by Mia Fox
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
A Much Younger Man
Mia Fox
Evatopia Press
Contents
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright © 2017 by Mia Fox
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 978-1-63099-116-6
Je t’aime
Te amo
Mai tumase pyar karati hun …
I love you…in any language.
This was never supposed to happen. It was wrong, but maybe that’s why it felt so right.
Chapter One
As a native Californian, I’ve never liked the cold. I’ve also never learned to dress properly for it. The temperature hovered in the mid-sixties with an intermittent drizzle of rain that was more nuisance than force of nature. It barely provided the much needed water to our drought deprived plants. Instead, it mocked the city, providing just enough precipitation to wreak havoc on the commuter traffic and cause people like me to be caught without rain gear. Only an hour ago the sun was shining as I left the house in thin leggings and an even thinner t-shirt. At the time, it didn’t seem like inappropriate attire.
When dry, my pale pink t-shirt appeared to be a casual comfort. Now, it was a casual mistake as wardrobe malfunctions go, clinging to my frame and exposing my new Free People lace halter bralette underneath. The fact that I wasn’t exposed wearing something unattractive was the only bright side of the day.
I sat staring at the twelve foot chain linked fence in front of me wondering what the chances were that I could scale it and jump to the other side without being hurt. I leaned against the front of my car contemplating the potential outcome. No doubt I would cut myself on the way up. Breaking a nail or two was also inevitable. The potential for injury certainly increased a few percentage points as I looked up and saw angry spikes lining the top of the fence. Then there was the matter of jumping to the other side. I was prone to twisting ankles and that was even while I remained on the ground.
I silently cursed the security guard who had been over-zealous in his job and locked the fence before waiting to see if anyone needed anything from inside. Pacing back and forth, I looked to the open field on the other side of the parking lot where just half an hour ago I had been interviewing a soccer player for my reporting gig with a popular blog. To my dismay I saw that everyone who had any athletic potential to jump over the fence had already cleared out. Actually, even those like myself with no ability to jump a fence the height of two men had also left. I was alone and wondering how I could be so stupid to leave my car keys inside the small makeshift office on the other side.
The sound of a car engine approaching gave me misplaced hope. The guys inside proceeded to catcall their suggestions about what they could do to me. They drew my attention to the fact that my t-shirt was becoming more risqué by the minute and it was obvious that helping me retrieve my purse and car keys weren’t on their mind.
A flip of my finger and they drove on leaving me alone once again to contemplate the fact that the minutes were ticking by and I needed to file my story this evening. I would call an Uber or AAA to break into my car, but with my purse tucked inside the field, along with my keys, meant that my phone was also taking a brief hiatus from my life. Lately, my boss had hinted that she was looking to trim staff. Being late with a story would be all the ammunition she needed. The writing job barely covered my expenses. On a good month, I could pay my rent on time. On a bad one, I skipped meals. But even though the job didn’t pay great, the thought of being without it wasn’t something I relished.
It was my fault. When the guy I was interviewing asked if I needed anything else, why couldn’t I have thought to have him walk me back to my car and the enclosed hockey field? I had been waiting for half an hour now without one person passing by that I could ask to borrow a phone when finally, I saw a guy on the other side of the fence — the side where my purse was stored.
“Hey! Excuse me!”
“Yeah?” he called from across the field where he had started a series of exercises in spite of the light rain. “Sorry, can’t hear you.” He kept doing his workout, ignoring me.
“Sorry, but can you come here?”
He looked up from his plank, the annoyance clear on his face even from this distance.
When he finally approached, I continued. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but do you know the combination?” I asked pointing to the lock placed on the fence by the security guard?
“Sorry. I just hop the fence when I want to work out.” He turned to leave. His social skills being a fraction below acceptable.
“Umm, you see…I got locked out and my purse is inside the building there.”
Finally, he stopped and actually looked me in the eye. “That building?” he asked, pointing.
“Yes.” It was getting harder to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “Can you get it and throw it over?”
“No problem.” He walked casually to the door of the small office trailer, tried it and thankfully it remained unlocked. Moving inside, he emerged just a minute later with my purse in hand. “Is this it?”
“Yes! Thank you so much. If you could just throw it over, I’d be so appreciative…”
And then he simply walked away, heading to the other side of the field, gently swinging my purse in an irritating fashion.
