Dare to Dream

by Donna Hill

  For a moment she closed her eyes and tried to will away the last of her fears. Everything happens for a reason, her grandmother always said, even though the reasons may not be clear, and God never gives you more than you can bear.

  Those words, that philosophy, had been a source of consolation and strength to her at some of the lowest points in her life. No, she didn’t understand why all that she cared about was taken from her for a second time. She believed that after what happened between her and Lincoln, she could pour all of her love and passion into her work as a way to heal. Now even that was taken from her.

  She opened her eyes and looked toward the heavens as tears of anguish and confusion spilled down her cheeks. “Why, God, why?” she cried out.

  “I ask myself the same question,” came a voice as gentle as the breeze that wafted around her and just as familiar.

  For an instant her head spun and her heart raced wildly in an unnatural rhythm. Slowly she turned and the world seemed to stand still.

  He was still just as incredibly beautiful as she remembered him in her dreams. His eyes as dark and penetrating, the mouth that had said and done exquisite things to her mind and body were the same. And that unrelenting ache that she had for him in the center of her spirit was still as intense. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, she thought. Not after all this time. She wasn’t supposed to want to run into his arms and melt in the comfort of his embrace, but damn if she didn’t.

  The sadness in her eyes was there, Lincoln observed. But she was still as beautiful as he remembered—fragile yet resilient. She made you want to take care of her and rely on her strength at the same time. How many nights had he dreamed of seeing her again, holding her, making love with her? This must be the sign that he’d prayed for. It had to be.

  * * *

  “Lincoln…what are you doing here?”

  He dared to step closer. “The place is mine.”

  She blinked several times as if to get him in focus. “What?”

  “The place is mine. I own The Port.” He spread his arms expansively. “All of it.”

  Desiree didn’t know whether to be angry or to laugh at the twisted reality of it all. Did Rachel intentionally bring her here, knowing that Lincoln owned the resort? she wondered, the nagging thought jumping into her head.

  “That’s really nice for you,” she said, her voice tight. “Seems like you’re doing well for yourself.”

  “It’s what we talked about. Remember?”

  Her heart lurched then settled. She folded her arms as if that could somehow contain her emotions.

  “I remember a lot of things.”

  “So do I, Des. Not all of them bad.”

  She turned her back to him, unable to look at the past that was mirrored in his eyes.

  “I came out here to be alone. If you don’t mind.” Her voice was as sharp and cold as an axe.

  Lincoln straightened his shoulders. “I’ve never stopped loving you, Desiree. I’ll leave you with that.”

  A wave of emotion welled within her, heating her body, causing her veins to throb in her temples. She didn’t want to love him, not ever again. Each night she prayed that her feelings for him would disappear so that she could live again. But that prayer had not been answered.

  She turned around and he was gone and for a moment she believed it was only one of her dreams—an apparition. But she knew it was neither. She felt his presence surround her as surely as if he’d held her all through the night.

  “Lincoln,” she whispered.

  Desiree glanced toward the main house. Her immediate thought was to return to her cabin, pack her bags and find a way back to Manhattan. But that would be the easy way, the cowardly way. The only thing she’d ever walked away from in her life had been her relationship with Lincoln, and she promised herself, standing in that space, that she wouldn’t do it again.

  * * *

  Lincoln returned to the main house—shaken. He had no idea what the impact of seeing Desiree again would be like. He’d imagined it hundreds of times, but the reality was something completely different.

  The raw hurt and anger was still in her eyes, in the stiffness of her shoulders, the chill of her words. Like a fool he’d romanticized their meeting. In his mind’s eye he saw them shedding the past, sharing words of forgiveness and ultimately finding their way back into each other’s lives.

  It was obvious that was not to be. Then why was she here? To pour salt in his still-open wounds? To prove to him that she still didn’t need or want him in her life as she’d said that night?

  Maybe it was best that he leave until she was gone, he thought as he opened the front door.

  “We have a problem, Mr. D.,” Terri said, the instant he crossed the threshold.

  “What is it?”

  She handed him a printout.

  He looked over the figures and frowned. “Did you notify Ms. Armstrong?” he asked a bit too quickly.

  “No. I thought I should speak to you first. When her friend Rachel Givens made all of the arrangements she was so insistent that she was going to take care of everything and that Ms. Armstrong was not to be bothered.” She pursed her lips and folded her arms. “So what do we do?”

  Lincoln stuck the printout in his back pants pocket. “Wait a day or two and try to put the costs through again. If there is still a problem, let me know.”

  “Okay,” she said, making the word three syllables.

  “I’ll be in the back office.”

  He walked off and shut the door behind him, pulling the paper from his pocket as he crossed the room to his desk. He sat down in the swivel chair, a treat to himself when he’d closed on the property. He spun the chair to face the window, and gazed out onto the cabins beyond. What were Desiree and Rachel trying to pull?

  Chapter 8

  “What?”

