Can love ignite from a spark of desire?

Gallery owner and artist Desiree Armstrong is lucky to be alive after a fire destroyed her SoHo studio. Since then, she’s been unable to paint. With the pressure of an upcoming art exhibit looming, she’s in a panic and getting nowhere fast…until her best friend and sorority sister, Rachel, steps in. Rachel insists Desiree take a vacation, and even makes the reservation herself. But her good intentions could backfire—the reservation just happens to be at the Sag Harbor bed-and-breakfast owned by Desiree’s ex-fiancé, Lincoln Davenport. When Desiree walks back into his life, it will be up to Lincoln to extinguish lingering doubts from the past and gently rekindle her love for him....

Dare to Dream
Donna Hill

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Acknowledgments

Many thanks to Andree Michelle

for her help with the background on Sag Harbor,

but especially for introducing me to the

incredible information on the Grenning Gallery.

Dear Reader,

Thank you for purchasing Dare to Dream, a love story that will hopefully sweep you away. I loved crafting my heroine Desiree, a strong-willed, creative young woman who is challenged on every level to regain her sense of self after losing everything. Of course, no love story would be complete without the perfect man—Lincoln Davenport—who fits the bill from head to toe. And he is determined to have Desiree—no matter what.

When I was writing this novel, I had the pleasure of spending time in the Hamptons in Sag Harbor, New York, doing “research.” Many of the scenes are peppered with real places, people and streets mixed in with a bit of my imagination. I had such a wonderful experience there that it led me to write Heart’s Reward in 2010, where I first introduced readers to Melanie Harte and her family and my edible hero Rafe Lawson, who of course is the to-die-for bachelor in my Lawsons of Louisiana series. Needless to say, I couldn’t seem to shake my love of Sag Harbor, so much so that I will be introducing a new series, Sag Harbor Village, which debuts with a new novel this fall! You’ll see some of your favorite characters from my previous books and meet some new ones. Perhaps by that time, Rafe Lawson will have settled down—or maybe not! In the meantime, please enjoy Desiree and Lincoln’s wonderful story and let me know what you think.

You can always find me on Facebook, www.facebook.com/donnahillfans, or on Twitter, www.twitter.com/donnahill, and you can always send me an email at dhassistant@gmail.com. I promise to answer.

Until next time,

Donna

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 1

“Desi, Carl Hampton is here to see you. He said he wanted to check on the progress of your paintings for the exhibit. I told him you were busy.”

Desiree Armstrong sighed loudly and mumbled a curse under her breath. With great reluctance she put her paintbrush down and turned to her assistant.

“Thanks, Cynthia.” She wiped her hands on her once-upon-a-time white smock that was now mottled in an array of rainbow colors. “One of these days I’m going to make enough money to host my own exhibition. Sponsors seem to have this crazy notion that the artist has nothing better to do than be at their beck and call.” She stood and rolled her stiff shoulders. “How does he ever expect me to finish my work for the show if he ‘drops by to see my progress’ every fifteen minutes?”

They both laughed.

“Tell him I’ll be right down. Let me get cleaned up and make myself semi-presentable.”

“Hey, take your time. If he really wants to see you, he’ll just have to wait, now, won’t he?”

“You got that right.”

Cynthia turned to leave the studio, her waist-length, honey-blond hair swinging behind her.

Desiree smiled as she headed toward the industrial sink set off to the right side of the studio loft. She and Cynthia had hooked up and become fast friends when Desiree was teaching an art course at Pratt Institute in Brooklyn. Cynthia had a keen eye for what was good and what wasn’t, but her artistic talents stopped cold right there. But rather than leave a profession she loved, she signed on as Desiree’s assistant and they’d been together ever since. That was five years ago, a time when Desiree desperately needed a friend. A time when she was struggling with the reality that Lincoln Davenport, the man she’d given her heart to, would never be hers. With her best friend and soror Rachel Givens heavily involved in her own life and love, Cynthia proved that she could be the ear and the shoulder Desiree needed.

Lincoln. Funny, she hadn’t thought of him in at least a week, in some form or the other. She turned on the water full blast and grabbed a bar of brown soap. That was a good sign, she thought as she briskly washed her hands with the precision of a surgeon. Maybe soon she could say two weeks, then three, and finally never.

She dried her hands on the towel hanging from a nail by the sink, pulled the smock over her head and smoothed out her badly wrinkled denim shirt. “Too bad.” She tsked and marched downstairs into the intimate gallery that bore her name. She put on her best smile when Carl turned to greet her.

“Desiree, so sorry to tear you away from your work.”

“Hmm. How are you, Carl?”

“Anxious.” He grinned. “The show is only a couple of months away. I simply wanted to check on my investment.”

Desiree placed a hand on her hip and cocked her head to the side. “Carl, you know I really appreciate your support. There is no way that I would be able to host a show myself. But…”

“But what?” He stepped closer and the scent of his cologne wafted around her like a morning mist—clinging.

Briefly she lowered her head, then looked him straight in the eye. “The thing is, Carl, the more you stop by, the longer it takes me to get finished. I have seven more paintings to complete. I need the time to concentrate. I can’t do that if I am…interrupted.”

He reached out and stroked her chin with the tip of his index finger. Desiree struggled not to recoil.

“I would think that a few moments of your time with me would be worth it. After all, we are partners, Desiree.”

The last thing she wanted to hear today was that, without him, the exhibit wouldn’t be possible. Something nasty was right on the tip of her tongue when the bell over the door rang. “Excuse me, Carl, I have a customer.”

Carl clasped her arm, halting her departure. “Why don’t you let Cynthia get it? That’s what she’s paid for, isn’t it?”

“So am I,” she said and walked away.

His eyes narrowed as he watched her charm the woman who’d come in, talking and laughing as if they were old friends. Carl slid his hands into the pants pockets of his imported Italian suit, then leaned against a counter and monitored the exchange. Everything about Desiree Armstrong was a work of art, from the soft spirals of her hair to the slender figure that even a model would envy, the eyes that danced with images that only she could see and skin reminiscent of the finest brandy and just as tempting to look at. There was no need for him to “check on” her progress. If he knew nothing else about Desiree it was that she was the consummate professional, dedicated to her craft with a single-mindedness that was almost frightening to watch. Yet, it was the only excuse he could fathom to bring him to her door and into her presence. He was certain that with time and money, she would be his. He was a patient and very wealthy man.

