Taming Avery_A MFM Menage Romance

by Tara Crescent

  “Oh, it’s nothing, really.” She leans back with a sigh and takes a long drink of her water. “We’re still adjusting to my parents living with us.”

  A couple of months ago, Rina’s father had fallen in the bathroom in the middle of the night. Her mother, who wears a hearing aid, hadn’t heard her husband cry out for help. After that, Rina insisted that her parents move into their five-thousand square feet Alexandria home.

  “Is Greg finding it difficult to cope?”

  She shakes her head at once. “Greg’s great. I was upfront with him when we started dating. I’m South Asian. I believe that there’s a social contract between generations, you know? My parents brought me up and gave me a stable home. They paid for undergrad and grad school. And now that they’re older, it’s my duty to take care of them.”

  I’ve been distracted ever since my father called. Thrown into turmoil. My parents cut off contact with me. How much do I owe them? Now, Rina’s words prod my conscience.

  I nod to show her I’m listening, though today, my mind is only half on my client. She continues. “No, Greg gets along pretty well with my parents. It’s his sister Tamara. She has an opinion on everything, and she feels compelled to share it.”

  “Why does that bother you?”

  She makes a face. “Deep down, I guess I feel guilty,” she admits. “This is my value system, not Greg’s, but my decision affects him as well. I keep asking him if he’s mad at me, and he keeps telling me that he’s fine. But then Tamara pokes her long nose into our business, and I start to freak out.” She chuckles. “At least he likes Indian food.”

  She leans forward. “I don’t know why Tamara thinks she has a say in my marriage. She doesn’t know us. She doesn’t know our relationship.”

  “Tell her that,” I suggest.

  But I can relate to Rina’s problems. Everyone only saw the good part of Victor. He showered me with expensive gifts. In public, he was always polite. Attentive. Nobody saw the dark side of my husband. Just me.

  Maisie and Jeremy Welch didn’t believe me when I told them he hit me. My mother told me to go back to him. Victor was part of the peerage. That mattered more than my happiness.

  I’ve worked hard for my peace of mind. And now, with one phone call, everything I’ve struggled for is at risk again.

  Rina’s still talking. I jerk my attention back to my client. “At the end of the day,” she says, “I have an obligation to my parents. I’m an only child. They’re not getting younger. They need me now, and I have to be there for them.”

  She’s absolutely right. She’s cut through the heart of the matter. No matter what they did or didn’t do, I have an obligation to my mother. I don’t know how I’m going to find half a million dollars, but I have to try.

  10

  Kai

  “Don’t sugarcoat it, Jayla. Give it to me straight.”

  Dr. Jayla Washington is the best neurologist at Georgetown University Hospital and a long-time friend. She watches my cat Betsy when I travel. I’m her daughter Mikaela’s godfather. If I have to find out that I’m never going to be able to cut again, I’d rather hear it from Jayla than anyone else.

  I’m a wreck. Between the shock of seeing Avery again and my hand tremors, I haven’t slept a wink all weekend. Thank heavens for caffeine. It’s probably not helping my shakes, but at least I can keep my eyes peeled open.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you.” She chuckles. “Actually, let me rephrase that before you get a swollen head. There’s plenty wrong with you. Some of the test results will take a few days to come back, but in my professional opinion, you have nothing to worry about.”

  I shudder with relief. For a few minutes, I’m filled with so much emotion that I can’t talk. Jayla watches me, her expression sympathetic. Finally, I pull myself together. “What’s the tremor then?”

  She puts her arm around my shoulder. “Stress. Shock. Exhaustion. It could be any number of things.”

  “But it’s temporary, right?” I persist. “I’ll be back to normal in a week or two?”

  “I don’t know.” She gives me her serious look, and I’ve been friends with her long enough to know I’m about to get lectured by her. “Kai, how long has it been since you’ve taken a vacation? You’ve been going non-stop for years. And then your patient died on the table.”

  My jaw sets in tight lines. “I don’t want to talk about Melody Simon.”

