Free My Love at Last by Donna Hill Page B

the fridge to find something to eat.
    No sooner had she sat down with her lunch of cream-of-mushroom soup and a three-inch-thick grilled chicken sandwich than her cell phone rang. She picked it up and frowned at the number on the face.
    “Hi, Victor.”
    “I thought I’d call first this time. I was hoping we could get together sometime today.”
    Olivia stifled a groan. “Did you have a time in mind? I was just having my lunch.”
    “I could stop by now, or maybe we could talk over dinner. I spotted some pretty nice places here in town.”
    Dinner was definitely out. “You can stop by now if you want.”
    “Great. I’ll be there in about a half hour or so.”
    “Sure,” she answered halfheartedly. “See you then.” She set the phone down. The call from Victor took the icing off her cake. Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. They’d talk, she’d bring him up to date and he’d be on his way so that she could focus her energies on the home-cooked dinner with Connor.
    Olivia finished her lunch and set up her laptop on the coffee table to be able to show Victor the images that she’d shot so far, along with her notes and samples. She was in the middle of pouring a glass of iced tea when her bell rang. She crossed through the open living room to the front. Preparing herself, she drew in a breath of resignation and pulled the door open. She put on her best smile. “Victor. Hi. Come in.”
    As always, Victor was impeccable. He was the kind of man that you could never imagine getting dirt under his fingernails. Until he’d met Olivia and they’d launched into their brief though passionate affair, he’d never owned a pair of jeans. He had some on now, perfectly cut, just the right color, and looking as if they’d come right off the shelf. He’d opted for a pair of chocolate Italian loafers, an open-collared pale blue shirt and designer sports jacket. This was as casual as Victor Randall got, and of course he smelled divine.
    Olivia stepped aside to let him pass, but not before he bussed her cheek with a light kiss.
    “Looking well, as always,” he said as he walked inside. He gave the space the once-over, then turned to her. “Nice. Better than a hotel.”
    “It has its perks. I set everything up in the living room. Can I get you something to drink, coffee, tea, juice?”
    “Coffee would be great. I haven’t reached my five-cup quota,” he quipped.
    “Be right back. Black with two sugars, right?”
    Victor smiled. “You remembered.”
    His tone had a bit too much intimacy in it for Olivia’s taste. She wasn’t going to slip down that slope. She went into the kitchen and prepared his coffee and then joined him in the living room. She set the mug down on the table.
    Victor was already scrolling through the photos. “Thank you,” he murmured without looking up.
    Olivia sat in the club chair.
    “These pictures will make great archival documentation, Olivia.”
    She watched his expression and body language become energized as the wheels in his great mind spun. It was the thing that had attracted her to him in the beginning — his unbridled passion for his work. Unfortunately, that was where his passion came to an end. He was turned on by work. Work was his aphrodisiac. Beyond that, Victor was a gorgeous shell.
    “I started collecting the samples from the surrounding grounds. I’ll begin with the buildings this week.”
    “Good. I’d like to see everything firsthand.”
    Her stomach jumped. She crossed her legs. “Checking up on me?”
    “That’s the second time you asked me that.” He looked across at her, tried to see behind the placid exterior.
    “Second time you gave me a reason to.”
    He leaned back against the cushions of the sofa, crossed his ankle over his knee and looked at her. “I’m not checking up on you. At least not in the way you think.”
    “What way is it that I’m thinking?”
    “That my interest is work related.”
    “Well, isn’t it?”
    “Not