* * *

While Desiree talked to her client as they walked around the shop, she silently prayed that Carl would get tired of waiting and leave. Every day she regretted having signed the agreement allowing him to sponsor her exhibit. She’d always prided herself on being her own woman, not beholden to anyone or anything but her craft. But the sagging economy had made it extremely difficult for anyone trying to survive in the arts. If it had not been for Carl she would have lost her studio, her gallery such as it was and any chance of having her own show. Now she was stuck and it was growing more apparent by the day that Carl wanted much more from her than a few of her etchings.

“Thank you for your business, Ms. McKay. I can have the piece sent to your home if you wish.”

“No, that won’t be necessary.”

“Cash or charge?”

“Cash,” said Ms. McKay. She pulled out her wallet. “But I’d really appreciate it if you could wrap it really pretty. It’s a gift for my daughter. She’s moving into her first apartment.”

Desiree reached beneath the counter and pulled out a roll of gold foil wrapping paper. “That must be exciting,” she said.

“Exciting for her, but sad for me. I have a bad case of empty-nest syndrome already.” She laughed lightly.

“You’ll be fine. Living in New York, you’ll find plenty to keep you busy. Before you know it, you’ll be redecorating her room!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, taking the wrapped parcel and another look around. “Thanks so much. Maybe I’ll stop in again.”

“Please do. And feel free to bring friends.”

She smiled. “I certainly will.” She glanced at the countertop and noticed the oversized postcard. “Oh, a gallery exhibit.”

“Yes. Mine,” Desiree said. “Late September.”

Ms. McKay picked up the card and tucked it in her purse. “I’ll put it on my calendar.”

“Bring friends,” Desiree called out as the woman left. She took a breath and silently prayed that Carl would be preparing to leave. But upon looking in his direction she realized her prayer had gone unanswered. She put her smile in place and walked over to where he stood.

“I really need to get back in the studio and try to finish up, Carl.”

“Wouldn’t you like some company?”

“That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, you have to eat sometime. Why don’t I come by about eight and we can—”

“Carl.” She held her palms up. “Look, I really appreciate everything that you’re doing for me with this exhibit. I really do. But all we have is a business arrangement. Nothing more. And when these paintings sell, I’ll pay you back every dime that you invested.”

“I don’t want your money, Desiree. I thought I made that clear.”

She raised her chin. “Unfortunately, Carl, that’s all I can offer you.”

“Desi! Telephone,” Cynthia called out from the front desk.

“Thanks. I’ll be right there.” She turned back to Carl. “I really have to go.”

“Fine. But this isn’t finished, Desiree. As you may have gathered by now, I’m a very determined man.” With that he turned and walked out.

Desiree let out a sigh and headed toward the front desk. “Who’s on the phone?”

“No one. You looked like you needed rescuing. I dialed the front desk from my cell phone.”

Desiree shook her head and laughed. “Thanks. Look, I’m going back up to see if I can get my head back into what I was doing. Close up when you’re done.”

“Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow. Need anything before I go? Want me to order some food?”

“Hmm, no, thanks. Maybe I’ll order something later. See ya.”

* * *

Upstairs in her studio, Desiree put on her smock and returned to her unfinished work. It was an abstract of 125th Street in Harlem back in the bebop days, complete with strings of nightclubs and men and women dressed in the finery of the era. It was almost the way she wanted it, but not quite. She picked up the brush, dipped it in the electric-blue paint that was her signature color and went to work.

The next time she looked up it was nearly 2:00 a.m. Her eyes were burning, her fingers were stiff and she’d swear her back was locked in a permanently hunched-over position. Slowly she stood and felt every muscle in her body scream in agony. She’d been sitting in the same spot for nearly nine hours straight. But when she sat back and looked at what she had accomplished, every ounce of pain was worth it. This was her best piece yet. She’d put her foot in it, as the folks would say. If it wasn’t so late she’d call Rachel, the one person other than Cynthia who could understand her elation, her pride. But it would have to keep until tomorrow.

Desiree picked up the canvas from the easel and carried it across the expansive room to the other row of paintings that were in various degrees of drying. Some she would return to and add some additional touches, maybe another layer, others were fine as they were, while a few just didn’t make the grade—at least in her mind.

She turned out the light on that side of the loft, took a quick shower and crawled into bed. If she wanted to put in a full day tomorrow she’d have to be up by six. Barely four hours of sleep, but she would do what needed to be done. Her dream was within the palm of her hand and she had no intention of losing her grasp on it. Her work was all she had since she’d walked out of Lincoln’s life. She’d claimed that he could not compete with her real love—her art. How many nights had she lain awake on the fence of indecision: let him go and simply pursue her dream or cling to him and lose a part of her soul? Or—tell him the truth? She’d made her choice. Yet, the idea of them as one was never more than a whisper away from her thoughts.

As she drifted off to sleep, unwanted images of Lincoln danced in and out of her head. She tried to force them away, send them back where they belonged, but she was too tired to fight them any longer and finally drifted off to sleep with her and Lincoln dancing under the moonlight.

Sometime during the night, the light from the moon turned a blazing brilliant red, the clouds turned thick and black, choking her, seeming to enter her pores and fill her lungs. The cool evening turned warm…warmer, until her skin felt as if it were baking beneath the desert sun. The stars became blazing flashes of lights, spinning, and the sounds of her and Lincoln’s laughter turned to screams and wails. She tried to open her eyes and couldn’t, the black clouds were too thick, blinding her. She couldn’t breathe as the room grew hotter. Coughing and gagging, she struggled to get up in the darkness as the horror of what was happening engulfed her.

Fire! Fire was everywhere. Flames leaped from the doorway, blocking her escape as they ran across the ceiling, licking the beams like a hungry lover. She lifted her gown to her face to cover her nose and mouth and stumbled blindly toward the windows, banging in futility against the reinforced glass.

