Intrigue Me

by Lacee Hightower

  Intense, fervent urgency pulsed through me, so heavy that it swallowed every rational thought in my head and turned them into a jumbled wreck of chaos, nostalgia, and turmoil. Resisting him was unthinkable. I wanted him so damn badly that my core ached. But I had questions, so much doubt still stirring in my mind, in my body.

  “Tage?” My voice wavered. “Why would you want to hurt me? What if I can’t do what you need, and what if I actually … like it?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut for a quick instant. “Ava…” His voice trailed off as he gazed at me with a haunting look. “Is that what worries you? The pain? The fact that you may like it?”

  That was the split second I realized I couldn’t do this. There was too much on the table. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

  “No to next Saturday, Tage. I—I’ve changed my mind. I won’t put Melli through this. She … she…” Abruptly, I backed away from him, breathing hard in my chest as the words lodged in my windpipe. “She won’t understand. She thinks of Lance as her father, and she’s…”

  Tage pressed his lips together, his jaw clenching, his eyes ingrained with displeasure. He reached for the cell phone in his pocket and entered something, then slid it back into his slacks. “Yes to Saturday, Ava,” he demanded in a tone hard and deep. “You. Me. Our daughter. Your terms. This time.”

  I wanted Tage Morgan with every cell of my existence. I did. Nevertheless, I needed to pull myself together. Be strong and confident and focus on my daughter and what was right for her. Dread filled my chest, tears prickling my eyes.

  Something inside me still wanted to blame him for all that had happened.

  Something made me desperate to lay blame on someone besides the man I’d looked up to my entire life.

  “I won’t let you hurt my daughter,” I said, trying to stop the quivering of my bottom lip. “She’s been through enough, and I swear on all that is holy, if you render her more pain, I’ll dismember you piece by piece—slowly. Painfully.”

  ****

  Tage

  Hours were dragging by, the darkness of night casting a weary gloom throughout the house.

  Sleep was an impossibility.

  My body was nothing but a dazed cluster of sensations. I hadn’t planned on ever seeing Ava again. Never considered her being a part of my life. Sure the fuck never intended on having a seven-year-old daughter I’d yet to meet.

  Red hot rage simmered inside me when I should have felt relief. Hell, I should have been fucking ecstatic.

  But I was far from joyful.

  Every semblance of me wanted to punish Ava.

  I wanted to tie her up—naked. Leave her vulnerable and helpless. Introduce her to the sweet sting of my belt … or worse. Then make damn sure she realized she would never keep my daughter from me. I’d spend my last penny making sure of it. I wanted, needed to show her just how deep my anger stemmed. Take every one of her holes. Then take them again. My body tightened at the thought of all the salacious things I wanted to do to Ava Montgomery’s body.

  Mine. All mine.

  “Motherfucking Christ!” I shoved both hands through the sides of hair. “Fuck me!”

  I shut down my computer and ambled toward the bedroom to attempt sleep for the second time, her feminine aroma still lingering on the collar of my shirt. Ava wasn’t the only one that felt like that year had been her worst. It was near miserable for me.

  “Once again, your irresponsible behavior has stirred up a nice big pot of shit for the family. Luckily, she aborted the damn thing so you weren’t stuck with a useless brat to raise.”

  Deception. Manipulation. The two words filled my head with bitter anger. They were apparently a fucking art in the family of Kavanagh.

  I would meet Melli. She was my blood. My offspring.

  As long as I still had breath, my little girl was going to be my daughter.

  Under my fucking terms.

  Chapter Eight

  Ava

  Monday morning started with me waking up from crazy erotic dreams before sunrise, listening to the eerie call of hooting somewhere near my window. They were known for their deep, hooting vocalization, intimidating large ear tufts, and yellow eyes, and I knew that sound. It was a Majestic Great Horned owl, or King of the Darkness as my mother once called them. Nocturnal hunters by nature, they usually began their hunts in the stillness of the night, but could also resume any time up to sunrise.

  The sound of them made my blood run cold.

  With the onset of a headache, I looked down to see two text messages from Tage.