  “You heard me, Rae. Lincoln owns this place lock, stock and barrel!” She pressed her fingers to her temple in an attempt to massage away the throbbing that was building by degrees.

  “Desi, I swear, I had no idea.”

  Desiree grumbled something unintelligible. “I know how much you’ve been lobbying for me and Lincoln to get back together, but this!”

  “Desiree Armstrong, I know good and well you don’t think I set this up.”

  Desiree squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and sighed. “I don’t know what to think at the moment. Every limb is shaking and my brain is on scramble.”

  “Look, if you want to leave I’ll come up and get you.”

  Desiree was silent.

  “Well, do you?”

  “No,” she snapped. “I’m not going to let him run me off.”

  Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. “Well…maybe it’s for the best, you know.”

  “No, I don’t know,” she snapped and rolled her eyes at no one in particular. “But like Grandma always said, everything happens for a reason.”

  “The reason is pretty clear to me.”

  “Oh, really? And what might that be?”

  “You two were destined to meet again. Let’s be real. What are the odds that you would want to come to Sag Harbor and the only available place to stay is owned by your ex-fiancé? That’s the kinda stuff that only happens in books and made-for-TV movies.”

  Desiree had to chuckle despite herself. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It is kind of freaky.”

  “For real.”

  They were thoughtful for a moment.

  “So, what are you going to do, girl? You can’t stay holed up in your room. You’re bound to run into him again.”

  “I know. I suppose I’ll deal with it…some kind of way.”

  “Desi…I know the subject of you and Lincoln has been off-limits.
But just between us, do you still, you know…still care about him?”

  “I’ve never stopped caring about him,” she quietly confessed, then stretched out on the bed. She crossed her bare ankles. “I think about Lincoln almost every waking hour of my days. I dream of him at night. I hear his voice in my head.”

  “So why, Des? Why have you stayed away? Why won’t you tell him how you feel?”

  Desiree swallowed over the knot in her throat as the old pain rose from her belly.

  “Because…” Her voice cracked like fine china falling to the floor. “I don’t ever want to love and lose like that again.”

  * * *

  “Well, where is she?” Carl demanded.

  Cynthia blocked the entrance to her apartment door. She placed one hand on her hip.

  “I don’t know where she is,” she said, enunciating every word.

  Carl adjusted his navy silk tie and clenched his teeth. “I don’t believe you.” He pointed his index finger in her face. “You know where she is and I want you to tell me!”

  “If you don’t leave now I’m calling the police.”

  Carl opened his mouth to say something but stopped, then abruptly turned and left.

  Cynthia slammed the door and went straight for the phone. She dialed the operator.

  “Yes, could I please have the number for Honey Child Accessories?” She took a pencil from the desk drawer, listened to the recorded voice and jotted down the number on a paper napkin. She hung up and dialed the number.

  “Thank you for calling Honey Child…”

  Cynthia listened and waited to leave her message after the tone. For several moments she sat there staring into space.

  * * *

  Carl got into his Mercedes and tore away from the curb. Cynthia was lying, he inwardly fumed. There had to be a way to find out where Desiree was. She couldn’t have vanished into thin air.

  Why would she leave without saying a word? She owed him. He knew he should have gone to see her in the hospital. But he called every day to check on her progress and then one day he was told she was gone. He should have forced himself to cross the hospital’s threshold, but he had a phobia about hospitals ever since he was eight years old and his mother forced him to visit his sick grandmother.

  She had tubes everywhere, he recalled, and monitors that beeped eerily in the stark white room. She looked like a ghost beneath the stiff sheets. Her chest barely rose and fell and he could almost hear the drip, drip of the clear fluid that coursed through the plastic tubes into the thin blue veins that stood out against her parchment-like skin.

  “Go on, Carl,” his mother urged in a hushed hospital whisper. “Say hello to your grandma.” She pushed him forward and he stumbled against the metal frame of the bed and suddenly his grandmother opened her eyes. They were black and sunken in her head. The rims were bloodred and watery. She reached out and grabbed his hand with fingers that felt like slivers of ice. Carl screamed and ran from the room. From that day to this he’d never set foot in another hospital room.

  He came to a stop at the light. He’d done everything he could to show Desiree that he cared. And now all that he’d done for her had literally gone up in smoke. This was not part of the plan. He had accountants and lawyers breathing down his neck, not to mention investors. He had commitments to fulfill. He didn’t even know if he should proceed with the opening in the fall—if she was even able to work.

  He had passed what was left of the loft and gallery. Whatever wasn’t destroyed by fire and water, the firefighters took care of.

  The blaring car horn behind him jerked him from his marauding thoughts. He gave the driver the bird and sped through the intersection.

  He had to find her. He had to make her come back. Too much was riding on it. He’d been a fool to let his emotions outweigh his reason. But one thing he was certain of, he didn’t play to lose. He would find Desiree, get her back where she belonged and the exhibit would go on as planned.