She crawled along the floor, searching for a pocket of air, praying that someone would find her, get her out of this hell. Tears, mixed with terror and black soot, slid down her cheeks. The last thing she remembered before everything went totally black was a thunderous crash, the sound of breaking glass, and then nothing.

Chapter 2

“Desi, Desi… Can you hear me, sweetheart?”

Desiree struggled toward the sound of the familiar voice, hoping that it would finally lead her toward safety. The air in her lungs was still short and choppy, her throat and her eyes burned. But if she could just make it to the voice she knew she would be okay.

She forced her eyes open, certain that all she would see was darkness, thick black clouds and flames. Instead, everything around her was a pristine white and the figures wavering in her line of vision appeared filmy as if they were covered in plastic. Was this heaven?

“She’s awake!”

There were sounds of running feet and unfamiliar voices, authoritative voices, calling out instructions. The film was pulled away and pinpoints of light were flashed in her eyes. Something was covering her mouth, keeping her from speaking.

“Just relax, Ms. Armstrong,” a soothing male voice said. “You’ve been through a traumatic ordeal. I’m Dr. Bernard. You’re in the hospital. You’re going to be fine. Do you understand me? Just nod your head.”

Desiree slowly nodded.

“Good. You’ve been asleep for two days. We have you on oxygen. There was some damage to your lungs from the smoke. Some minor burns and cuts, but nothing that time and rest won’t heal.” He smiled and glanced over his shoulder, then back at his patient. “Your friend is here to see you. She’s been here since you were brought in. I’ll give her a little time and then I want you to rest.”

Desiree nodded again, as tears spilled from her eyes. She was alive.

Rachel stepped into her line of vision. A gentle smile trembled around her mouth. “Damn, girl, if you wanted some attention all you had to do was call a sistah.” Her attempt at holding back her own tears of relief were useless as they flowed unchecked down her high cheeks. She sniffed hard and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Thought I’d lost you.”

Desiree tried to talk over the oxygen mask but coughed instead.

“Just relax, okay? I know you’re stubborn, but do as the doctors say so you can get the hell outta here.”

“My s…tudio,” Desiree managed in a harsh whisper.

Rachel momentarily lowered her gaze. “Everything is gone, sweetie.”

Desiree squeezed her eyes shut as the enormity of what had transpired taunted her behind her lids.

“The important thing, Desi, is that you’re here. All that stuff could never replace you. You can do it again. Even better next time.”

She shook her head and began thrashing violently. “No,” she croaked. “No.”

“Nurse! Nurse! Relax, Desi. Please. Nurse!”

A nurse came rushing in followed by Dr. Bernard.

“I’m sorry, you’re going to have to leave. I’ll need to sedate her,” Dr. Bernard said, stepping around her to Desiree’s bedside.

Rachel slowly backed out of the room, covering her mouth to contain her sobs as she watched the surreal scene unfolding in front of her.

Out in the hallway she leaned against the wall and shut her eyes. If anyone knew how important Desiree’s work was, it was she. She’d watched her struggle to build her career from nothing to opening her own small shop, spending hours toiling over the perfect combination of colors and form, teaching an art class to poor inner-city kids on weekends to help make ends meet. She was at a major turning point in her career, and now this. Everything she’d worked for up in flames. Gone forever.

“She’s resting now.”

Rachel opened her eyes to look into Dr. Bernard’s. She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

He put his hand on her shoulder. “Your friend will be okay. The emotional shock is much more devastating than any of her physical problems. That will take time. I understand that she lost everything, even a place to live. Is there somewhere she can stay when she’s released?”

“Of course. She can stay with me.”

“Good. She’ll need a friend. It may be best for her to get away for a while.”

Rachel nodded her head. “When do you think she can go home—I mean be released?”

“Depending on her progress, a day or two.”

“I’ll be here.”

“Good night. Try to get some rest.”

Rachel watched as the doctor walked away, made a stop at the nurses’ station, then continued down the hallway. Taking a deep breath of resolve, she headed toward the elevator just as Cynthia got off.

“Oh, Rachel. Hi.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “How is she?”

Rachel smiled. “She woke up.”

Cynthia grabbed Rachel in a bear hug and they both giggled and jumped up and down. When Cynthia stepped back, there were tears in her ocean-blue eyes.

“Thank goodness,” she murmured, pressing her hand to her chest. “But what are the doctors saying? Is she…really okay?”

Rachel recapped what Dr. Bernard said.

The delighted expression on Cynthia’s face slowly diminished by degrees. “Yeah, I guess that’s to be expected. That studio, her work…” She looked Rachel in the eye. “They meant everything to her. And now…”

“I know. But Desi is tough. She will get through this and she’ll be even stronger when she comes out on the other side. She just needs some time to pull herself together.”

Cynthia nodded, then her eyes widened in alarm. “What is going to happen with the exhibit? It’s barely two months away. All the preparation…the money.” She pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead and clenched her teeth. “And Carl Hampton…he’s going to go ballistic if he hasn’t already. As a matter of fact, I’m surprised he’s not all over the place like a rash, throwing his weight and his money around.” She gave an exaggerated shiver. “He just rubs me the wrong way.”

“Well, Desi certainly doesn’t need to be annoyed by Carl right now. Maybe it’s best that he does stay away, at least for the time being.” She checked her watch. “Listen, I’ve gotta run. They gave her a sedative, she got a little upset, so I’m not sure if she is awake. But why don’t you go on in?”

“Thanks. I just want her to know I’m here.”

“Okay. Take care.” She stepped onto the elevator just before the doors slid shut.

Chapter 3

“You know you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to, girl,” Rachel said as she put Desiree’s belongings in the guest bedroom. “And as soon as you get your strength back we’ll go on a shopping spree like we used to do back at Howard.” She laughed lightly at the college memory, but got no response from Desiree.

Desiree wandered over to the canopy bed, sat down on the side and stared out the window. The world didn’t look any different than it had only days ago, she thought. People still moved along as if nothing at all had changed, as if her life and all that she’d lived for hadn’t been destroyed. Couples still walked hand in hand, children still laughed and played, police still wailed their sirens, the sun still rose and set. It was all unreal to her. A part of her mind could not handle the information, because she knew differently. She knew that nothing was the same and never would be again. All she had left were the borrowed clothes on her back and a new toothbrush for all her years of struggle and sacrifice. A tear of desolation slid down her cheek. She covered her face as the sudden onslaught of sobs shook her body.

