Dare to Dream (6 page)

Chapter 11

“I
’m going into the city,” Lincoln announced the following morning.

“Everything is under control, so take your time,” Terri said. “We have a guest arriving later this afternoon, but that’s about it.”

“Fine.” He turned to leave. “You can reach me on my cell if anything urgent comes up,” he tossed over his shoulder.

“Are you okay, Mr. D.? You look a little tired around your eyes.”

“Rough night, but I’ll be fine. See you later.”

Lincoln strode out, hopped into his Navigator, gunned the engine and took off. He put on a pair of dark shades to dim the glare from the sun that bounced off the water. It was an incredible day, he thought absently. A day that brought visitors from all over to Sag Harbor.

Historically, Sag Harbor was one of the original enclaves for free blacks who had never been slaves. This group, the black whalers and their families, European immigrants, Native Americans and other people of color thrived in Sag Harbor, living in Eastville. In the early 1900s African-Americans began to summer in Sag Harbor, and it was at that point that many black professionals began to move there, their descendants continuing to live and own property there. At that time blacks were restricted to the waterfront because it was deemed less desirable. Today, homes on the beachfront property often sold in excess of a million dollars. Talk about irony.

It was one of the main reasons why Lincoln chose to buy there. Although he was not part of the community’s rich past, he wanted to ensure that he would be part of its future.

The beauty, the history, the inhabitants, none of it mattered. Not today. All he wanted to do was put some distance between him and Desiree.

How could she have grown so cold? She was not the woman he remembered, although there were moments when the old spark of love and passion was reflected in her eyes. But her tone was as chilling as an arctic blast.

Didn’t she realize that she wasn’t the only one who was hurt, who suffered? Instead of them dealing with it together, she’d turned on him as if he’d become the enemy. She’d refused to listen to reason, and one night when he’d come in from work all that she’d left behind in their one-bedroom apartment was her scent and a note.

All his attempts to reach her failed. He even went to Pratt Institute where she taught art appreciation classes, and he wasn’t allowed past security.

He’d been so angry during those days. Some nights he would prowl the streets of New York City until sunrise. Other nights he would visit the local bar and drink until Stewart, the bartender, had to send him home in a cab or take him home himself.

“Whatever or whoever has your head all screwed up isn’t worth killing yourself over,” Stewart had warned one rainy September night.

“Just keep filling my glass with the Jack Daniel’s and we can stay friends,” Lincoln slurred, trying to merge the two Stewarts into one.

“I think you’ve had more than enough for tonight.” He took away Lincoln’s glass and wiped down the space in front of him with a damp off-white towel. “You just chill for a few and I’ll drive you home after I lock up.”

“That will be necessary,” Lincoln mumbled.

Stewart smirked and shook his head. “Who is she?” he asked.

Lincoln looked up at him through bleary eyes.

“She was gonna by my wife,” he muttered. “We had plans, but she left me.”

“Did she have a reason?”

“Said…she didn’t love me anymore. Just like that.” He tried unsuccessfully to snap his fingers. “But she’s lying. She has to be lying. ’Cause I know I still love her, so she’s gotta still love me, too. Ya know?”

“Give it some time. Maybe she’s just running scared.”

“You really think so, man?” he asked, the first spark of hope in his voice.

“Yeah, just give it some time.”

* * *

And that’s what he’d done. It had been five long years and his feelings were as strong for Desiree now as they were then. Every day he’d wake up and hope that the ache would be gone, but it wasn’t. He’d tried to bury his loneliness and his hurt in the bodies of other women over the years, but it didn’t help. If anything it only made him realize that no one would be able to take her place in his heart.

Finally, he’d resigned himself to being alone or at least not in a committed relationship—and then she turned up on his doorstep.

He knew he couldn’t spend the rest of his life in this emotionless limbo. What he needed was closure. He needed answers. He hoped to find them in New York.

* * *

Rachel just finished bawling out Javier when the front door to Honey Child opened. Good home training kept her from doing a double take and letting her mouth drop open. She put on her best smile.

“Felicia, finish up with this order,” she said to her new assistant, while keeping her eye on her unexpected visitor. “Lincoln.” She came from behind the front desk with her hands extended.

He took them and kissed her cheek. “Looking good as always, Rachel.”

She blushed. “Always the charmer,” she volleyed.

“Is there someplace where we can talk?”

“Sure.” She turned to Felicia. “I’ll be in the back.” She led Lincoln into her small, cluttered office and shut the door. “Please, have a seat.”

