Intrigue Me

by Lacee Hightower

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2019 Lacee Hightower

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-978-2

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  For everyone who wasn’t afraid to step outside the box and follow their heart, AND that one special person who stuck by me with their red pen always in hand.

  INTRIGUE ME

  Tangled Pleasures, 1

  Lacee Hightower

  Copyright © 2019

  Take my hand

  Feel my strength

  You know I will lead you safely through.

  —D. Appleby

  Prologue

  “You and me. Me and you. One day you’ll be my wife.”

  There was a day, a time, when all a young girl did was fantasize. Dream big. Stare at the stars with hopes of what the next day had to offer. She was happy. Filled with joy and jubilation. Looking at the world through rose-colored glasses.

  From the instant she first saw him, oozing passion and bleeding sexuality, she knew she needed to turn away. He had a look about him that heated all her hot spots. Nordic ice-blue eyes that made her stop in her tracks. He had the power to break her, possess her, and strip her of innocence.

  Tage Morgan was lust, desire, seduction … and Ava Kavanagh’s next mistake waiting to happen.

  Chapter One

  The Present

  Dallas, Texas

  Ava

  Outside, the day was a beautiful one in Dallas, Texas. As I neared home, the weather was all but perfect. Evening storms were predicted—high winds and possible hail—but that was later. Right now, there was only silent, peaceful, bright sunshine with a few fleecy clouds floating across blue skies, and a light wind whispering through the air.

  Freshly-cut, emerald-green grass covered the yard, while bees buzzed among the brightly-colored flowers in shades of pink, purple, and blue. I turned into the driveway with a smile on my face and memories of my mother swirling through my mind. Flowers and greenery helped make a house more beautiful, she’d always said, also insisting that sound stimuli from talking to plants encouraged growth and healthiness. Dad and I had teased her many times that she could plant a bed full of rocks and they would bloom into something beautiful.

  I adored blooming flowers almost as much as my mother had. My yard was full of them.

  “Aww, hello, little sweeties.”

  Far from impressive, my front yard wasn’t as big or fancy as many of the elaborate landscapes in and around the lavish neighborhoods of the city. But it was mine, and I was damn proud. After spending hours of hard work on redesigning the small flowerbeds, I was pleased as punch with the outcome, aside from the bitch of fire ants that refused to disappear. I still reeled in delight every time I pulled up to pink blooming azaleas and my favorite tulip-shaped Texas bluebells, each one planted by my own hands.

  Along with my love of flowers, I also adored the state’s different species of birds. There were more than six hundred. My mother had taught me that growing up. She had a wild passion for them, most especially hummingbirds. Not more than the weight of a small handful of change, they were delicate and fragile, some species weighing less than an ounce. Being the bird-lover I was, I felt a rush of excitement seeing this sparse type hovering over the multi-colored feeder. An odd sense of déjà vu stabbed at me for a quick minute as I reminisced about my mother rushing me to the back window of the kitchen so she could explain just how few and far between this variety was around North Texas.

  Look at them, sweetheart. Aren’t they just lovely?

  Delicate flashes of green and red flapped a mile a minute in the light wind as three Ruby Throats glittered like precious stones while they indulged on homemade nectar from my favorite Farmer’s Market purchase. I’d paid way too much for the feeder, but I’d found it to be unique and different. It was made from recycled glass and had a hand-etched hummingbird surrounded by tiger lilies on the top. I’d been convinced the detailed design and bright colors would reflect the morning eastern sunlight just beautifully. Though it was eminently overpriced, I’d loved it, and come home with it just the same.

  “Look. Those are Ruby Throats, Melli. Aren’t they just lovely?” The rare breed was such a delight to see in this part of the country. By early fall they would be gone, heading on their flight back to Central America until next season, and chances were, we may never see them again in these parts.

  Emotion bit at me, the loss of my mother suddenly feeling like a heavy knocking at my chest.

  What was left of the day’s sun filled the kitchen with a peaceful brightness as we walked inside from the garage entry. Sunlight streamed through the long row of windows over the sink, showcasing the small backyard full of periwinkles and hanging baskets of moss rose. This room had always been my favorite. It was just a kitchen, but it nevertheless had a sense of calm and serenity.

  I set my purse and keys down onto the newly replaced granite kitchen bar, along with a fragrant bag of Chinese takeout. With nothing but an Adkins bar for lunch, my stomach grumbled like a crotchety old man at the aroma of spicy pork dumplings and soup. Giggles beside me brought an instant smile across my face.

  “Mom… Geewillikers.” Melli rolled her upward-slanting big blue eyes, the Brushfield spots on her irises shining brightly as she flashed the familiar likes of a smile that more often than not, reminded me of a past I’d tried desperately to forget.

  “Gee what?” I responded, pretty confident I knew where she’d picked up her newest word.

  Giggling in the special way that grabbed hard at my heart, her answer was just exactly as I’d suspected. “Uncle Adam taught me.”

  Reaching over a head of dark tangled curls, I covered her crown in kisses. “Adam, huh? Well, Mom may need to have a long talk with Uncle Adam. But right now, she’s starving. Why don’t you go wash up for dinner really quick, and we’ll break out those dumplings in just a few minutes.”