“Desi…” Rachel was immediately at her side, gathering her in her arms. “It’s going to be all right. I swear it will. All that stuff is replaceable. I know you’re aching inside, but imagine the world without you in it.” She hugged her tighter.

“I…I haven’t felt this kind of emptiness since…Lincoln.” She wiped at her eyes and sniffed hard. “After him, all I had was my work. I poured all the love I had for Lincoln into building my shop, painting, and…my first show.” She stifled a sob. “Now I have nothing.” She turned to look into the eyes of her friend. “Nothing, Rae.”

Rachel squeezed her eyes shut as she pulled Desiree against her shoulder. Her own heart ached for her friend. All she could do was try to help her through this crisis. Desiree was a strong woman, resilient. All she needed was time to get her feet back under her, and Rachel promised herself that she would do whatever was necessary to make sure she did.

Desiree wandered around Rachel’s apartment like a ghost for the next week, barely speaking or eating. She refused to see Carl at all and when Cynthia came to visit she hardly acknowledged her presence.

* * *

“She doesn’t seem to be getting any better,” Cynthia said as she sat in the kitchen with Rachel sipping on a cup of herbal tea. “Maybe she needs to…you know…see someone.”

Rachel frowned. “You mean a shrink?”

“Yes. Maybe it would help. She certainly can’t stay like this. It’s not healthy.”

“Desiree doesn’t need a shrink, she needs to get her spirit back. I’ve seen her go through this before. She’s healing, in her own way, and when she’s ready she will come out of it. I know Desi, nothing will move her until she’s ready to move.”

“Well, not to change subjects, but she needs to really start thinking about her business, the show, finding a way to repay Carl. I can only hold him off for so long.”

Rachel took a deep breath and nodded her head. “She will when she’s ready.”

Cynthia stood. “It really needs to be soon.” She picked up her purse from the oak table. “Take care. And thanks for the tea.”

Rachel didn’t bother to walk her to the door. To tell the truth she was glad she was leaving. Cynthia might very well have Desiree’s best interests at heart, but Rachel had never really cared for Cynthia. She simply tolerated her because of Desiree, who swore she couldn’t run things without her, that she was indispensable. What Rachel really believed was that Cynthia was a no-talent artist who happened to fall into Desiree’s lap at a very vulnerable time in her life and decided to latch on to Desi’s coattails. Maybe the real truth was that she was a bit jealous of Desi and Cynthia’s relationship, she grudgingly admitted. Cynthia had been there for Desiree when she really needed someone—that someone should have been Rachel. But she’d been dealing with her own issues at the time. Building her accessory-design business had taken her out of New York for months on end. She was virtually living in Europe when the fiasco with Lincoln had taken place, not to mention her affair with her Italian lover Claudio, and her on-again off-again relationship with Lucas Scott, which almost consumed her.

Sighing, she pushed herself up from the table. Maybe that’s why she was trying so hard with Desiree, not only because she wanted to see her better, but also to assuage her guilty conscience.

She walked to the dishwasher and put the teacups and saucers in.

“Rae.”

Rachel jumped at the sudden sound of her name, grabbed her chest and turned. “Girl, you scared me out of my panties. Whew.” She closed the door to the dishwasher. “Hungry? I was going to fix something.”

“No, actually, I was wondering if you would mind coming with me to the loft.”

Rachel’s thinly tapered brows rose in surprise. “The loft?”

Desiree nodded. “I think it’s time.”

Rachel took a deep breath and a slow smile spread across her face. “Yeah, it is.”

* * *

When Rachel pulled up in front of what was left of the loft, Desiree’s heart nearly stopped. All of the windows were broken out, debris was everywhere, the remnants of her gallery and paintings were piled in a sooty heap against the front door—destroyed. There was yellow caution tape surrounding the building. It looked exactly like what it was—a disaster.

“Do you want to go in?” Rachel asked with hesitation.

Desiree nodded and slowly got out of the car. She walked toward the entrance and looked up at what had once been her apartment. A chilling flash of that night and the terror she felt raced through her. And for the first time she fully understood just how lucky she really was. She hadn’t been spared to spend the rest of her life wallowing in self-pity, she concluded. She’d been given a chance—maybe to start over, live her life differently, change her focus—she wasn’t sure, at least not yet. But she was certain that she’d been spared for a reason.

She turned to Rachel. “I don’t need to go in. There’s nothing for me in there.”

Rachel placed her hand on Desiree’s shoulder. “Are you sure?”

“It’s the first thing I’ve been sure about in weeks. Let’s go.”

* * *

Desiree was deathly quiet on the trip back. When they returned to Rachel’s apartment Desiree took a seat on the couch. “Let’s talk,” she said.

Rachel took off her red leather jacket and hung it on the coatrack in the foyer. “Sure. What’s up?”

“I know I’ve been a real pain in the ass these past few weeks. And you’ve been a really good babysitter. But it’s time for me to get out of here and for you to get back to your life.”

“Desi, you have not been a problem. That’s what friends are for.”

She nodded. “And I truly appreciate it. But it’s time.”

“Where will you go? What will you do?”

Desiree heaved a deep sigh. “I was thinking of going out to the shore for the rest of the summer. Get my thoughts back in order, maybe rekindle an old spark of creativity.” She flashed a weak smile. “What do you think?”

“I think if that’s what you need to do, then you should do it. But where? Actually you could stay at my place in Highland Beach. They’re still doing renovations, but you would pretty much have the place to yourself.”

“No. I’ve imposed on you enough. And I certainly don’t want to be in the way of workmen.”

“I guess you’re right. So where to then?”

“I was thinking Sag Harbor. It’s always so beautiful there this time of year. Remember when all of the sorors ‘summered’ there during our senior year at Howard?” she asked, affecting an aristocratic accent.

Rachel laughed at the memory. “Yes, the Alpha Delta X did their thing that summer. It is lovely there. Great shops, wonderful restaurants, and it’s peaceful. Maybe you could rent a cottage or something.”