Lincoln sat on the edge of a wing chair and crossed his right ankle over his left thigh. “I’m not going to waste your time or mine with a lot of idle chatter. I know you set Desiree up at The Port, but why is she really there?”

For a moment she frowned in confusion. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“She lost everything in the fire.”

“I gathered as much. But that still doesn’t explain why she came to Sag Harbor.”

She went on to tell him about her stay in the hospital and how depressed and lethargic she’d been. “Desiree has a show that she’s contracted for coming up in late September. Her very first one. But with everything gone and Desi unable or unwilling to work…” Her sentence trailed off. “I just thought that a major change in atmosphere and environment would help her.”

He shook his head. “Still, after all this time, she wouldn’t come to me except by mistake.” He looked at Rachel. “I’m glad she has you as a friend. Fate is something else,” he added wryly. “Tragedy separated us and now it’s brought us back together.”

Rachel arched a brow. “Very true.” She paused. “So now that you know all of it, what are you going to do?”

“There’s not much I can do if Desiree won’t let me.”

Rachel looked him square in the eye. “Do you still love her?”

“Always.”

“Then there’s plenty you can do. Desi is stubborn and single-minded. But,” her tone softened, “I know she still loves you, Lincoln, although she won’t admit it to you. She’s just too afraid to say it. And you know she won’t let on that she’s afraid of anything.”

“I’ve been down that road with her before. She doesn’t want to have anything to do with me.”

“So she says. I know better and so do you.” She smiled. “The trick is convincing her of that.”

They talked some more and they agreed to keep each other posted.

“If she ever finds out we are in cahoots, she’d strangle us both,” Rachel said.

Lincoln chuckled. “Don’t I know it?” He checked his watch. “Well, I guess I’ll be heading back. Thanks for talking to me.”

“I would have a long time ago if I’d known where to find you.”

“Well, you do now.” He smiled. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t.” She came from behind her desk. “I’ll walk you out. Speaking of finding people, how did you find me?”

“Your credit card information.” He got to the front door. “By the way, your card didn’t clear,” he whispered.

For an instant she looked perplexed, then mortified. “I’ll take care of it. I am so sorry. I must have used the wrong card.”

“Don’t worry about it. Between you and me, Desi’s stay is on the house.”

“Lincoln, you don’t—”

“I want to and it’s settled. I can be stubborn, too.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll be in touch.”

Rachel watched him from the doorway until his vehicle was out of sight, which she now recognized as the one she nearly ran off the road. Fate. Thoughtfully, she closed the door. She’d intentionally left out any information about Carl, and she wondered how long it would take the very resourceful Lincoln Davenport to find out about him.

Chapter 12

B
y the time Lincoln returned to The Port the sun was beginning to set over the water, tossing brilliant ripples of orange and gold light. A warm breeze blew off the ocean, teasing the profusion of trees that surrounded the property. From his open window he inhaled the pungent scent of salt water, rich dark earth and lush green.

He could see from the road several of his guests departing from the main house to take strolls, return to their cabins, or perhaps go into town for a late movie or an early drink.

On many nights like these he and Desiree used to lie naked in bed, holding hands and whispering to each other their dreams for the future.

“I know that one way to financial security is to own land,” Lincoln had said. “I want to replicate what many blacks did in Sag Harbor, buy cheap, improve it and reap the benefits of the escalating market value.”

“But what would you build on the beach?” she’d asked, caressing his chest.

He was thoughtful for a moment. “Hmm, a bed-and-breakfast.”

She propped herself up on her elbow. “Really?”

“Yep. But not your ordinary B and B, but something that is truly classy and still has that homey feel to it. I think it would be great.” He turned on his side. “And we could run it together. We’d have the best facilities, secluded, a great chef, a picture-perfect landscape. Someplace we could call a second home.”

Desiree turned on her back and looked up at the ceiling, envisioning his dream in her mind. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “I think it could really work.”

“It’s definitely an idea. I know I don’t want to live in the city forever,” he added. “The city is a tough town for old folks.”

Desiree playfully popped him on the arm. “We have a long way to go before we’re old folks,” she said with laughter in her voice.

“In some societies you’d be considered an old maid.”

She sprang up and leaned over him, looking down into his eyes. “Oh, really?” she said with a hint of challenge in her voice. “Can an old maid do this?”

She ran her tongue provocatively across his lips while her slender fingers taunted the fine hairs on his chest, then down to the tautness of his belly.