  “Is Daddy eating, too?”

  “No, baby. Not this time. But he’ll probably stop by your room and say goodbye before he leaves.”

  “Okay, Mom. Awesomesauce.”

  Obviously, my ex was somewhere in the house. Besides the fact that I could smell the familiar scent of his earthy cologne, his truck was also parked where it had always been before he moved out—in front of the second side-entry garage door, since the Texas-sized Ford F-250 wouldn’t fit inside.

  What the hell was he doing here? And furthermore, where was he?

  It was nearing six-thirty as I sauntered toward my bedroom, the last rays of sun beginning to fade for the day. Sconces lined the wall of the hallway leading to the master, and a soft glow of light filled the narrow space with just the right amount of illumination. Being all too familiar with Lance and his mood swings, one thing was clearly recognizable as I walked through the door to the nearly darkened room.

  He was pissed.

  With a quick flip of the switch to a floor lamp, my stomach knotted at anticipating another argument, the absolute last thing I was in the mood for. The day had been a relatively good one, and I looked forward to dinner with my second-grader, listening to her exaggerated words of all the happenings in school, and hearing about her newest favorite boy band, before gett
ing her tucked into bed and relaxing in a nice, warm bubble bath. Not the confrontation I knew was seconds from happening.

  Evenings like these when his temper went haywire had led the two of us down the ugly path to where we were now: divorced.

  On the edge of the California king bed purchased on the eve of our first anniversary, he sat with a bottle of water rolling between his hands, staring down at it like it had some kind of mystical meaning. An open plastic container of odds and ends he’d clearly removed from the spare bedroom closet sat only inches in front of his faded denim-clad knees. Trim and fit as he’d always been, he was dressed in his normal attire of Levi’s, a long-sleeved, feather grey Henley shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and western square-toed boots. Only a few short years earlier, I’d been convinced he was truly one of the most handsome men I had ever seen.

  “What are you doing here, Lance?”

  After a moment of unnerving silence, his dark gaze slid over my body before meeting my eyes. Early in our marriage, I’d always loved it when he did that, and it had usually been an instigator to sex. Two short years later, I’d grown to tense up when he looked at me that way, knowing where it led. We need to eat healthier, V. I want my wife looking good.

  My middle name was Veda. It was unusual and religious. My mother had chosen it, not because of the spiritual context, but simply because she loved the name. I, on the other hand, wasn’t particularly fond of it. Once I told Lance, he had called me V ever since.

  With an annoyed sneer on his face, he sat up straight, his expression filled with promises of the dreaded confrontation I feared. “What did you do, Ava? Throw the rest of my shit away?”

  Startled by his nasty tone, I took a step back. “Seriously, Lance?”

  Other than bitterness, there were no feelings between the two of us anymore, and sadly, that had been the case for a long time. The days when Lance had adored me and I had looked forward to coming home from an exhaustive day at work just to do anything, or nothing at all with him after Melli was warmly tucked in her bed for the night, were nothing but bittersweet memories. Now, his expression was simply one of frustration and agitation. And what made matters worse was that he knew how deeply I hated arguing and the effect angry encounters had on me, especially when Melli was nearby. But like he was doing now, he’d used that weakness against me many times.

  Irritably rubbing the nape of his neck, he leaned his head from side to side, the back and forth motion echoing like the cracking of a whip. I had the unsettling suspicion from the severity of his gaze that he was two seconds from lighting into me. “The pictures of my family that you still have,” he all but spat. “They’re not in any of the boxes in the spare room closet. Did you toss them? Burn them?”

  My stare froze against the man I had once thought to be my future, the person I’d planned on growing old with. Vindictiveness had never been in my nature.

  Lance knew that better than anyone.

  I blew out an edgy breath, my belly already fluttering with nerves. Me and this damned low ego. I needed to pull my big-girl panties up and deal with the situation. It wasn’t as if this was my first rodeo.

  “Burn them, Lance? Unlike you, I’m not vengeful.”

  “V, I want those photos, dammit!”

  “And I want your key to the house. My house, Lance. You no longer live here if you remember. You can’t just barge in whenever you get a notion. We’ve talked about this before.” Adamant about keeping the house after the divorce, I earned enough money on my own to pay the mortgage on the modest, three-bedroom home I’d fallen for the instant we drove by and peeked through the windows of the kitchen and into the backyard. I loved it too much to just walk away. It was home. My home. Melli’s home. Our home.

  Slowly but surely, I was replacing the old with new, the most recent purchases being countertops and an unusual, but pretty, couch chosen by none other than my daughter, who, like myself, happened to be a die-hard connoisseur regarding all shades of the color pink. With the kitchen remodel complete, the bedroom linens and curtains were next on my agenda.

  “Take it.” Lance glared at me as he slid the silver key from his keyring and tossed it onto the table beside the bed. “Now, tell me what you did with my family photos. My fucking brother’s pictures are in there, V. They’re all I have left of Logan. And where the hell is my daughter?”