  “Tough shit,” she says bluntly. “Listen to me. You’re stressed. Her death was a shock. You’re running on fumes, buddy. The hand tremors could be temporary, but only if you take steps to address the underlying issues. Take some time off and refill the tank. Get yourself a hobby. Pottery is supposed to be calming, I hear. Maybe go on a date or two. Meet a nice woman that you keep around for longer than two weeks. Do something that isn’t surgery, Kai. Life isn’t all about work.”

  Meet a nice woman that you keep around for longer than two weeks.

  An image of Avery swims in front of me. Her green eyes, clouded with need. Her dark hair in damp waves around her face. Her whimper of need.

  Jayla’s not done. “When was the last time you had fun, Kai?” she demands. “When was the last time you were happy?”

  Saturday night. Watching Avery shudder with pleasure. Watching her come apart for me.

  I have to stop thinking about her. Especially after her email to me yesterday.

  I should have never gone away with you ten years ago.

  I won’t be returning.

  “So you’re telling me this is all in my head.” I survey my hands dispassionately. “Next, you’ll be telling me to see a shrink.”

  Jayla rolls her eyes. “I don’t need to,” she says. “I’m pretty sure the number one item on Joanna Wadsworth’s to-do list this week is to nag you about it.”

  “Yeah. Whatever.” I don’t need a therapist, and I don’t need a vacation either. I just need to get past Melody Simon’s death and get my head back into the game.

  As Jayla predicts, Joanna Wadsworth drops by my office Monday afternoon. She gives me a bright smile. “Dr. Bowen,” she says. “How are you?”

  I give her a wary look. The hospital administrator is a busy woman. Despite the small talk, this isn’t a social call. “I’m doing okay.”

  “You saw Dr. Washington this morning, didn’t you?”

  Nothing escapes her. I nod silently.

  “And she doesn’t believe there’s an underlying neurological cause for your hand tremors.” She pulls up a seat and steeples her fingers at me.

  “The tests haven’t come back yet.”

  She fixes me with a steady look. “You’re right, they haven’t. But Dr. Washington’s judgment is impeccable.” She smiles again, and I wait for the other shoe to drop. “I’ve arranged for our doctors to attend a stress management workshop once a week. The first session is on Friday at noon.”

  That sounds like hell. Absolute fucking hell. Every year, the hospital runs some kind of touchy-feely workshop. Last year, the woman running it had told us to reach inward and touch our chi. Whatever the fuck that means. “I’m not interested in listening to someone who knows nothing about medicine giving me platitudes about how to manage my stress.”

  The smile disappears off her face, and steel coats her voice. “Your patients need you, Dr. Bowen. I have to do what’s best for them, and for the hospital. The workshop’s not optional.”

  Great. Just fucking great.

  11

  Avery

  I call my realtor after Rina leaves. “Hey, Brian, it’s Avery Welch.”

  “Avery,” Brian booms. “How are you?”

  I hold the phone away from my ear. “Good,” I lie. “Listen, I might need to sell my place in a hurry. How’s the condo market looking?”

  “You want to sell your place?” He sounds surprised. “You bought less than two years ago. What gives?”

  “It’s a long story. I need money in a hurry.”

  He whistles through his teeth. “I’
ll be honest, Avery. It’s not a great time to sell. There’s a lot of new inventory on the market. Your place still has fantastic long-time potential, but right now… I just don’t know. When you factor in your closing costs and your mortgage, you’ll be lucky to break even.”

  I was afraid of this. Brian, who is really great about avoiding the hard-sell, had more or less warned me that I wouldn’t be able to flip the place when I put down my deposit. I’d gone ahead anyway, absolutely certain that I was ready to put down roots.

  “Thanks, Brian,” I say tonelessly. Wiping my palms on my skirt, I try to formulate a Plan B.

  “You still want to sell?”

  I finally got around to painting my bedroom this spring. I’d painted it a cheerful, egg-yolk yellow. Maggie had looked dubious. “Isn’t that too bright?” she’d asked me.