Her lips trailed down to his neck and she took tiny nibbles that caused him to moan softly. She explored the expanse of his chest, flicking one nipple with her tongue and then the next.

Lincoln groaned low in his throat when her butter-soft fingers began to stroke his sex until it rose and hardened in her grasp.

“You’re a very naughty old lady,” he murmured, pulling her atop him to straddle his body.

She drew up her knees and rose to position herself above his throbbing penis. She gazed down into his eyes.

“Do old ladies feel anything like this?”

She took him inside her by slow, infinitesimal degrees that seemed to go on for an eternity, and he swore he’d explode with longing if he couldn’t feel all of her—now. Her sexy torture continued until he could no longer stand it. He grasped her hips and pulled her completely down until the hot, wet walls totally encased him.

Desiree let out a gasp that was a mixture of ecstasy and primal lust.

“Yesss,” she hissed through her teeth, tossing her head back and rotating her hips in total abandon.

The soft music from the stereo that played in the background seemed to rise in concert with the tempo that the lovers built.

They whispered sweet, naughty, erotic, challenging words in each other’s ears. It was wild. It was wicked. It was how they always were with each other, giving all that they had to give to each other until they lay spent, breathless and totally satisfied.

“Not bad for two old coots,” Desiree whispered against Lincoln’s still-racing heart.

“This is only the beginning, babe.” He gently brushed her damp hair away from her face. “We have a whole lifetime to love each other.”

* * *

A whole lifetime…

“I was wondering how long you were going to sit there with the engine running.”

Lincoln jerked in his seat and blinked back the images, realizing that he’d come to a stop in front of Desiree’s cabin.

Desi always had a youthful appearance, but with the softness of the waning light and the revealing outfit of a white tank top, matching shorts and sneakers, she could easily pass for a twenty-year-old. She sported a navy blue baseball cap with the beak pulled down low over her eyes.

“I was just driving around checking on things,” he lied smoothly.

“Really?” she asked with a raised left brow. She could always tell when Lincoln was lying. He tugged on his bottom lip just like he was doing now. She folded her arms, deciding not to pursue it. “Beautiful night.”

“Yeah, it is. Wanna go for a drive along the beach?” The words were out before he could catch them and he regretted them the moment he did, certain that his offer would be shot down.

A slow smile moved gently across her full, glossy mouth. “That sounds like a nice idea,” she said, surprising them both.

He swallowed and quickly counted trucks in his head to beat back the remnants of his brief sexual odyssey before getting out of the Navigator to open the passenger door for her.

The fullness of her unbound breasts inadvertently brushed his bare arm as she went past him to get in. Simultaneously their gazes locked as that jolt of sensual electricity snapped between them. For a moment, neither moved.

Desiree saw the old flames burning in his eyes and wondered if he could see it in hers as well.

She could have stayed inside the safety of her cabin when she heard his vehicle pull up and come to a stop. She could have stepped outside to investigate in something less revealing. She’d done neither.

Since she’d coldly sent him on his way earlier, she’d had enough time to think, a least a little bit. Who was she fooling? She still loved the man, and he’d said as much to her. The question that remained was, could her heart risk being “in love” with Lincoln again? Did she dare take that chance? The conclusion she reached as she sat on the rocks behind her cabin was that she would never know if she kept running and hiding.

“Thanks,” she whispered, breaking the spell and stepping up into the Navigator.

Lincoln tugged in a deep breath, as the luscious scent of her drifted to him, then shut her door and got in behind the wheel.

* * *

“So…how did you spend the rest of your day?” Lincoln asked after driving for a few minutes in silence.

“I spent it thinking, actually.”

“You want to talk about it?”

She hesitated, debating about changing the subject, then decided to tell him the truth.

“About us…mostly. Me, my life and what I’m going to do with it now.”

He briefly glanced in her direction. “I don’t know what to ask first. But to be truthful I want to hear about you.”

“You always did know how to flatter a girl.” She smiled. She tugged in a breath and slowly let it out as if the air she expelled would somehow provide the pathway for the words to follow.

“A lot has happened since…” She stole a look at him and nervously laced and unlaced her fingers. “Since you and me.” She saw him flinch ever so slightly. “When I left I moved into a small studio in the West Village…”

She told him about meeting Carl during an art exhibit in SoHo, how they’d talked for hours about art and she’d finally agreed to show him some of her work several weeks later. He was completely enthusiastic about her work and encouraged her to pursue her craft and her passion to paint professionally. She’d explained that she couldn’t afford to be a “professional artist,” she had bills to pay and a strong desire for three meals a day.