  I bit my tongue to stay silent, wincing at the mention of his older brother. He’d been tragically killed three years earlier in an auto accident, and Lance knew better. He damn well knew I’d no more bring harm to his family photos than I would my own. Sometimes, like the present, this was how he managed to get the best of me. Belittling. Accusing. Pushing and pushing me to the point of buckling and throwing in the towel. You and your Shy Ava bullshit. Get your fucking act together. Nonetheless, I had no intention of turning this into the full-blown battle he was clearly chasing.

  “I’ll find the photos, Lance. And Melli’s in her room. More than likely, she’s already slipped into her pink tutu to practice her dance routine. Just go for now, okay? You have the weekend coming up with her, and she’s had a great day at school. Let’s not get her upset with your crankiness. Not today. And next time I’d appreciate that call before you come over.”

  With a bitter laugh, Lance angrily shoved both hands through the sides of his hair. “What the fuck ever, V. Just remember whose money was used to get you into this place. And she’s still my damn daughter. Have her ready at six on Thursday. I want to pick her up a day early.”

  So tempted to tell him hell no and demand he get out, I instead escorted him to the front door in an uncomfortable, tense-filled dead air.

  After only four years of marriage, we had said our goodbyes as man and wife, signing divorce papers, splitting up our belongings and our family. But even today, Lance Montgomery’s unkind words still sucked the life from me.

  Chapter Two

  Ava

  Storm season in North Texas could be an unforgiving, vicious bitch, a cloud-free, blue sky giving way to ugly dark clouds in a matter of minutes. Texas was in the wide swath of tornado-prone areas in the Central United States that carried the Tornado Alley nickname. Late spring and early fall always held the potential for hail and violent twisters. I’d been through a hell of a lot of wicked storms in my lifetime.

  Just the thought of it made my blood run cold.

  Heavy rain clouds swirled through the skies, darkening the outside to a grey half-light. Thunder rumbled in the distance as I sipped on what had become lukewarm coffee, a springtime storm building. Startled, I practically jumped off the edge of my chair at the sound of a second loud boom, which resembled a nearby gunshot.

  “Shit!” With a larger than normal stack of letters in her hand, the receptionist grimaced as she walked through the partially open door. “That was freaking scary.”

  Already rotating the wand on the mini-blinds to shut the weather away as much as remotely possible, I tried mustering a smile. “No kidding. God, I love the pleasant temperatures this time of year, but I totally despise Mother Nature and these storms she sends our way.”

  “You got a whole slew of them today. Looks like about two dozen or more.”

  Lara Beth’s voice was soft, almost frail, her expression coated with grief. Heavy black circles lined her eyes, making her appear older than twenty-three.

  “Looks that way.” I took the envelopes addressed to Ava’s Advice and set them to the side. “You feeling okay, sweetie?” I asked, knowing very well that she didn’t by the heavy sadness in her gaze. Only six months into marriage, she had lost her husband unexpectedly, and, in my opinion, had returned to work way too early.

  Tears pooled in her eyes. “Just taking it a day at a time. I…” Her voice broke off, and for a moment she was silent. “I don’t know what else I can do.”

  Compassion flowed through me, emotion biting at my own eyes. “I’m always here if you ever need to talk. Sometimes it really does help,” I added, not exactly s
ure what else to say.

  She pushed the hair behind her ear and swallowed. “Thanks, Ava,” she finally managed. “You’ve been such a good friend to me. Maybe we could go get a drink together one day.”

  “I’d like that,” I responded, and meaning it. I needed a girls’ night out. “Let’s plan on it—and soon.”

  Familiar with losing a loved one, I knew from experience that all the talk in the world was no cure. I’d beaten myself up for months after my mother’s death, eaten up with guilt over not helping more with household chores and failing to spend more mother-daughter time with her. In my opinion, nothing could heal a broken heart besides time. And even then, losing a loved one could sometimes leave a person different from whom they once were.

  My dad was proof positive of that fact. Years later, and he still hadn’t recovered from losing his first and only true love. He probably never would.

  Riffling through the new stack of letters, I couldn’t shake how worked up I still was after talking to Lance again this morning, and how that small ninety-second conversation had left me so uptight. Him and his damn family photos. I couldn’t have cared less about them. Maybe it was just the dark, gloomy day outside, or the lightning strikes that had me so shaken. Or possibly just the fact I hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. Plain and simple, whether the skies were dreary or beautiful, I still clammed up when I felt threatened or uneasy. And even though my marriage to Lance had ended a little over two years ago, confrontations with him still struck me hard.

  Low self-esteem sucked donkey dicks.

  Truth was, I still strived to be invisible in a crowd. Always managed to be busy when plans were being made for after-work drinks. Always had that important phone call to make during break time. Never hungry at lunch. Since my teenage years, I’d been the one that was too timid to strip into my panties and bra and jump off the I-30 bridge into Lake Ray Hubbard with the others. Only taking a sip or two of beer when the rest were guzzling. Staying silent when everybody else talked about or partook in drunk binges, meaningless sex, or smoking weed. I was the quiet one, the girl perceived as sweet and innocent.