Chapter 9
Olivia didn’t see much of Connor over the next few days. Yesterday he’d popped over to their table at breakfast, and if her
pulse had rocketed when she’d spotted his tall frame ambling toward them, it was surely only because she didn’t want the group
watching them interact, speculating.
When he’d declined Sophie’s invitation to join them in the evening, claiming he had a bar shift, she’d tried not to wonder
if he really was working or had decided a prickly woman with an unhealthy love for numbers and a prudish attitude when it
came to talking about sex wasn’t worth the effort. She’d also assured herself the evening had not been diminished at all because she’d known there was no chance of bumping into him.
We fancy the hell out of each other. What cheek.
But embarrassingly accurate.
Thankfully, today, Friday, the rest of the wedding party had joined them, which was a welcome distraction. Jessica’s husband,
Nick, arrived with their three children. He’d also traveled with his mother-in-law, and Olivia gave him serious points for
bravery—their mum was a nervous flier. The groom-to-be, Steve, arrived by ferry from Provincetown with the rest of the stag
party, all of them looking the worse for wear and wearing expressions that said, I need to be left alone in a dark room for a few hours.
“Bloodshot eyes I can handle. It was black eyes I was worried about,” Ashley murmured as they sat on the hotel loungers overlooking
the harbor. The youngsters had all gone off to the beach, and Jessica and Nick had walked into town with the kids to show
them the Whale Museum. It left Olivia with Ashley and their mum.
Her mum smiled. “I remember Paul turning up with a broken nose at your wedding.”
“An ominous warning sign that I should have taken notice of.” Ashley grimaced.
“Is he arriving today?” Olivia asked, aware Ashley was not looking forward to seeing her ex.
“Yep, but thankfully he and the luscious young Melissa are staying at a different hotel.”
“What did you say the age gap was?” her mum asked.
“Twenty years.” Ashley snorted and looked over at Olivia. “And you’re quibbling about ten.”
“Eleven,” Olivia corrected. “And that’s not the point. We know this thing with Melissa is just a middle-age crisis Paul will
look back on and regret.”
“You think he’ll regret dating some hot young blonde all his mates are envious of?” Ashley countered. “And besides, think
how good he feels now.”
Their mother cleared her throat. “I think I’m missing an important part of this conversation.”
Olivia felt a dart of shame that for a moment, she’d forgotten her mum was there. She was so quiet, always had been, and it
frustrated Olivia no end. As a teenager she’d always wondered why her mum hadn’t stood up for herself, told their father she
wanted more from life than being his cook, cleaner, and housekeeper. She still wondered. “You’re not missing anything—”
“The part you’re missing,” Ashley interrupted pointedly, her gaze directed over Olivia’s shoulder, “is on his way over now.”
Immediately their mum turned to look. “Oh, my.”
Olivia fought the desire to swivel round. She was not thirteen. And her heart was not pounding in her chest.
“Hi, Connor.” Ashley waved. “Come and meet our mum.”
The air seemed to take on a different charge the moment Connor came within touching distance, as if the molecules were cannoning
off each other in a desperate attempt to get close to him.
Her belly tumbled as he dropped onto his haunches next to her, eyes meeting hers for one intense, electric moment before sliding
over to their mum. He gave her a wide smile. “Hi, Ashley, Jessica, and Livvy’s mum. I’m Connor.”
He rose and gave her a kiss on each cheek, and she giggled. Actually giggled.
“Call me Linda.” Olivia’s jaw dropped. Her mum patted at her hair before waving toward Connor’s white jacket. “You’re a chef?”
“I am.”
“Have you been taking care of all my girls?”
Ashley burst into laughter. “Oh, yes, Connor’s been taking very good care of us. Especially Liv . . .”
Olivia sent her sister a death glare. “Connor, if you were wondering where Sophie and her friends are, they’ve gone to the
beach,” she said, ignoring her mum’s puzzled expression. “Only us oldies left.”
He gave her an incredulous look. “I came to see you.”
“Oh.” Heat crept across her face, her flustered state not helped by the sight of him slowly stripping off his jacket to reveal
a tight white T-shirt.
Muscles. It was all she could see. Biceps flexing beneath tanned skin, hard pecs outlined by soft cotton.
His eyes skimmed the hotel front before settling back on hers. “Will you take a walk with me?”
She swallowed to get the saliva moving again in her mouth. Part of her wanted to say no to prove to her family there was nothing
going on. Yet when she glanced at him, the lines of strain around his mouth, the plea in his eyes, caused a tug in her chest.