Desiree nodded as the idea began to take shape in her mind.

Rachel leaned forward, excitement brightening her eyes. “If you go, it has to be under one condition.”

Desiree’s brows drew together. “What?”

“You let this be my treat. I’ll arrange for everything. You won’t have a thing to worry about.”

“Rae…I couldn’t.”

“You can and you will.” She folded her arms and pressed her lips together.

Desiree looked at Rachel and knew from the set expression of her eyes and mouth that no was not an option. “Okay.”

“I’ll take care of it tomorrow. And then we go shopping!”

Desiree laughed for the first time in weeks, and tomorrow suddenly didn’t seem like such a bad thing at all.

Chapter 4

Carl Hampton entered the office building on Madison Avenue in midtown Manhattan and stepped onto the elevator. Hampton Inc. was located on the twentieth floor of the turn-of-the-century building and boasted an incredible view of the Big Apple, one of the reasons he’d chosen the location nearly fifteen years earlier.

Since he launched his investment company, he’d seen the country’s unstable economy topple one business after another. But one thing he’d learned early on was to diversify. His assets and his sights were set on an array of enterprises and opportunities, and he’d amassed enough money to live the way he wanted. It also allowed him to indulge in his pet passion—art. The white-walled reception area of Hampton Inc. was lined with original artwork from around the world. Each of the dozen offices housed at least one treasured piece.

The elevator door opened and his receptionist, Denise, jumped to attention.

“Good morning, Mr. Hampton.”

He murmured something in his throat and breezed by her.

Jake Foxx, one of his investment brokers, stopped him in the corridor.

“Carl, we really need to talk. The lawyers and the accountants need to know what you want to do about that loft thing. We need to get the papers filed and decide what to do with the property.”

Carl cut his eyes at Jake. “Do you think that perhaps I can get into my office before you bombard me with what you need?” he asked with deadly calm. “I pay the accountants, the lawyers and you to take care of things. So take care of them.” He walked off and into his office, slamming the door behind him.

He knew part of the reason for his ill temper was that he had not been able to talk to or see Desiree. It was eating him alive. He was sure that by now she would have contacted him, asking for his help. But not a word, not a call. How could she not need him?

He slammed his briefcase on top of his desk, sending a flurry of papers to the floor. This was not how things were supposed to be. Desiree should have been his by now. Hadn’t he shown her how much he cared? Hadn’t he provided for her every need? She’d come to her senses and realize what a fool she’d been to turn her back on him. The building, the exhibit, none of it mattered. The only thing that made a difference in his life was Desiree, and he had to find a way to finally make her understand that.

* * *

“Sorry, ma’am, we’re full and probably will be for the next two weeks. You can try us back then.”

“Thanks.” Rachel sighed and hung up the phone. She’d called every bed-and-breakfast on Sag Harbor and received the same response: “Full, please call back.” Short of going out there herself and scouting the places, she didn’t know what else to do.

She leaned back in her chair and massaged her temples. She couldn’t let Desiree down, not after all the huffing and puffing she’d done, swearing that she would take care of everything.

Running out of options, Rachel decided to call the tourist bureau. After about twenty minutes, the very patient and thorough customer service rep was ready to fax over information on a relatively new B and B called The Port.

“Thank you so much. You’ve saved a life today,” Rachel said. “Yes, the fax is coming through right now. Thank you again. Have a great day.”

Rachel hung up and hurried across the room of her home office to the fax machine. Each of the pages highlighted the attributes of this little-known treasure on Sag Harbor. Even though the picture of the resort was a bit grainy, she could tell that it would be perfect for Desi. It offered all the amenities and provided the privacy that she needed while still giving her easy access to the rest of the affluent African-American community.

Before the last page was spewed out, Rachel was on the phone.

“Hello, please tell me that you have rooms available,” she said, a bit breathless.

The deep voice chuckled. “Actually you’re in luck.”

“Oh, thank goodness. I’d like to make reservations—for the rest of the summer if that’s possible.”

“The rest of the summer works for us,” he said. “We’ll be happy to accommodate you.”

“Actually it’s not for me. It’s for a friend. She really needs to get away, rest, and…well, she needs to get away. But I’ll be taking care of all the bills.”

“Not a problem. Let me put the guest clerk on the phone and she will take care of all the particulars.”

“Oh…but can’t you take the information? I’ve been on the phone for hours. I swear if I talk to one more person today I might snap.”

“It can’t be that bad,” he said, keeping his voice light. The last thing he needed was an unhappy customer before she even arrived. As one of the newest establishments on the shore, he was conscious of building a solid reputation for customer service. “Trust me, the clerk will help you. I only own the place. I leave the running of The Port to the staff. It’s important. I’m sure you can understand that. So please hang on and we’ll get you all set up in no time at all.”

Rachel rolled her eyes and sighed as she listened to the recorded music of Nancy Wilson. At least it’s not Musak, she thought.

“Hi. I’m sorry to keep you waiting. My name is Terri. Tell me what you need and we’ll make it happen.”

Rachel gave Terri all the information and insisted that Desiree be given as much privacy as possible.

“We always respect all of our guests’ privacy, so you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Great. Put all the charges on my credit card. She’s not to be bothered with anything.”

“Understood.” Terri took down all the credit information. “All done. We’ll be expecting Ms. Armstrong on Sunday. And don’t worry about check-in times, her room will be ready whenever she arrives.”

Rachel exhaled a long sigh of relief. “Thank you so much.”

“Not a problem. Have a great day.” Terri hung up the phone and started to file away the reservation card.

“So who is our mystery guest this weekend, Terri?”

Terri turned in the direction of her boss’s voice. “A Desiree Armstrong.” She handed the reservation card to him.

It took a moment for the name and the reality to register, and when it did his breath stopped in his chest.

Lincoln blindly handed the card back to her.

“Are you all right, Mr. Davenport?”

“Uh, yes. I’m fine.” He cleared his throat. “See to it that Ms. Armstrong has whatever she needs.” He turned and walked away.

