out the words thank you. She disconnected the call, bit down on her lip as if that would somehow contain the maelstrom of anxiety that was zipping through her. She hurried over to her computer and clicked on her email account. The seconds ticked by while she waited for the email from Naomi to arrive.

  Finally the telltale bing. Olivia clicked on the email and opened it. She was so nervous she had to read everything twice before it made sense to her. Before she did anything totally crazy she called Connor, who told her to simply take a breath and do what she did best — dig for information.

  “Call her,” he urged. “Explain the project that you’re working on and see what she says.”

  “Right. Right,” Olivia said. “Okay. I’ll call.”

  “Don’t forget to breathe,” he teased. “Call me after.”

  “I will.”

  Olivia squeezed the phone in her hand, said a silent prayer and then tapped in the number that Naomi had given her.

  The phone rang and rang and her pulse raced and raced and then someone answered.

  “Gray residence.”

  “Yes. Hello. My name is Olivia Gray. Dr. Olivia Gray, and I hoped to reach Constance Gray.”

  “Speaking.”

  Her knees wobbled. Slowly she lowered herself into an available chair. “Ms. Gray. You don’t know me, but I’m an anthropologist working on the restoration of Dayton Village in Sag Harbor.”

  There was a long moment of silence.

  “I… Oh, my. Someone called months ago and asked permission… and you are the one working on it.”

  “Yes. I am.”

  “How can I help you? None of the family has been there in decades. I can’t imagine what’s left.”

  “Oh, Ms. Gray, you would be amazed. We’ve found some of the original freedom papers, birth records and even schoolbooks from the early settlers.” Olivia paused, took a breath. “I was hoping that you would be willing to meet with me.”

  “I don’t know how much I can add to what you already know, but… of course. I’d love to see what you’ve discovered.”

  Olivia fought to contain her excitement. “Wonderful. I know this may seem rushed, but I could drive out to see you tomorrow afternoon if that works for you.”

  Another long pause, then the woman asked, “Will three o’clock work with your schedule?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Fine. Take this address.”

  Olivia wrote down the address and cross streets. “Thank you so much, Ms. Gray. I’ll see you tomorrow at three.”

  “See you then, Dr. Gray. Gray. Curious that it would be a Gray that found a Gray.”

  Olivia swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Tomorrow then, Dr. Gray.”

  Olivia put the phone down. Her thoughts were spinning around in her head so fast that she couldn’t latch on to one long enough for it to make sense. What if? What if her journey’s end was only a few hours away?

  The ringing of the phone startled her back to reality. She snatched it up from the table.

  “Connor, I called. I spoke to Constance Gray,” she burst out before he had a chance to say a word. “And I’m going to see her tomorrow.”

  “Whoa. You spoke with her?”

  “Yes. I told her who I was and what I was doing, and when I asked if I could meet with her, she agreed. Tomorrow at three.”

  “Baby, I’m happy for you. But keep your feet on the ground. This could be something or it could be nothing at all.”

  Olivia blew out a breath. “I know.” She waited a beat. “That’s why I want you to come with me.”

  “Whatever you need.”

  Her insides smiled. “See you when you get off?”

  “I’ll think about it,” he joked. “Around eight.”

  “See you.”

  Olivia flopped onto the couch and stretched out her legs. She closed her eyes as a sudden wave of exhaustion wilted her limbs — the aftereffect from the rush of adrenaline. She knew she needed to stay focused. Although this was without a doubt a personal quest, she had to keep at the forefront that it was also her job. This family was part of the history of Dayton Village, and no matter what else might happen, Olivia was responsible for gathering and documenting the information. She could not allow her personal issues to cloud her professionalism.

  Tomorrow could not arrive fast enough.

  Chapter 20

  For most of the two-hour drive into Manhattan, Connor held Olivia’s hand. He listened to her fears and questions. He allayed her concerns, answered what questions he could and put out the fire of doubt.

  “If she’s agreed to see you, I’m sure she is just as curious to find out about her family. The thing you have to do is remember that they are part of your research, no matter which way it turns out. And if it happens that they’re your relatives, that’s the extra bonus.”

  Olivia nodded. She’d done countless interviews with relatives, friends and the general public as part of her research. She knew the drill. But this time was different. She felt it in her soul. The key would be not to go in there demanding the answers that she wanted, but opening the doors for Constance Gray to walk through on her own.

  With fifteen minutes to spare, Connor pulled the car onto 138th Street and Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Boulevard. The majestic homes that made up Strivers Row had been built between 1889 and 1892 by David H. King Jr. The Row was made up of light brown Italianate palazzos, redbrick neo-Georgia
ns and Renaissance revival–style houses with beige brick and terra-cotta ornaments. They’d been off-limits to black homeowners until 1919. Soon after, some of the city’s most prominent black New Yorkers — like entertainer Bill “Bojangles” Robinson and politician Adam Clayton Powell Jr. — moved in. Moving onto Strivers Row was an indication that “you had arrived.”

  Olivia took out her camera and photographed the stately row of town houses. Funny, in all her travels and research she’d never been to this part of Harlem. She’d seen the amazing photographs of the exteriors and the breathtaking interiors, but now she would experience them for herself.

  “It’s the one on the end,” Olivia said, confirming the address with the information on her iPad.

  Connor cruised to a stop and parallel parked into a space two doors down from Constance Gray’s home. He cut the engine and turned to Olivia. “Ready?”

  She expelled a shaky breath. “Yes.”

  He got out of the car and reached into the backseat for her bags, which held her cameras, laptop, tape and video recorders, notebook and the Dayton family journal.

  Olivia took one of the tote bags and hoisted it over her shoulder. They walked toward the house and up the stoop steps to the parlor floor and the ornate entry door. Olivia took a quick look at Connor, dragged in a breath and rang the bell.

  It felt as if an eternity passed before someone finally came to the door. When it opened, a woman of indeterminate age, dressed casually in a button-up beige cashmere sweater and tan slacks, was standing there. At first glance, with her very fair skin and emerald-green eyes, she could pass for white. But there was a hint of her blackness in the angle of her head and the way her full lips welcomed a kiss. For an instant her green eyes flashed and widened when she saw Olivia, but just as quickly settled back down to cool observation.

  “You must be Dr. Gray.” She turned her gaze and perused Connor.

  “Hello. Yes, I’m Dr. Gray and this is Connor Lawson. He is working on the restoration of the buildings.”

  Constance seemed to hesitate, as if she was rethinking her invitation. Finally, she stepped aside to let them in.