  I need to see you.

  Please see me, Ava.

  Confusion stirred inside me. After nothing but a life full of mistakes and bad decisions, I wanted to do the right thing for once. I ached for my mom, her positive attitude and words of advice. Some days, like now, the loss was so tremendous that I just wanted to curl up and sleep away the pain.

  Tage had no idea of the challenges that lay ahead. Frequent trips to the pediatrician. Possible physical therapy, psychology, speech language, or nutrition evaluations. The constant stares, teasing, bullying.

  Sometimes it could be devastatingly difficult.

  More often than not, it made me question the existence of a god.

  Down syndrome wasn’t the kiss of death, but a genetic disorder caused by the presence of all or part of a third copy of chromosome 21. Melli was born with Mosaic down. Much rarer than the normal Trisomy 21 type, Mosaic involved having some cells with three copies of chromosome 21, but also rendering other cells that carried the usual two copies. People struck with Mosaic down ordinarily showed fewer physical characteristics since they also had normal cells with the two copies of chromosome 21.

  It was a disability, but only a small fraction of who she was.

  My daughter was unconditionally beautiful. She had her own special features, likes and dislikes, and characteristics that made her unique. Yes, her almond-shaped eyes slanted upwards just a tad. Her neck was a slight bit thicker than usual, and she hadn’t started teething until she was two years old. But none of that deterred her beauty. Her physical appearance was only slightly altered, and her mind was sharper than many adults.

  More than anything visible to the eye, Melli was a beautiful, precious soul. Full of energy and smiles, with a heart bigger than anyone I’d ever met.

  Her beauty came from the inside out.

  Melli attended an exclusive private school for students with learning challenges, mainly Down’s, utilizing small class sizes. After many hours spent contemplating the right one, Lance and I had opted for Great Love Academy, due to its innovative teaching methods and individualized programs. The average IQ of a young adult with the disorder was generally around 50, and my Melli had already surpassed that level in only the second grade. I’d spend the last dollar I had on the exclusive private school.

  I’d do anything to make her life a little better.

  I’d walk through fire to keep her safe from harm … and far away from the ugly path of heartbreak.

  Thirty minutes earlier than I typically made it to work, I was already in my office, sipping at hot coffee, my head continuing to throb as I stared at a blank computer screen and the edge of that damned blue blindfold peeking out of the corner of my purse. Tears welled up, both my eyes and throat burning. I wanted to cry. Scream. Throw something. I wanted to go back home and look at family photos and memorabilia that I had seen a hundred times. I bled for my mother, and needed to come to terms with my father.

  And … Tage. Jesus, I wanted him.

  A shiver moved through me as I recalled what I had read on sadism until my eyes would no longer stay open last night. Nearly every article had said the same thing in the end. There was a wide-range when it came to sadistic pleasures. There were boundaries—physical, emotional, and intellectual. There were mild forms of pain that could include handcuffs, chains, or ropes, and extreme types that could involve biting, spanking, whipping, or beating. The extreme part was what worried me.


  Shit, did it worry me.

  Thighs clenching, I squirmed in my chair. My breath deepened, and all the intimate parts of my body warmed just at the thought of him. Despite my qualms, Jesus, I wanted Tage to do things to my body that didn’t seem normal. Violate. Spank. Torment my nipples. Restrain me. Use force.

  Even pull my hair again.

  Both fascinated and petrified by the whole concept, I craved it. Hungered for it.

  I needed it.

  What did that mean exactly? What did it make me? Batshit crazy? Postal? Cray-cray? Jeez, I’d always detested having my hair pulled.

  “Hi.” Adam walked in. By the looks of him, he was back to his normal sleek self with meticulously styled hair, facial hair trimmed to a precise perfection, well-dressed, manicured, and smelling like soap and his normal musky-scented cologne. He was wearing what looked like a new well-fitted suit, cut to precision, and probably Burberry or some other expensive brand. The deep blue color matched his eyes perfectly, while the silk of his tie, the crisp white shirt underneath his jacket, and camel-colored brogues on his feet, all completed his customary domineering style that made a woman’s stomach do backflips.

