Читать книгу Dare to Dream - Donna Hill - Страница 14

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?