Lincoln stepped outside and stood on the porch of the main house, gazing out toward the sun that was slowly descending over the still waters. Orange and gold sunbeams streamed out across the slight ripples like pathways leading to eternity. For an instant, Lincoln wished he could simply put one foot in front of the other, step onto the guiding beams of light and walk off into the horizon. It seemed possible, almost preferable to having to confront the unimaginable.

Desiree. Even now, five years later, the mere thought of her made his heart race and desire heat his blood. Was this some cruel joke, some twist of fate that was bringing her here of all places? In three days he would know. But what then? What could they possibly say to each other to make what had gone so wrong right again?

Chapter 5

“I don’t know how to thank you, Rae.”

“You can thank me by relaxing and getting your head and spirit clear,” Rachel said as she sped along Route 79 en route to Sag Harbor.

Desiree sat back against the plush beige leather of the Volvo and took in the sights as they unfolded along the highway.

Everything was in bloom, alive. Had this been any other time in her life she’d be reaching for her sketchbook and pencils to begin detailing all that her eyes could see or imagine. But this wasn’t any of those other times. As much as she’d tried to put on a good face for Rachel and Cynthia, the truth was—she’d lost it. She’d lost her desire to paint. The inspiration that drove her to sit long, agonizing hours to bring her vision to the canvas or to a piece of clay was gone. And that realization saddened her as only one other thing ever had.

She hoped that this time away would somehow revive her passion, or at the very least give her a reason to pick up the fragments of her life.

Each time she closed her eyes she had nightmares, terrifying visions of that night, and she’d wake up shaking and soaking wet. She was afraid to be alone and ashamed to be around anyone. Now instead of the scents of turpentine and paint revitalizing her as they once did, they only evoked twisted memories, making her stomach revolt.

Everyone thought of her as “so together,” strong, resilient, able to handle anything. But she was none of those things. Maybe at one time, but now she felt as if she were only a shell of the woman she once was. Would she ever be all right again? Ever? Would the constant fear that hung in the center of her chest ever go away?

Inadvertently a shuddering sigh rushed up from her chest and escaped across her lips.

“Desi? Are you okay?” Rachel quickly glanced in her mirrors, then eased the car onto the shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Rae, I…feel so lost, like I’m drifting. I have nightmares every night. I can’t paint, I can’t think…” She covered her mouth with her hand.

“Desi.” She clasped her left shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. You just need some time. You’ve been through a trying ordeal. Anyone who’d been in your place would feel the same way.”

Desiree sniffed hard and reached in the glove compartment for a tissue. She dabbed at her eyes. “I know. I keep telling myself that,” she said and wiped her nose. “Some days it helps and other days it doesn’t.”

“Are you sure you want to go to the shore? You know you can stay with me. Maybe it’s too early for you to be alone.”

“I’ll be okay. I have to be. I know I can’t keep living like this every day.” She turned and looked at Rachel. “I just can’t, Rae.” She tugged in a deep breath and forced herself to smile. “I didn’t let you come all this way for nothing. Let’s go.”

* * *

Lincoln strolled across the grounds behind his property, gravel and sand crunching beneath his sneakered feet, and walked toward the water. From his vantage on the hill, he could see for miles across the cloudless sky. The water was a soothing blue and moved in gentle ripples along the shoreline, seeming to meet the deeper blue of the heavens in a seamless line along the horizon. In the distance the white sails of the private boats could be seen flapping in the late summer breeze.

When he’d stumbled across the abandoned site four years earlier, he immediately saw its potential.

The eight cabins were nestled among manicured bushes, imposing gray rocks and a brook that ran in a crisscross pattern throughout the two-mile stretch of grass and sand. The main house was a stone’s throw away from the water, and from its vantage point on the high hill it was a fairy-tale view at night.

But all that potential took work to be realized. What were now luxury cabins with all of the latest amenities had been shaped from a series of eight shacks in desperate need of repair. Everything from new plumbing to walls and new roofs were part of the renovations.

Yet with all the extras, the cabins still maintained an intimate, homey feel to them that his guests loved.

The Port had become his balm, a place to soothe his soul, a place to immerse himself in his efforts to get over Desiree. He poured all of his energies into creating this haven, praying that at the end of the day he would be too damned exhausted to think or feel. Some days his efforts paid off. Many times it did not, and she would creep into his thoughts, beneath his skin.

Lincoln inhaled deeply the salt-filled air and he could almost feel her fill him as she had always done. But he knew how empty he truly was inside. When would the emptiness be filled? He closed his eyes for a moment as the images came rushing back.

The sounds of laughter floated upward from the shore and pulled him from the thoughts that constantly engulfed him. He opened his eyes, turned and slowly walked back to the main house.

* * *

“Terri, I’m going into town,” Lincoln said as he approached the front desk. “I should be back in an hour or so. Is there anything we need—you need?”

Terri put the guest register aside. “We’re pretty well stocked with everything. We had a shipment of supplies on Friday.”

Lincoln nodded.

“Are you okay, Mr. D.? You seem so out of it lately.”

He chuckled. “Naw, I’m okay. Didn’t know it was that obvious.”

She tipped her head to the side and smiled. “You’re pretty lousy at hiding your feelings, Mr. D.”

“Guess I have to work on that.” He tapped the desk and walked toward the door. “See you later.”

Driving always had a way of relaxing him, he thought, as he trotted down the four steps to the driveway and got behind the wheel of his black-on-black Lincoln Navigator. He had to do something to keep his mind off of Desiree’s impending visit. More than once, he’d thought about leaving The Port and staying at his place in Manhattan until he was sure she was gone. But he realized the only purpose it would serve would be to delay the inevitable. He always believed that at some point in life he and Desiree would meet again and be forced to confront their demons. That it would be here and now meant that the time had come.

He took a turn onto the main two-lane road to be met by a speeding car that came right at him. He swerved violently to the right and onto the shoulder to avoid a head-on collision. Squealing to a stop, he looked in his rearview mirror. The tan Volvo continued down the road and turned off onto the same road he’d come from as if nothing nearly disastrous had just occurred.

Lincoln spat out a string of expletives before pulling himself together and getting back onto the road.

“Some people need to have their licenses taken away,” he grumbled.

