Authors: Mia Villano
Mia Villano Books
This book is fiction. Name, character, businesses, places, events, and situations are still products of the authors imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The author makes no claims to but acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the work mentioned in this work of fiction.
Copyright © 2016 by Mia Villano
Winter in August
Cover art by
Edited by M.E Montgomery
All rights reserved
woke up suddenly and looked blurry-eyed around the dimly lit room. Judging by the dark gray hue enveloping me, it was very early. I turned my head to the left as I did every morning to see the time. The numbers on the alarm clock were red instead of the familiar green. The rest of my senses slowly woke up along with the sick feeling in my stomach warning me something wasn’t right. Instead of the familiar scent of cinnamon, the pungent aroma of cigarettes and men’s cologne burned my nose. I closed my eyes and opened them again, hoping I had been dreaming. Hesitantly peeking under the red satin sheets, I would have never owned, I looked to verify something I already suspected. My clothes were missing and I lay in a strange bed completely naked.
Holy shit. What the hell happened?
I had promised my friends a girl’s night out. I made everyone swear to no hook ups or leaving anyone behind. I promised them I would behave, for one night and we would all go home together. Obviously, by the looks of things, I didn’t make good on my promise, as usual.
“Hey, Babe,” he slurred. I held my breath and didn’t want to move for fear of him fully waking up. I felt this thing turn over and he wrapped his arm around my waist. His breath reeked of old beer, and his black curly hair spread out all over the pillows and on my face.
Babe? No one called me babe. The repulsive aroma of his expensive cologne and cigarettes hit me in the face when he moved. He didn’t say anything else, and he began snoring with his fleshy arm thrown over me. I tried not to move so I wouldn’t wake him. My heart raced and I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.
After I knew he was asleep, I slid out from under his arm and the covers. Thankfully, the bed didn’t move as I slowly stood and tiptoed across the hardwood floor. I feared looking back to see what I had unfortunately ended up with. God forbid if this beastly man woke up.
My eyes scanned the apartment, swiftly. Nice place, I thought looking around in the faint light shown through the floor to ceiling windows. The lavish apartment was furnished with expensive furniture and exercise equipment along with artwork on the walls. An exotic fish aquarium covered the entire wall in the oversized kitchen. As I crept around, I took a quick peek inside. Something in there resembled a baby shark and fish I hadn’t seen before. For the city, this was a classy place, and despite the man in the bed, it was a lot better than most places I woke up in after a night out drinking.
Trying to locate my clothes was like going on a scavenger hunt. My shirt lay crumpled in a heap on the floor, his pants hung on the treadmill, and my thong hung on the bedroom door knob. For some reason, my jeans were on the counter in the kitchen. My bra, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found. Trying not to wake the person in the other room, I looked around as much as possible for my new fifty dollar push up bra. Jesus, what the hell went on in here?
I had to stop drinking like really stop today. My problem was the damn whiskey and every time I drank; the nights became crazy. I would tell myself whiskey made everything better, and I would only have one. I lied to myself every time. One became two, which became five, and then I lost track as the whiskey took away the pain and memories. Whiskey made me happy, at least until the next day when I questioned my existence and promised God I would never sleep with a strange man again. Hearing the deafening sound of snoring back inside his bedroom, I swore that night would be the last time I woke up in a strange bed.
After scrambling to get dressed and out of wherever I was, I spotted my purse on the dining room table; happy I hadn’t lost it somewhere. I checked inside for my cell phone. Buried under ATM receipts and bar tabs, I found it, dead. Wonderful. Digging deeper inside, I fished for my wallet and thankfully I found it there along with the two twenties. I always kept some money inside a secret compartment in case cab fare was needed from anywhere in the city.
The gleaming gold of an M for a Maserati keychain caught my eye sitting on the table alongside my purse. More than likely, his car was why I was in this apartment. A guy driving my favorite car, when I drank, was always a catch. Beside the key chain, a Louis Vuitton wallet sat out in the open stuffed full of money. Curiosity grabbed me, and I needed to see his license. I needed a name of the guy I had shared my body with. All I needed would be one quick peek to see his name so I could look him up later. Giving a quick glance back inside his bedroom to make sure he was still asleep, I hurriedly flipped the wallet open. His license was stuck in the front along with a black Amex card.
Holy hell, I’d slept with one rich bastard. His license said Marco Fitzgerald next to a picture of a large, dark man with unruly black curly hair. The name sounded familiar, and I’d seen his face before, but I couldn’t remember where I heard his name. I started to put the wallet back on the mammoth dining room table when the sound of someone behind me made me jump.
“What the…? Are you stealing his money?” Startled, I dropped the wallet on the floor as his numerous credit cards scattered. With a shaky hand, I bent down and picked it up, jamming the credit cards back inside.