She didn’t see Carl for several weeks after that until one day she got a call from him asking to meet him for dinner. Over a glass of wine, he laid out his proposition.

“If there’s one thing I can always spot, it’s talent,” he said, slicing into his medium-rare sirloin. “And if there’s one thing I love, it’s art. Now combine art and talent and you have an incredible combination. You have both, Desiree.”

“Thank you. I—”

He held up his steak knife. “I’m not saying this to flatter you. It’s the truth and I want to see you flourish as an artist. I know in my gut that you have what it takes to make it. All you need is money and opportunity.”

“Neither of which I have.” She lifted her beveled water glass and took a soothing gulp while she wondered where the conversation was going.

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

He went on to tell her how he was willing to finance her pursuit, set her up with a working/living loft with space below for a small gallery where she could sell her work and which she would be totally responsible for running. She could paint, and when she built a sufficient body of work, he would sponsor her very first solo exhibit—every artist’s dream.

She’d been stunned into silence. A full-fledged sponsor? She was flattered, frightened, but undeniably excited at the possibility. Teaching classes was fine, but to have the time and luxury to pursue her own work…and maybe by doing so she could finally exorcise Lincoln from her soul by immersing herself totally in her work. And so she agreed.

“And then the fire,” she concluded, stealing a glance at Lincoln. “Everything is gone and I’m stuck with a commitment that I can’t possibly fulfill. I’d hoped that by getting away I would become magically inspired again.” She chuckled derisively.

“Have you tried to paint at all since the fire?”

She shook her head. “Every time I even think about it, all I can see is flames and smell the acrid scent of smoke and the very tools I use to create are the cause of me losing everything. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Was the fire investigated?”

She shrugged. “They said it was a spark of some sort that ignited the paintings downstairs in the gallery, and with all the combustibles in the building, there wasn’t much of a chance.”

“Hmm. I’ve never known you to be careless, Desiree. Did you ever think that perhaps the fire was set intentionally?”

Her heart lurched and she snapped her head in his direction.

“No, of course not. Why would anyone do that?”

“People do all kinds of things for reasons that escape the average person.” He waved off the idea. “Just a thought,” he murmured, but the notion had taken hold in his mind.

“Desi, remember years ago when we first met and I asked you why you paint? Do you remember what you said?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what you need—passion, desire, the images to become resurrected and take on life in your mind.”

“I know that but—”

“And I’m going to help you get it back.”

“Lincoln—”

“There’s no getting out of it.” He turned to look at her. “Starting tomorrow—at sunrise.”

“Sunrise!” She laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

“You can’t beat it for inspiration. But in the meantime, let’s make a truce.”

“Okay. What is it?”

“Starting from today, right now, we forget about the past, forget about us being an us, and start fresh as friends. No strings, no commitments.” He pulled the truck to the side of the road and stopped. “Deal?” He held his breath.

She hesitated a moment, wondering how she and Lincoln could ever be “just friends.” But at the same time she realized how much she wanted him in her life any way she could have him.

“Deal,” she finally agreed.

He stuck out his hand. “My name is Lincoln Davenport, and I own this place.”

She placed her hand in his. “Desiree Armstrong…and I’m happy to be here.” And she realized as she said the words that she really meant it.

* * *

They spent hours walking the beaches, running in and out of the surf, laughing and talking about everything and nothing special, but at the same time they were getting to know each other again as new, changed people.

He told her about some of the eccentric guests who’d come to The Port, and she told him that those same characters had visited her shop. They talked about world affairs, their real opinions about terrorists’ threats and the struggling economy and how it affected both of them.

He asked about her family and the renowned family gathering and she told him about her baby sister, Denise, who just moved into yet another new home.

“Another one?” Lincoln laughed. “This makes house number three?”

“Yep. My baby sister changes houses like people lease cars. She gets tired of it, she sells it for a new one. I don’t know how her husband deals with it.” She shook her head.

“I need her as a client,” he said. “I have some land I can sell her.”

They laughed.

“You’ve done marvelous things with this place, Linc. It’s idyllic.”

“Thanks. I worked really hard to get it the way we… I mean…”

She lowered her head. “I know. I remember,” she said softly, looking up at him.

“I didn’t mean to bring up the past,” he said.

“It’s okay. As much as we may want to, we can’t entirely avoid the past. It’s part of who we are…were.”