“Hey!” I yelled. All good sense left me as I gingerly placed my foot inside one of link holes to start my climb upwards. I made it up about two feet before the height freaked me out and I stumbled, cutting the front of my shin on a ragged bit of metal. Damn! I was such a girly-girl. Why couldn’t I have been the type to climb trees when I was little?
I dropped down just as another car drove up. It was far nicer than someone of college age would normally drive, certainly more expensive than my own. When its owner got out, he also looked refined.
“You must really want to play some hockey,” he noted. “I saw you try to jump the fence.” He shook his finger at me and made a mock tisk-tisk sound.
I rolled my eyes. “There’s a guy on the other side of the field that has my purse. He’s stealing it.”
All joking aside, he didn’t miss a beat. He flung himself onto the fence. While still maintaining a hold of his hockey stick in one hand, he scaled the links like it was a walk in the park. Climbing easily to the top, he threw his legs over the spikes and then dropped to the other side like a cat. I watched in fascination and hope as he took off across the field.
The thief who stole my purse saw my would-be hero running toward him. Immediately, a chase broke out and the jerk no longer meandered, but instead, ran at full force. But he wasn’t fast enough. This new guy could run. In fact, he was track star fast.
I watched in admiration as his muscular legs propelled him forward. When he was just a foot or two behind, he used his hockey stick by jabbing between the jerk’s legs, causing him to trip and fall. Once on on the ground, he slide tackled him and retrieved my purse.
“This really isn’t your color.” I could hear his quip across the field. He could have punched the guy out, but he didn’t. He took the purse and strolled back toward me. In spite of his muscular build, it was obvious that there was more to this guy than just athleticism. He was cultured. Someone had certainly taught him manners. He didn’t have to help me, but he didn’t hesitate to do so. He was gallant and handsome — a prince among the commoners.
“Is this your purse?”
“That’s the one; thanks.”
Again, he scaled the fence as if he did so every day and handed me my purse. “Now, let me look at that leg.”
Something about the way he said it told me that he was already checking out my legs. A warm blush spread across my cheeks in spite of feeling cold from the rain.
“It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”
“No, it’s not. Come on, think about it. It’s a metal fence. Even if you’re up to date with a tetanus vaccination, you need antiseptic. Hold on a second.” He clicked the lock on his BMW. It was a M3 sedan and I knew from listening to my boss about our advertisers that this was an $80K car. How did someone this young drive something this expensive? The car chirped and he moved to the passenger side where he proceeded to open the glove compartment. He walked back to me carrying a first aid kit and a bottle of water.
“You’re prepared.”
“Boy Scout’s motto,” he replied and eyed me with a mischievous smile. He may have behaved heroically a few minutes ago, but I certainly didn’t see him as a Boy Scout. He had a devilish grin laced in raw sexuality.
He opened the first aid kit and found a lollipop, which he handed me. “This will help.”
“You are full of surprises.” I couldn’t help smiling in spite of the fact that the cut on my leg stung like hell. “Are you a doctor?” He looked damn young, but there was the car and his mannerisms. His grace and style.
“Nah, don’t let the lollipop fool you,” he said fishing through the first aid case. “Although, I am working on it.”
He said the last part more to himself than me. I watched him as he took a long, slow drink from his own water. As he drank, his eyes were on me, and my heart rate increased inexplicably as I took in his lips that looked so soft, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow…one of many parts of him that screamed pure masculinity.
“Here,” he said, offering me a drink. “It goes well with cherry.” It was a little gesture, but it meant so much after the day I had. Then, my manners returned to me and I realized that he hadn’t come out here to chase some idiot and then sit in a deserted parking lot with me.
“I’m fine now. I should go. Thank you for everything.”
“Sit.” He placed a reassuring hand on my arm and pointed to the passenger seat of his car. Something about his authoritative voice more so than the reality that my leg was bleeding made me obey. He took my leg in his hands and ever so gently used a wipe to clean my wounds. I was aware of the way his hand felt on the back of my calf, firm and yet gentle. He squeezed a drop of antiseptic cream onto the cut, then lowered his head so his mouth was just inches above it and softly blew. His palm never left my leg, his eyes were trained on mine and suddenly a chill ran up my spine.
This was too much. Things like this didn’t happen to me. I was used to attracting the assholes. I jumped back, pulling my leg away and opening the car door all in one swift movement. I wished I could stay in his warm car with his hand on me, but he had already shown me too much kindness. I wasn’t used to it.
“Thank you, again. I have to go.” The rain was falling harder now, but I would have run to my car even if it were dry. I had to leave.