  “Hey yourself.” I pushed back from my computer, wishing I’d taken some Advil for this headache that refused to ease. “You’re definitely looking better than the last time I saw you. Sure glad to hear that man flu didn’t get the best of you.”

  Adam took a seat in one of the two chairs across from my desk. “Jesus, Ava. Laugh all you want, but I can honestly say I’ve never been that sick in my damn life. You have no idea the foul, repulsive nasty shit a body can do when it’s in distress. And being that you’re giving me hell instead of throat-punching me right about now, I’m assuming you survived the meeting with Tage Morgan.”

  “About that,” I responded with a long sigh.

  Fifteen minutes later, I had somehow gathered the courage to tell Adam how unprofessional I’d been in the meeting, apologize more than once, and spill the whole ugly history behind senior year and Tage. Amazingly, he’d stayed calm and hadn’t threatened me with a much-deserved pink slip, and had been easy to talk to, though stunned about Tage being Melli’s biological father.

  When I gave yet another offering of remorse, my voice was shaky. “I’m so sorry for acting like an idiot when you were relying on me.” Tears blurred my eyes. “I was just s—so stunned to see him after all this time.”

  He leaned across my desk, his expression mindful. “Ava, can I give you a few words of friendly advice before I go?”

  A whole confliction of feelings slid through me as Adam leaned closer, staring hard into my eyes with a look that screamed “Dom”. Dread knotted in my stomach.

  “Sure.”

  His gaze was intense, his expression respectful. “Don’t try understanding all the whys and what-ifs, sweetheart. Accept him for who he is … and don’t blacklist him for who he isn’t. And for fuck’s sake, Ava, don’t fall too hard.”

  It’s too late.

  Adam tugged at his tie that suddenly seemed overly tight. “I’m not saying it can’t happen. It could. Maybe it will. But chances are guaranteed slim to none.”

  My throat tightened, his words of caution a surefire guarantee my doubts were bona fide. So, no. I wouldn’t let my heart get involved. But dammit if I wouldn’t see Tage again. Just the once. For my own sanity.

  For him to meet his daughter.

  Two hours later, I had responded to Tage with a simple okay and was staring down at the remaining handful of letters that still needed reading, struggling to focus. With many regulars writing in weekly, I did my best to answer them at least once every month or two. People hurt. Relationships were hard, divorce life-changing. If I knew anything at all, I knew just how difficult losing a loved one was and the agonizing burning pain behind their chest as they made that final step and signed at the dotted line.

  Talk about difficult and painful. Miserable by Nature had been a regular for the past year. Responding to the unhappy gentleman several times, lately, I’d gotten to where I dreaded reading his guilt-ridden admissions. There were days I chose to skip over them entirely. Today, his letter caught my attention.

  Dear Ava:

  What I haven’t told you in past letters is that there was also a girl involved. God, she was beautiful. She had the most amazing eyes and silkiest head of chestnut brown hair. I liked her the minute I saw her. And surprisingly, she seemed to like me back. Jesus, Ava, I took this girl’s virginity, her innocence. Left her pregnant.

  I’ve lived with this guilt my entire life. It’s left me a changed man. A hard man.

  Please tell me what to do.

  Or is there even anything I can do for this girl’s forgiveness?

  Miserable by Nature

  I set the letter aside, trembling, sagged back into my chair, and hesitantly responded.

  Dear Miserable by Nature:

  Stepping up and apologizing for something so heinous may not fix the guilt you live with or mend the hurt she lives with, but it could bring a small sense of closure to the both of you. If you’re genuinely seeking forgiveness from this woman after all these years, or else simply trying to find a way to vindicate your horrendous behavior for not being active in your own child’s life, my suggestion would be to offer a realistic, sincere apology to the both of them if that’s a possibility. I’m sure she would appreciate the gesture; however, I’m not so confident she will be forgiving. Personally, I foresee a possible slap to the face, maybe a small bit of damage to the family jewels. So, beware of that. Then again, these are only my thoughts.

