Winter In August Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Acknowledgements

  More by Mia Villano

  By

  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 JN Sheats

  Edited by M.E Montgomery

  All rights reserved

  Chapter 1

  I 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 sprun
g 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.

  “Sorry, yes, it’s… Melinda.” I need to go. I asked. I had to lie. Gorgeous or not, I didn’t want anyone to know my name in that house.

  “I have to be at work today. What time is it?” I continued to babble.

  Colt nodded his head at the clock beside the bed and I followed his gaze. It was early but I needed to get out of there.

  I turned and headed toward the door. “I gotta run. Nice meeting you, Colt, I guess.”

  “Again, do you want a ride somewhere, Melinda? My car is right outside and I can take you anywhere you need to go.” Colt stood in the doorway with his arm resting on the frame. He looked extremely confident in himself and he should. Even in my hungover state, I couldn’t help but check him out. Underneath his suit, I noticed a perfect chiseled body. His chest bulged against his shirt. His legs looked thick and big in his dress pants. I couldn’t help to let my eyes gaze towards his zipper. Taking off his belt with my teeth crossed my mind. I tried to glance away but there was this pull. I was never taken like this by anyone, especially a blonde. I preferred the tall, dark and handsome type. Obviously, looking towards the bedroom, I went for dark and skipped the handsome.

  “No, I’ll get a cab. Thanks.” I walked as fast as I could toward the door, and he followed which made me think he didn’t trust me.

  Handing me my purse lying on the table, his hand brushed mine and a tingle shot through my arm.

  “Thanks.” I slipped on my heels in record time and almost fell over.

  He smiled, and I grabbed the door knob minus my new bra. Oh well, losing a brand new bra was a small price I had to pay to get the hell out of a nightmare. I turned around quickly to get one more glance at him before I left. Maybe looking at him would erase the images of Marco from my mind.

  “Did you change your mind about the ride?” He gave me a half-crooked smile showing me he had two dimples in his cheeks. Of course, he did. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath as I stared.

  “No, I’m fine.” Christ, his voice made me weak in the knees. Peeling my eyes off him, I turned the door handle and headed out the door.

  Not surprisingly, Marco lived in the penthouse of an apartment building overlooking Central Park. Searching for the Exit sign as quickly as possible, I spotted the elevator and pushed the button. I stared at the door willing it to open. The elevator ‘dinged’, opened, and I stepped in and hit the entrance floor button. As the elevator descended to freedom, I dug in my purse for the phone. Damn it. I’d forgotten about the dead battery. Shit. I needed to call Harper. The elevator doors opened and I stepped out as quickly as I could, keeping my head down. The downstairs to this building was abuzz with people coming and going. Now, I was doing the walk of shame and my disheveled appearance was obvious to everyone I passed. Half dressed, my hair a tangled mess, and makeup smudged all over my face, I couldn’t get away from the judging stares fast enough.

  I stepped outside digging in my purse, this time for my sunglasses. It was still too early, but I wore them mostly to hide my embarrassment. The wonderful sounds of the best city on earth hit me as I looked around for a cab. Horns honked, and sirens blasted in the distance as I waved for the cab screeching to a stop. The driver caught a glimpse of my very sheer blouse and smiled at me as I tried to keep my purse pressed against my chest. The memory of sleeping with Marco made me shudder as I slid into the backseat and told the driver my address. He sped off into the stop and go traffic as horns beeped and pedestrians dodged between moving cars.

  Since my home was in Chelsea, I had a few minutes to get calm. I promised myself as I stared out the dirty cab window that was going to be the last time. Sleeping with random men and drinking till all hours of the night wasn’t doing me any good. I needed to settle down and start getting serious.

  Closing my eyes, I tried to remember what could have gone wrong the night before. Harper, my roommate, recently came back from Greece, and we decided to go out for a late birthday celebration along with a couple other girls. Some birthday I gave her. We went to Nobu for sushi, Hogs and Heifers for drinks, and afterward, I couldn’t remember a damn thing. Then it hit me, that’s where my bra was. At Hogs and Heifers, they collect bras, and I remember taking mine off to the cheers from the men and hanging it on the wall. I danced on the bar with my friends singing, “Whiskey River” with a megaphone, as we did
shot after shot of Jameson. Like most nights when I went out, most of the evening was a blur and the previous night was no exception.

  In front of the Brownstone, I spotted Harper’s older BMW and breathed a sigh of relief. My roommate and best friend had not left yet. I paid the fare and ran out of the cab searching for my keys to let me in my place of solace. My roommate’s dad bought the Brownstone thirty years ago when he worked and lived in New York City. He let us live there cheap. Three bedrooms, two baths, and a gourmet kitchen; the house was a gorgeous place and one I couldn’t afford under different circumstances. I loved our home, but after leaving Harper for a hookup, I may be looking for another place. I let my best friend down, although she was used to my broken promises.

  I had every reason for doing what I did. At least that’s what I told myself. I drank in order to forget and escape. I drank so I wouldn’t go insane. Drinking was my protection from feeling too much when I didn’t want to feel and lately I didn’t want to feel anything.

  Chapter 2

  “Harper!” I yelled running upstairs to the bedrooms. Harper was almost never home, usually on an assignment somewhere with CNN. With a job as the lead camera person for one of the main newsmen, she had to be anywhere at a moment’s notice. Soon she would be leaving for another assignment. She wanted to be lead anchor on CNN eventually, and with her looks, intelligence, and experience, her dream would be sooner than she thought.

  Standing in front of her closed bedroom door, I knocked lightly.

  “Harper, are you there?”

  “Gabby?” she asked. Her voice sounded muffled.

  “Yeah, can I come in?”

  “Yes. Thank God you’re home.”

  I opened her door and in the unbearably hot room, Harper was buried under mounds of blankets with her head covered. Always overly feminine, Harper loved flowers, pastels, and white furniture. Her room was filled with fresh flowers she changed every two days, and old vintage pictures of movie stars.