  “Nope,” I’d said confidently. “It’s exactly what I want.”

  And now I might have to sell. Brian’s question hangs in the air, and I hesitate. “I’m not sure yet,” I reply. “I’ll let you know in a week.”

  Once I hang up, I log into my bank account, hoping against hope that there’s some money there that I don’t know about. Unfortunately, that doesn’t happen. My savings account had eleven thousand four hundred and thirty dollars in it last week. Then I paid Club M’s exorbitant membership fee.

  Will Xavier Leforte give me my money back?

  My face heats. Club M’s owner is filthy rich. Begging him for a refund will be humiliating, but if I’m going to help my mother, I need every penny I can get my hands on.

  With shaking fingers, I dial the number on the business card he gave me. I’m expecting an assistant to answer the line, but to my surprise, he picks up his own phone. “Ms. Welch,” he says pleasantly, “What can I do for you?”

  Here goes nothing. “I wasn’t planning on returning to Club M,” I murmur, wondering what the best way to ask a bazillionaire for a refund. God, this is embarrassing.

  “I’m so sorry.” He sounds sincere. “You didn’t have a good time?”

  I don’t know how to answer that question. “It was… complicated.” I take a deep breath. “Would it be possible for me to cancel my membership and get a refund?”

  “I’m afraid not,” he says, his voice coated with regret. “For obvious reasons, we want to discourage voyeurs at the club. Your membership fee is non-refundable.”

  Well, I tried. “Okay,” I say, trying to keep the disconsolate note out of my voice. It wasn’t as if ten grand was ever going to be enough anyway. “It was worth a go.”

  “Is everything okay, Ms. Welch?” he asks, his tone concerned.

  My mother has cancer, and I can’t do a damn thing to help her. “Everything’s fine.”

  I can’t sell my condo. I can’t get my money back from Club M. There’s only one thing left to do.

  The ring box is in the bottom drawer of my dresser, shoved behind thick sweaters and woolen gloves. I pull it out and flip it open, staring at the two-carat pink diamond engagement ring.

  I’d sent it back when I left Victor. My package had been returned. It was a gift, the accompanying note had said dismissively. Keep it.

  He always did like to have the last word.

  I haven’t looked at the ring in eight years. Not since the day Victor hit me. I’d slipped it off my finger as I drove back to London, tears streaming down my cheeks.

  So many times, I could have sold it. I never did. All I wanted to do was forget those two years I’d spent in Surrey, married to Victor Lowell. I worked my way through grad school, waiting tables at high-end restaurants, where drunk customers leered and ogled at me, even though the gemstone would have paid my tuition and more.

  I don’t have that luxury anymore.

  The one thing about being a therapist? You learn a lot of random things. One of the pieces of trivia I’ve picked up is that best place to resell a diamond is a place called Merrill & Cohen. I pick up my phone again and make an appointment to see them this evening.

  “A pink diamond.” Isaac Cohen puts on his jeweler’s loupe and peers at the ring.

  “It’s GIA-certified.”

  He frowns absently. “Yes, I can see that.” He scribbles something on the notepad next to him. “We see exceptional diamonds every day, but it’s not often that something like this shows up.”

  That sounds hopeful. I cross my fingers as I wait. The jeweler crosses over to his computer and types something. “How much does it weigh?”

  “I think it’s supposed to be two carats.” Maybe it was the circumstances of my marriage, but the ring had always felt like a mark of ownership. I always felt cheap wearing it. Objectified.

  “Two carats. Hmm.” He gets to his feet. “Can you wait here for a minute? I need to talk to my partner.”

  “Sure.” He’s holding the ring in his hand. It’s not like I’m planning to rush out of here without it.

  He disappears into the back. I wait for him. For the first time since my father’s phone call, my thoughts return to Maddox and Kai. They must have got my email by now, but neither of them has replied. Not that I really expected them to.

  If only I’d told them the truth, ten years ago. But I hadn’t wanted to burden them with my troubles. For two weeks, all I’d wanted to do was escape them.