  Good luck. Ava.

  ****

  Tage

  Nightfall filled the house as I settled in the comforts of my bedroom after a long run and hot shower to ease my mind from the unnerving meeting with my father a little over two hours ago. A quiet calm settled in with the lack of anything audible, except the sound of crickets in the far distance. And silence. More and more silence. The placidness in the room suddenly seemed to turn the air heavy, bleak and gloomy. Unease penetrated my body, making my blood run cold as I lifted my cell phone, cringing at the two texts from Davis, another text from my mother.

  And Ava’s simple response of okay.

  Briand Security had signed one of its largest contracts earlier in the day, a bank with forty-eight branch locations in and around the Dallas Fort Worth metroplex. The huge account should have been reason to go out and celebrate, or in past instances, visit a club for a couple of hours. But today, even with all of Davis’s hounding, I felt anything but inspired. Memories and my childhood were pulling at me, and I felt nothing but pent-up agitation.

  Fuck, was I on edge.

  Do my parents deserve to meet Melli?

  “Jesus,” I groaned, pushing away the thought of leaving a dozen or two deep, biting marks on Ava’s inner thighs with a nice, strong cane.

  Despite all the resentment I felt toward my parents, when I’d received a text message from my mother this morning, a visit, under the circumstances, felt inevitable. My mother had proved she was still drinking herself senseless most days, and Nathan Morgan was, overall, the same arrogant, selfish bastard he’d always been. But today, for the first time in my life, I’d watched my insensitive father become emotional.

  Was it possible for a man to grow a conscience at sixty years old?

  “Did you despise me so deeply that you would make me finish my last weeks of high school at yet another new school just because I’d gotten a girl pregnant and refused to work for you? Was I that disappointing?”

  “Son, I was wrong for being angry over you having your own dreams, but I just wanted you to take over the business one day, instead of some stranger. And yes. I was angrier than I’d ever been at you for being irresponsible and not covering your damn dick. Abortion is wrong, Tage, and I believed every word out of that sonofabitch’s mouth. Plus, you were too young to be involved with that girl.”

  “That girl, Pops, is the mother of my daughter.
And why did you give Kavanagh money? Doesn’t quite sound like you.”

  “Hell, he was shaking, Tage. Rambling on and on about being unable to pay his mortgage, his taxes, his medical bills and such. I didn’t have to give the man a red cent, but I figured I owed the fucker something. After all, you popped his daughter’s pretty little cherry.”

  “Jesus, Pops.”

  “Son, I’ve wanted to call you a dozen times, but you shunned your damn family.”

  “No, Pops. I shunned you.”

  “Tage, I’m sorry, but please don’t keep me from my granddaughter.”

  Outside the window, the evening was calm. The sun was setting, dusk settling in for the evening. With tension spiraling through my chest, I pushed off the sudden surge of loneliness welling inside me, and took a quick moment to reconsider everything that had happened the last twenty-four hours and how the next days of my life were going to play out. How the hell was I supposed to explain to this innocent young girl why I’d been absent all this time? Would she despise me? Want nothing to do with me?

  “Motherfuck!” I rubbed at my temples, so much shit stirring inside my head.

  I was a sadist, for Christ’s sake. I hurt women to get off. Relationships weren’t my interest. Caring too deeply was dangerous.

  But I had a daughter, an innocent little girl who deserved the world. And Ava—she was no pain slut. Kinky, yes. But the two of us lived different lives, had different needs. She was silk, while I was steel. Blue skies, while I was rolling storm clouds. She was also a mother … to my child.

  And that changed absolutely everything.

  With my pulse pounding like I’d run a marathon, I was spent and drained from the day. I needed to relax and gather my thoughts. I leaned back against the headboard of my bed and stared out the bedroom window, wondering what I might fix for a quick dinner before bedtime. With no real appetite, nothing sounded appealing, so I turned on my phone voice recorder to make a few notes.

  “Megan, please send a reminder e-mail to Steven Teel about next week’s appointment. And I’d also like you to draft a letter to him with each of Briand’s monthly plans and price ranges.”