  Carl eased the car to a stop in front of his co-op apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. As usual, the neighborhood was quiet. The few people on the street were out walking their designer dogs or jogging in their designer workout attire. The cars glided down the smooth, black-tarred road. A few lights twinkled in the windows, showcasing cathedral ceilings, lavish dining rooms and beautiful people.

  This was his world. Sterile and unimaginative.

  With great reluctance he got out of his car and walked toward his building. Had he not met Desiree he would have been content with this life of illusion. But Desiree put color into his otherwise bland existence.

  He turned the key in the lock and entered his empty apartment, wishing that Desiree was on the other side waiting for him.

  Chapter 9

  Desiree hung up from her conversation with Rachel and couldn’t help but conclude that her dear friend was just a bit too happy about her present circumstance.

  But what Desiree felt like doing was throwing something. How could fate be so cruel? She got up from the bed and stomped off to the bathroom. Maybe a hot bath would help to unfurl her nerves.

  With the sudsy, scented water as hot as she could stand it, she eased her body in and slid down until the bubbles reached her chin, then leaned back and closed her eyes.

  Perhaps she dozed off, but as surely as if she’d summoned him from the depths of the slightly rippling water, Lincoln appeared before her, gloriously naked, stroking the tender inside of her thighs.

  Desiree adjusted herself in the tub to give him more room, better access to the throb that beat relentlessly within her.

  His fingers played with her warm flesh, raising the hairs on her arms as his fingers trailed along her hips, the slight swell of her stomach, up to her nipples that rose to delicate peaks above the water. Involuntarily she moaned when he took one into his mouth, taunting it with wicked flicks of his tongue.

  “Desi…”

  His voice was like music, the deepest bass, vibrating through her like an echo. She trembled.

  “Lincoln…”

  Tears of longing slipped from behind her closed lids. “I still love you, too.”

  A pounding in the distance drew her from the grip of her erotic fantasy. She opened her eyes, bringing the room back into focus, though the remnants of her illusion lingered. The knocking came again. Reluctantly she pulled herself out of the water, took the hotel’s terry cloth robe from the hook behind the bathroom door and wrapped it around her dripping body.

  No one knew she was there, so she certainly wasn’t expecting company, she thought, wiping her eyes as she walked into the front room. It must be someone from the main house. “They could have called,” she grumbled, willing her body to relinquish its grip on her daydream.

  She tightened the belt on the robe, swiped a damp lock off her forehead and pulled open the door.

  “You didn’t come up for dinner, and I thought you might be hungry.”

  Her heart raced so fast she could barely breathe. She swallowed hard.

  “I…” She pulled the robe closer together. “Thank you.”

  Lincoln handed her the covered tray.

  “Smells good,” she murmured, desperately trying to avoid his pointed stare.

  So do you. “I only hire the best,” he said, instead of what he thought.

  “Um…do you want to come in for a minute?”

  He hesitated.

  “Maybe another time. I don’t want to intrude. You did say you wanted to be alone. I’ll respect that.”

  She glanced down at her damp, bare feet, then up at him.

  “I…I’d like that. The some other time.” A faint smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

  Lincoln smiled and nodded his head, but what he wanted to do was reach
out and touch her, feel her beneath the pads of his fingers. He wanted to hold her against him and inhale the freshly washed scent of her. His loins ached with denial, and he knew if he didn’t leave right then…

  “Whenever you’re ready, Desi, I’m here.”

  She tugged in a shaky breath. “Thanks. I’ll remember that.”

  “Good night.”

  “Night,” she whispered and watched him walk away.

  Mindlessly she closed the door with her foot, turned, put the tray on the center of the bed and realized she was shaking like a leaf.

  “Get over it, girl,” she said aloud.

  She wrapped her arms around her body to still the tremors.

  * * *

  He’d been so close. Just the two of them in her bedroom. All she would have to do was ask him to come in one more time and she knew he would have given in. She saw it in his eyes, the way he slowly licked his lips, the way he used to when he was about to say yes to her.

  But then what? she thought. They would have tumbled into bed together, clawed at each other’s clothes and made crazy love until the sun rose over the water. Yeah, that’s what would have happened if she’d pressed a little harder.

  She kicked at her suitcase with her bare foot.

  “Idiot!” she hissed.

  * * *

  Lincoln paced the floor of his suite like a panther in heat. He slung his hands into his pockets, then took them out. He walked to the window and pulled back the curtains. If he stared really hard he could almost see Desiree walking through her room in front of the open sliding doors with the breeze from the ocean blowing through her sheer gown.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and raked his fingers through his close-cropped hair. Groaning low in his throat, he pulled the door open and stormed out.

  * * *

  Desiree sat on the side of the bed nibbling at the grilled salmon, wild rice and Caesar salad. The food was delicious, just as Lincoln had boasted. He always did things in style and it was true that he never settled for less than the best. This place and everything about Lincoln Davenport echoed that fact.