  I had no idea how dominant they really were. There had been hints back then. They were more vocal than anyone I’d been with. More direct. They’d told me what they wanted me to do. They’d showed me how to please them, and they’d made me show them how to please me.

  I’d been fairly naive in those days. I thought that BDSM was about whips and chains, leather, and handcuffs.

  Isaac Cohen is nowhere to be seen. Damn it, where is he? I don’t want to be here all day. Maggie left me a voicemail about a stress management workshop she wants me to teach. “I screwed up my schedule,” she’d said in her message. “I didn’t realize I’m going to be away two of the six Fridays. Please tell me you’ll do it, Avery.”

  I made money on the side running workshops like these when I was doing my Ph.D., but I haven’t done one in years. I need to review my old notes and refresh them if needed, and today’s the only evening this week that I’m not working.

  The door chimes ring, and two men enter the store, both in dark suits. “Avery Welch?” one of them addresses me.

  “Yeah?” This isn’t a client, is it? I have a reasonably good memory for names and faces, but some people come in for just one appointment and decide that therapy isn’t for them, and they’re harder to remember.

  “The diamond ring you just tried to sell has been reported as stolen, Ms. Welch,” he says, his voice hard. “I’m going to need you to come into the station.”

  You have got to be kidding me. If I’m not mistaken, I’m getting arrested.

  Four hours later, I’m finally allowed to leave. I’ve told my story a hundred times. I used to be married to Victor Lowell. When we got divorced, I tried to return the ring to him, but he sent it back. I have no idea why he reported it stolen.

  “You can go,” Detective Garrett Breyman, the guy who’s questioned me repeatedly about the diamond, says at last. “But the ring stays here while we check out your story.” He gives me a cold stare. “If I were you, I wouldn’t leave town anytime soon.”

  “Fine.” My hands are shaking. I’ve never been in trouble with the law before. Hell, I’ve never even got a speeding ticket. I’d always known that Victor wasn’t happy about my decision to leave, but I had no idea how far he’d go in his attempts to control me.

  Now I know.

  I step out of the station and look around for a cab. Today’s been a shitshow. All I want to do is get home, heat myself some leftovers, and pour myself a big glass of wine.

  But my already bad day is about to get dramatically worse. “So you finally tried to sell the diamond, did you?” a familiar voice asks.

  A cold shiver runs down my spine.

  It’s Victor. My ex-husband. What the hell is he doing
here?

  12

  Maddox

  When my phone rings and I see Xavier’s number on the screen, I contemplate letting it go to voicemail. Not that it’ll do a damn bit of good. If Xavier wants to talk, he’ll call as often as needed to get through.

  “What’s up?”

  “I had a rather strange phone call this afternoon,” he says. “From Avery Welch.”

  All weekend, I’ve been trying not to think of her. All weekend, I’ve been feeling like a jerk for leaving her alone at the club. Then I got her email this morning, and I feel even worse. She never wants to go back to Club M, and I know that’s my fault. She hurt us ten years ago, and in return, we gave her a shitty introduction to BDSM.

  What’s that old saying? An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.

  “Really?”

  “She asked for a refund of her membership fees.”

  I feel like crap. “We should have stayed with her.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Xavier says crisply. “But I didn’t phone you to call you an idiot about Saturday. Avery sounded quite distressed when she talked to me, and I got the sense that she really wanted the refund.”

  “So give it to her.”

  He exhales impatiently. “I could do that. Or,” he says pointedly, “You could call her and find out what’s wrong. Make up for being such a dick. You know, do the right thing.”

  Do the right thing. The problem is, with Avery, after all these years, I have no idea what that is.

  13

  Avery

  Though my first, instinctive reaction is to run, I force myself to stay still. I’m proud of how steady my voice is. “What do you want, Victor?”

  Time has not been kind to Victor Lowell. The lines around his eyes have deepened. His hair is gray and thinning, and his cheeks are too red. Too much drinking. He’s fifty-six, only a couple of years younger than my father, and he looks every year of it.