* * *

“Idiot!” Rachel yelled.

Desiree held her hand to her chest. “Jeez, Rae. That was close.”

“It’s obvious that whoever was behind the wheel doesn’t practice any road courtesy,” she huffed, attempting to hide how shaken she was behind a blast of bravado. She gripped the steering wheel.

“Well, just relax. It can’t be too much farther.”

Desiree peeked into the passenger-side mirror and watched the magnificent black stallion of a ride disappear as Rachel turned onto the next road. An unsettling sensation floated upward from her belly and gripped her heart. She suddenly felt hot and cold as if something had passed over or through her. Her heart beat a little faster but she was no longer sure if it was a result of their recent scare…or something else. She glanced in the mirror again and saw nothing but road and trees. She took a deep, cleansing breath and pushed the odd feelings aside.

Chapter 6

Rachel pulled up to the main house of The Port, an imposing white structure, reminiscent of mansions in the old South, complete with pillars, a wraparound balcony and an enclosed porch all embraced by towering willows that swayed gently in the light breeze off the water.

“Impressive,” Rachel said, easing the car to a stop.

“Very nice.” Desiree opened her door and stepped out. She looked around and immediately felt a sense of ease and tranquility move through her.

Terri opened the front door, came out onto the porch and waved. “Welcome to The Port,” she said, approaching the duo. “Did you have a good trip?”

“Yes, except for a near mishap on the road,” Rachel grumbled.

“Sorry about that. I’m Terri,” she said, extending her hand to Rachel and then Desiree.

“Rachel Givens.”

“Desiree Armstrong.”

“Oh, Ms. Armstrong.” Terri smiled. “I know you’ll enjoy your stay with us.”

“I’m sure I will.”

“Leave your bags. I’ll have someone come and get them. If you’ll follow me, I’ll get you all checked in and set you up with your cabin.”

They followed her inside. Rachel filled out all the appropriate forms.

“Will you be needing special meals or anything, Ms. Armstrong?”

“No, not at all. I’m easy.”

“We have breakfast here in the main house in the dining room from seven to ten. Lunch is on your own. But the fridge is always stocked, so feel free to fix whatever you like. We offer dinner as well, but many of our guests choose to go into town for the evening. So just let me know if you decide to eat in.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Desiree smiled.

“Okay, well, let me take you to your cabin.” She looked toward the door. “Oh, Josh, would you please take Ms. Armstrong’s bags to cabin six?”

“Sure.”

* * *

Terri unlocked the cabin and opened the door. “As you can see, you have all the comforts of home.” She opened a door and flipped on the light. “Full-size bath with Jacuzzi.” She walked across the room and opened the blinds. “This is one of my favorite cabins. It has the greatest view of the water. You have phone service, a wet bar—on the house—cable television, a business area with a fax machine and a computer should you need to use it.” She opened a side door. “This is your sitting room.”

The intimate room had a fireplace, sliding glass doors that led to a flowered walkway, a small fabric-covered couch and love seat in a warm brandy color, a smoked-glass coffee table and a twenty-seven-inch television and stereo system.

“Up at the main house we have a masseuse, full gym and heated swimming pool.” She took a breath and turned to them with a smile. “Anything you need, just call. I hope it meets with all of your expectations.”

“This is incredible,” Desiree said, taking in the amenities. “Nothing like any ‘cabin’ I’ve ever seen.”

Terri laughed. “That’s what all of our guests say. Well, I’ll let you get settled.” She walked to the door. “Should we expect you for dinner?”

“That might be nice. Thank you.”

“Great. Dinner is at eight.” She closed the door behind her.

“Hey, girl, you hit the jackpot,” Rachel said, falling out across the queen-size bed.

“I can’t thank you enough. This is fabulous. How did you find it anyway?”

“Trust me, it wasn’t easy. It was the last one on the shore that wasn’t filled. Apparently it’s rather new and wasn’t listed.”

“I’m glad you did. I’m sure I’m going to love it here.”

Rachel looked at her watch. “I hate to run, but I think I should head back.” She pulled herself up from the bed and stood.

“Thanks for bringing me up here and for everything.” Desiree wrapped her in a hug.

“Anything for you, sis.” She kissed Desiree’s cheek.

“I’ll walk you back to the car.”

There was a knock on the door. It was Josh with Desiree’s bags.

“Where would you like these?” he asked.

“You can put them by the bed.” She dug in her purse for a tip and handed him five dollars.

“Thank you.” He shoved the money in his pocket. “Will you be needing anything else?”

“No, I’m fine for now.”

“Listen, you get settled. I’ll walk back with Josh,” Rachel said. “If you don’t mind, Josh.”

“Actually we can ride back. I have a little golf cart out front.”

“Perfect. These aren’t the best shoes in the world for walking,” she said, referring to her designer pumps.

“Well, make sure you call me when you get back to the city. And take it easy on the road,” Desiree warned.

“I will. Promise.”

Desiree stood at the door and watched them drive away, then returned to her room. She glanced around and pulled in a deep breath. “Well, let the healing begin,” she said softly.

* * *

“Hey there, Mr. D.,” Terri greeted. “Our guest arrived about an hour ago. I put her in six. She seems really nice.”

Lincoln’s heart knocked hard in his chest. He cleared his throat. “Good. Uh, is she alone or…”

“She checked in by herself. A friend drove her up. I hope she’ll be comfortable here. She seemed a little sad, but maybe it’s all in my head.”

“Why would you think that? Did she…say anything?”

“No. She didn’t say anything in particular. It was in her eyes. You know how I am about reading people. Are you going up to introduce yourself?”

“Maybe a little later. I’m sure she wants to rest.” He started to walk away. “I’ll be in the back if you need me.”

“Sure thing, Mr. D.”

Lincoln went out of the main house to the back of the building. He slung his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and looked across the landscape to where cabin number six stood. He could see movement behind the partially opened vertical blinds. Desiree. She was mere feet away from him. All it would take was a short walk, a knock on her door, and they would stand face-to-face.

But it was obvious that she didn’t want to see him. She hadn’t asked for his whereabouts. She didn’t leave a message at the desk. It was clear to him that even after all this time she still didn’t want to see him.