Chapter Two
I was exhausted by the time I got home. The emotions of the afternoon — the low of having my purse stolen and the high of meeting this mystery guy — made me decide that a hot bath was warranted. But when I pulled into the driveway and saw my son, Jack, sitting on the front doorstep, I knew that my plans had gone by the wayside.
“What’s going on?”
“Megan’s at it…on the couch.” Jack rolled his eyes in disgust.
This was the problem with sharing a rental. Jack and I had moved in with Megan, someone I knew from my long past college days, who was now deciding to re-live her college experience, complete with late night parties and a continual parade of men.
“Oh gross. I’m sorry, honey.”
“Yep,” he nodded his agreement. “Mom, I love you, but being locked out of my own house is getting old. I’m moving in with Michael. His roommate is subletting his room while he’s studying abroad for the semester.”
“You can’t move out. You’re in high school.”
“I’m a senior,” he quickly pointed out. “I’ll be leaving in the Fall anyway.”
“But you’re still in high school now.”
“I’m 18. I’ll be fine. Think of it this way, if you agree, you’ll be helping my grades. I can’t study here.”
“But I need a few more months to save up money to help you.” I was grasping at straws. The idea of him leaving made this horrible day that much worse.
“I thought of that. The money I make from website design will pay for the new place. I’ll just do a few more jobs each month.”
“But what about hockey practice? Between work and studying, it doesn’t leave much time for practice.” The minute I said it, my mind suddenly was a whir. Hockey wasn’t that popular a sport. I wondered if he knew the guy who had come to my rescue this afternoon.
He interrupted my thoughts. “It’ll work out. As it is now, I waste tons of time sitting on the front porch while Suddenly Single goes at it.”
I nodded. There were no further arguments to present. “I get it.” I really did understand, but I hated that he was going to go…and I was jealous that he could.
As if reading my thoughts, he added gently, “You should find another place.”
I just nodded, but we both knew that this was the best I could afford for now.
“I love you, mom. I wanted to wait and talk to you, but there’s no telling how much longer we’ll be sitting out here, so I’m going to head over to Michael’s place and tell him the news.”
“Love you, too. See you soon?”
“Of course.”
After Jack drove off, I contemplated how long my patience would last on the front porch and when the answer was not a minute more, I texted my friend, Luci: You home? Can I swing by for a few?
Her response: Come on over. Trying out a margarita recipe…I’ll save you some.
Normally, I’d pass on the offer of margaritas, but I had three strikes against me that cemented my decision to visit Luci. News of Jack leaving was the first reason. The reminder of my horrible living situation followed. And, the fact that it wasn’t going to change any time soon due to my ex being an asshole who fudged his taxes to avoid spousal support
and didn’t care if he ever saw me or his son again was the final straw.
I didn’t know if “happy” was in my near future, but it was worth trying for and so I left for an impromptu happy hour with my friend.
Chapter Three
I arrived at Luci’s place and was immediately struck by how much nicer her accommodations were than mine. For one, she doesn’t have a creepy roommate, and also it’s stylish in a rustic and homey way that reminds me of a HGTV television show. Everything is clean and white with driftwood accents. There’s even a cool water fountain made of refurbished buckets that spill water from one to the next. It sits just inside the front door, greeting her guests and making the place feel zen like. It’s the total opposite vibe I get when I think of my roommate and surroundings.
“You look awful. What happened?” Luci sent me a concerned look and handed me a margarita.
I proceeded to recap the events of the last two hours culminating in my realization that if I made more money I could at least get rid of my roommate and maybe still have Jack around. I punctuate my thought with one sip of my drink, but quickly put it on the coffee table for safe keeping.
“You don’t like it?” Luci questions.
I pull out my laptop and plug it into the closest outlet. “I just need to file my story first. The purse snatching incident put me behind schedule and if I don’t get my blog post to my boss within the hour, I can lose my job. It’s meager at best, but I need it.”
“I’ll just check my email and then be good to go…” I say while clicking away at my keyboard. “Shit…message from Rachel, my boss.” It takes me but a second to read the curt email. “I so don’t need this right now.”
“Maybe you should reconsider and have a drink now.”
Luci hands me my margarita to which I take a healthy swallow. “She says my numbers are still way down as far as views; the advertisers aren’t happy and she’s considering eliminating my column. This story…” I add, my voice rising at least an octave, “is my last chance.”