Dare to Dream
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
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.”