He lowered his head, turned and walked away.

Chapter 7

Desiree finished unpacking her belongings, tried out the remote on the television, tested that the phone was working, fixed herself a glass of rum and Coke, then decided to take a walk outside before the sun set.

She changed from her very stylish but impractical open-toed sandals and put on her black Reeboks, then took her well-worn denim jacket from the hook behind the door and walked outside.

Deciding to be adventurous, she took the path that led away from the main house and opted for the one that wound its way in and out of the property and down to the water.

She took her time, stopping along the way to pick wildflowers and wave to several couples that she passed. It was so peaceful, she mused, and the first time she hadn’t felt the constriction in her chest or the constant swirling in the pit of her stomach. She tugged in lungfuls of ocean-washed air as if to force all remnants of that night from her body.

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.

From the day they had met eight years earlier on the corner of 34th Street and 8th Avenue in the middle of a snowstorm, two days before Christmas, she knew he was something special…

“Looks like you’re trying to do the same thing I am.”

Desiree had looked up, trying to focus on the tall dark figure in front of her with the snow swirling around them.

“Huh?” she shouted over a gust of wind that seemed to carry her voice in the opposite direction. She shielded her eyes by cupping her hand above her brow.

“Trying to catch a cab,” the man shouted.

Desiree nodded her head and hunched her shoulders to keep the snow from sliding down her neck. She could kick herself for forgetting her scarf. But the weatherman said a “chance” of flurries, not a full-blown snowstorm. Ha! What did they know with all their fancy equipment? It had been snowing nonstop for a little more than two hours, building in momentum, and now you could hardly see five feet in front of you.

“I’m heading downtown. Maybe we could share one—if you’re going that way.”

Desiree tried to get a good look at him. He didn’t look like a stalker, but in this weather who could tell?

“So am I,” she said.

“Great.”

Pedestrians slipped and slid around her, dashing for cover and jostling each other on the snow-covered streets. One woman lost her footing and slid into Desiree, knocking her and her shopping bag to the ground.

“Oh…oh. I’m so sorry,” the woman muttered, but didn’t hang around long enough to be of any help.

It took a moment for Desiree to register what had happened. One minute she was standing and the next she was sitting on her behind in a pile of snow.

A pair of strong hands slid beneath her arms and lifted her to her feet.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he reached for her shopping bag.

“Yes. I think so,” she said, suddenly embarrassed. She brushed the wet snow from her coat. “Thank you.”

“Maybe you need to hold on to something,” he said, a light chuckle in his deep voice. He took her hand and hooked it in the crook of his arm, drawing her close to the warmth of his body. He patted her leather-covered hand. “I wouldn’t want to see you get knocked over by another senior citizen.”

She looked up at him and he was smiling. The corners of his mouth were lifted to a perfect angle, revealing just a hint of even, pearly white teeth. His eyes crinkled at the corners and seemed to sparkle with a boyish mischief that made her stomach suddenly quiver. It was the sexiest smile she’d ever seen.

He stuck out his arm and like a magician made a cab appear.

“Come on.” He opened the door and helped her inside before easing in next to her.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked, inching away from the curb.

The windshield wipers licked furiously against the driving snow, offering only split seconds of visibility.

Desiree turned to her knight in black cashmere. “I’m going to 22nd Street and 7th Avenue.”

“Really? There’s a building that I’m looking to buy over there.” He settled back in the cab and dusted the snow from his coat.

“You’re buying a building?” she asked incredulously. The only people she knew who bought whole buildings were in the newspapers and on TV dramas.

“You sound surprised or skeptical. I can’t tell.”

He grinned, and this time Mother Nature didn’t stand between her and that smile. Her heart lurched in her chest.

Desiree dipped her head for a moment. “I wouldn’t say skeptical, maybe surprised.”

He folded his hands on his lap. “Tell me why.”

His gaze was so direct and penetrating that she imagined he could read her thoughts as easily as strip her naked with only a simple look.

Desiree swallowed and blinked away the vision. “It’s just that I don’t know many—well, any—black folks who own buildings other than their homes.”

“That’s one of the best-kept secrets,” he joked.

“I know I must sound naive, but…”

“Not at all. Like I said, it’s a pretty common belief. But the truth is, there are hundreds of black real estate owners.”

“So what do you do with these buildings?” she asked, genuinely interested.

“Some of them I rehab and sell. Others I keep.”

“How many do you have?”

“Six.”

Her eyes widened. “A regular Donald Trump.”

He laughed. “I have a long way to go. By the way, my name is Lincoln Davenport.”

“Desiree Armstrong.”

He stuck out his hand and Desiree placed hers in it, and when his fingers closed around hers a flood of heat shot through her like a good brandy.

“Pleasure,” he uttered.

The deep vibration of his voice sent a shiver up her spine and it had nothing to do with the bone-numbing cold.

“So what do you do?”

“I paint.”

“For a living?”

She giggled. “If that’s what you want to call it. But my teaching is what actually pays the bills.”

“Ah, the starving artist in person. So tell me, why do you paint?”

For a moment she was taken aback. She’d never been asked why she painted, only what.

She took a breath and turned to him. “For as long as I can remember, there were images running around in my head. I could see things in the ordinary that others couldn’t. And the images and colors nag at me, compel me to bring them to life. When I paint or sculpt, it’s as if I’m transported, driven. It fuels me with energy, an ongoing passion. I…don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t create.”

“Wow. I’m sold.”

She lowered her head, embarrassed for gushing like a schoolgirl. “I must sound like an idealistic nut.”

“No, you sound like someone who truly loves what she does. That’s rare.”

Suddenly the cab swerved to the right, tossing Desiree against Lincoln’s hard chest.

Instinctively he grabbed her. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he said with that wicked sparkle in his eyes.

Her breath skidded in her chest as she realized her mouth was inches away from his.

“Sorry about that, folks,” the cabbie said, breaking the magic spell in concert with a knock on the door.

* * *

Desiree shook her head, and that snowy afternoon was replaced by warmth and green.

“Just a moment.” She went to the door and opened it.

“I know I shouldn’t be here…”

She took his hand. “Come in, Lincoln.”

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