Authors: Donna Hill
Chapter 9
D
esiree 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.”
Chapter 10
R
achel took her glass of white wine and went into her home office to check her messages. She was expecting an overseas call from one of her jewelry suppliers, and the call was already two days late. Any further delay with this shipment was going to cause her major problems with her clients. She’d make sure never to use this supplier again.
She set her wineglass down on the desk and depressed her messages-waiting button.
“This better be you, Javier,” she muttered.
The last person she expected to hear from was Cynthia. She frowned as she listened to the message.
Damn. Well, if she had anything to do with it, Carl wouldn’t get anywhere near Desiree. The last thing she needed now was to be hassled by Carl. Rachel could never understand how Desiree allowed herself to get so deeply involved with him anyway.
She knew part of it was Desiree’s determination to make it in the art world despite her breakup with Lincoln. It was her way of showing him that she could survive without him, and also of putting her pain behind her. But she hadn’t succeeded on either score. Not really. She’d merely existed through her work. Now she didn’t even have that.
Rachel took a sip of her wine. But now that opportunity had stepped in and brought them back together, maybe Desiree would finally come to her senses and put the past behind her for good and move into the future—with Lincoln.
Rachel picked up the phone and called Cynthia.
* * *
“Have a seat,” Desiree said as she shut the door.
Lincoln stepped in and turned to her.
“Desi, we really need to talk.”
“I know,” she said softly.
She crossed the room and sat at the foot of the bed.
“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable staying here. If my presence bothers you I’ll leave until you check out.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
He took a breath and asked the question that had been nagging at him.
“Why did you decide to come here of all places?”
“To be truthful, it wasn’t my choice.” She paused. “Rachel found it. I had no idea this was your place and neither did she. Although for a minute there I swore she did. You know Rachel,” she said not unkindly.
They chuckled with the knowledge of Rachel’s true feelings about their breakup and her one-woman campaign to get them back together.
Lincoln traced and retraced his steps across the floor before finally sitting down. He braced his forearms on his hard thighs and leaned slightly forward.
“How have you been, Desi?” he asked with genuine concern. “I mean, really.” His eyes probed hers.
“Getting better,” she said on a whispered breath. She looked away.
“What do you mean…getting better?”
Desiree inhaled deeply and straightened her shoulders, then slowly told him what had happened, at least parts of it. She left out the part about her losing everything, that she was still afraid to go to sleep, that she couldn’t paint, that all she had left in the world was a meager savings account and her car and that she owed Carl Hampton thousands of dollars.
“Oh, Des…I…I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
She lowered her head to hide the tears and the pain that lingered in her eyes.
Lincoln got up and sat beside her. With caution, he put his arm around her, drawing her head to rest on his shoulder.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re still here. That’s the only thing that matters. God…if I had lost you,” he uttered in a strangled voice and pulled her closer, stroking the wiry twists of her hair. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her. He couldn’t imagine the possibility of never seeing her again.
“What are your plans? You know you can stay here as long as you want,” he offered.
“Thanks.” She sniffed hard and eased out of his embrace. “I’m sorry.” She wiped her eyes. “There was no reason to put all of that on you.” She shook her head. “It’s not your concern.”
Abruptly he stood and looked down at her lowered head. “Not my concern? Isn’t that where our problems started, when you decided that things that affected both of us weren’t my concern?” His voice shook from the years of holding back, of waiting for this moment of confrontation. “Did you honestly believe that what was happening to you had nothing to do with me?” He paced, then shot back at her, “I lost our baby, too. Did you ever once think about how I felt?”
They stared at each other, neither willing to back down or find a middle ground.
Desiree stood, her mouth set in a firm line of defiance. She walked right up to him.
“You have no idea what it feels like to have a life growing inside of you,” she said, speaking in measured beats. “And then in the blink of an eye, it’s gone and all your chances for another…” Her voice broke. Her nostrils flared as she sucked in air, willing herself not to cry again.
“Desiree.” He reached for her.
“Don’t.” She held up her hands. “I don’t want your sympathy, Lincoln.” She turned away.
“Sympathy? Is that really what you think?” he asked, totally stunned.
“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me, my ‘situation.’” She raised her chin. “I’ve been doing perfectly fine by myself.”
“I see.” The corners of his mouth dipped in disappointment. He walked toward the door and opened it. “The offer to stay as long as you need still stands,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t bother you again. I was a fool to think… Goodbye, Desiree.”
The next sound she heard was the door rattling in its hinges. She turned toward it, her eyes resolute and her soul empty. “How could I ever tell you that I’m no longer a real woman?” she whispered.
Slowly she turned back around and took in her space. Maybe she should go back home.
Home
. What a joke. She walked through the cabin and out the sliding door that led to the back.
He would never understand, she reasoned, taking a seat on a high, flat rock while she watched the water trickle between the intricate pathways of the garden. He had no idea the kind of pressure and expectations that were put on her by her oversized, in-your-face family—the main reason why she moved from the family enclave in Charlotte, North Carolina, to attend school in D.C. After graduation she kept going, straight to New York.
Her immediate family was the size of a small town and that did not include the tribe of extended aunts, uncles and cousins through marriage or otherwise. The Armstrong family reunions made the
Charlotte Times
every year as one of the biggest events of the season. And every year she’d be grilled by her mother, grandmother, two sisters and maternal aunts about when she was going to settle down with a good man and have some babies.
“When I’m ready,” she’d say, stirring the pot of seasoned collard greens. She’d drop in pieces of smoked turkey for some added flavor.
“Well, you need to hurry up and get ready,” her aunt Mae, her mother’s oldest sister would say. “In a minute all your good years will be behind you.”
“A woman needs to have a family of her own to feel like a real woman,” her mother would say.
“Amen.” This from Aunt Pearl, the youngest of the trio of sisters. “Children are the glue that holds a man and woman together.”
“That may have been true when you and Ma were coming up, Aunt Pearl, but women have so many more options now,” Desiree would say in her own defense.
“I have no desire to try to make it in a man’s world,” her sister Kim would say, rubbing her hand across her eight-month, protruding belly. “Kevin loves taking care of me and the kids and I love letting him.”
“There’s nothing to compare to being a mother,” Denise, Desiree’s baby sister, would say. “You feel complete, full of a kind of power that is indescribable. Women bring life into the world. You can’t get any better than that. Even men for all their bravado are brought to their knees when their wife has a baby.”
“Go forth and multiply is what the Good Book says,” her mother would add.
Up against that kind of relentless firepower, Desiree didn’t stand a chance. And after… She could never bring herself to tell her family about the doctor’s dire prognosis. She didn’t want their pity or to hear any old wives’ tales about barren women.
She’d never told anyone, not even Rachel, what the doctors told her during her follow-up visit. It was too painful, too humiliating.
Lincoln deserved a woman who could have children, someone he could have a family with. She loved him enough to let him go. And that’s what she’d done. Stepped out of his life so that he could find someone else, even though it was slowly killing her inside.
She was a fool to think that even for a minute there could ever be anything between them again. She’d let her emotions and her fantasies and her smoldering desire for him cloud her reason.
It wouldn’t happen again. At least that was her plan. But as her favorite R&B crooner, Luther Vandross, sang…
if only for one night.