I stuttered. “N…no. I’m not stealing. I was looking at his license.” I stood and backed up to the door forgetting my purse sitting on the table.
“How much?” the tall muscular blond asked in a deep husky voice. His emerald green eyes were fixed on me making me quiver inside. I noticed he had a scar above his right eye, giving him an edgier appearance. He was an incredible looking, commanding man. His flaxen hair was stylishly gelled in a messy way, sticking up all over. His lips were full and perfect. His impeccable black suit screamed Gucci. He wore a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the top with a crimson red tie hanging untied around his neck.
I didn’t know if my heart raced from fear or from his irresistible looks. His cologne, a combination of wood, cinnamon, and leather, smelled like sin. He picked up my purse and handed it to me. His hands, I noticed were big, manly, and manicured to perfection. An expensive Rolex watch peeked out of his sleeve along with the latest stainless steel chainsaw bracelet all the rich guys wore. This guy was obviously rich too.
“What?” I wasn’t registering what this blonde asked, grabbing my purse from him.
“How much does he owe you? Take what he owes you for the night,” the big blonde demanded. Blondie oozed authority and power, something I liked in a man, but couldn’t find. Not too many men made me stop and take notice. This one certainly did.
“Owe me? What?”
Realization hit me at once. The memory of this guy’s name sprung into my foggy head. Marco Fitzgerald, the son of Devanti Fitzgerald, the biggest millionaire in New York. Page Six is where I had read about Marco and his escorts. He was a real rod and a total waste of space as far as I was concerned. Marco loved clubbing and did nothing else. Oh, and vacationed and shopped. How in the hell did I wind up in his apartment? He was everything I despised in a guy, or in a human for that matter.
“I’m sorry. I’m not an escort or a prostitute. I was out last night with my girlfriends, and how I ended up in this guy’s apartment is a mystery, other than I was totally drunk. I don’t know what happened. I drank way too much, which is the reason I ended up in bed with whatever that is in there.” I pointed to his room and cringed. I grabbed my head, throbbing from panic and an unfortunate hangover.
Blondie threw up his hands and shrugged “No need for explanations. Marco loves the ladies, especially ones as hot as you. Sorry if I assumed you were a paid date. That’s what Marco prefers, less fuss for me and him. He likes to get in and get out if you know what I mean.” Blondie winked and smiled at me. His eyes moved to my very sheer blouse minus a bra.
I felt sicker and almost threw up in my mouth. Marco’s picture was in the paper too many times to know what a greasy slimeball he was. He loved to frolic around Monaco on vacation in a Speedo and had a passion for tons of tacky gold jewelry, expensive cars, and fur coats. Marco Fitzgerald was the type of man who made my skin crawl. However, who was this mysterious blonde? His bodyguard?
I had to get back in the bedroom and ease my mind that my mystery date used a condom, or I would be heading to the hospital for every test offered, twice. Along with drinking too much, I had a fear of germs and diseases. I knew my behavior sounded contradictory, but it was true. I tortured myself every time when I ended up with one of these guys and put myself through hell wondering if I’d caught something.
“Hold on a second. What’s your name?” I dropped the purse back on the table again and held my hands in front of my shirt trying to hide my bare breasts.
Blondie stared at me.
“It’s Colt Andrews. I’m Marco’s pilot when he wants to go on a spur of the moment vacation. He’s supposed to be flying to Bali this morning, but I see he’s going to be awhile. I’m thinking you had something to do with his current situation. Can I drive you somewhere? My car is right outside and apparently, I have some spare time this morning,”
I didn’t answer as I walked past him and quietly rushed into Marco’s room.
The big lug still snored, as his naked ass stuck out of the covers, oblivious to the conversation going on outside his room. My taste in men had hit a new low and I was embarrassed beyond belief. I tried not to glance at him or think of touching him in any way. My eyes scanned the room and around the floor for the precious condom, I prayed was lying around.
Flipping the covers up, I looked on his side of the bed, under the bed, under the pillow, and when I’d almost lost hope and was on the verge of a panic attack, I noticed the nasty piece of rubber lying on the night stand. Yes, that had to be the one he used. Then to my utter disgust, I spotted yet another one across the room. Wonderful, I went two rounds with this oversized playboy.
“Thank you, God,” I said out loud and made the sign of the cross.
Marco still asleep said, “You’re welcome, Babe,” and turned over.
Blondie stood in the doorway with a half-grin on his face. “He likes you, Babe.”
I was disgusted by what happened, yet I couldn’t help but take him in. Where was he when I was hornier than hell, drunk, and looking for a good time?
“Is everything okay? I didn’t get your name,” he continued to smile.