“Sure.” She pulled her cover-up over her head and turned to Ashley and her mum. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Take your time.” Ashley winked. “Don’t rush back on our account. We’re quite happy sitting here, aren’t we, Mum?”
“Of course.” She blinked like she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.
Olivia imagined her blinking a few more times as Connor, jacket thrown over his shoulder, reached for Olivia’s hand. And then
a few more as Olivia wrapped her fingers around his and allowed him to lead her through the hotel and onto the path to Brant
Point Lighthouse.
The Olivia who’d arrived here would have batted away his hand, told him she was more than capable of walking unaided. This
Olivia worried she was becoming addicted to his touch, the rough feel of calluses as his palm brushed against hers.
They walked in silence for a while, her sensing he needed a few minutes to unwind and just be.
“Are you okay?” she asked eventually as the lighthouse came into view.
“Just tired. I’ve worked double shifts the past two days.” He ran his free hand through his hair and let out a deep sigh.
“I need to not be in the hotel for a bit.”
“You were working last night.” She thought she’d said it to herself until he let out a low laugh.
“You think I blew you off?”
They walked onto the sand. Ignoring the wooden bridge leading to the lighthouse, he led them instead toward the sea and a
cluster of rocks. After finding a sheltered spot, he threw his jacket over one of the flat rocks and carefully lifted her
onto it. Then he stepped between her legs, which parted unconsciously to let him in. “How many times do I have to tell you,”
he said quietly, bright blue eyes pinned on hers, “you fascinate me and turn me on in equal measure. I want to get to know
you, to spend as much time with you as you’ll allow me.”
Her heart thumped so loudly, it was almost all she could hear. “I still find it hard to believe you’re interested.”
His eyes narrowed. “Believe it. Just because I’m younger than you, just because I cook for a living instead of doing something
more cerebral—”
“No. That’s not it. Not it at all.” She exhaled sharply. “God, okay, I’ll give that ego of yours a stroke. You’re ridiculously good-looking, Connor. Or as
my niece and her friends would say, you’re stupid-hot.”
Dimples appeared on his cheeks. “You think I’m hot?”
“Yes, I think you’re hot,” she repeated with an eyeroll.
For a few beats his eyes smiled into hers, but then the temperature between them changed. She saw the moment it happened,
when amusement gave way to arousal, to heat, darkening the blue in his irises and prompting a responding flood of arousal
through her. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
She licked her tingling lips. “Good.”
He uttered a deep, guttural groan and then his mouth crashed down on hers, sending all the breath rushing from her lungs.
And oh God, oh God. How had she gotten to thirty-nine and never felt like this, like she was melting onto the rocks, a boneless mess lost to
everything but the feel of his mouth, his lips, the delicious sweep of his tongue? The rough stroke of restless hands as they
moved from cupping her face to sliding down her arms to resting on either side of her bum and hauling her farther against
him, positioning his rigid length exactly where she needed it.
Dear God, he was big, and hard. Perfectly, splendidly hard.
A gasp escaped her as he thrust his hips against her, and he broke away from kissing her for a split second to smile. “You
like that?”
She couldn’t speak, could barely breathe, so she nodded. It was all the encouragement he needed. Dropping kisses down her
neck, he began a slow, rhythmic grind of his hips against her core.
He was going to blow his load. Vaguely in the back of his head, Connor knew he needed to stop before he embarrassed himself,
but this, having Olivia’s legs wrapped around his hips, pressing against her heat, hearing her rasping breaths, her gasps . . .
he did not want to move.
“Can you come like this?” he whispered as he licked at a pulse in her neck, savoring the sweet taste of coconut suntan lotion
on her skin.
“Oh God.”
He didn’t know whether that was a yes or a no, but she wasn’t pulling away. Instead, her hands had dropped to his backside
and were clawing at him, pulling him closer.
“Yeah, you can, can’t you?” He thrust again, harder. “I just need to keep doing this, don’t I? Keep grinding against you.”
“People will see,” she mumbled, then moaned as he increased his pace.
“Nobody’s here, nobody’s watching. It’s just you and me, Livvy. You can let go.” Christ, his balls felt like they were about
to explode, but he couldn’t stop, not yet. Not when he could sense she was moments from going over the edge. Only her rigid
self-control, her sense of decorum, of what she considered right and proper was stopping her.
“I . . . oh God, I can’t believe this is happening.” Her fingers dug in tighter, so tight he was pretty sure he’d have marks
on his buttocks.