Inner Core
by
Sigal Ehrlich
Copyright © Sigal Ehrlich
ISBN: 978-0-9914007-1-3 (eBook)
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Inner Core
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Copyright © 2014 by Sigal Ehrlich. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any eans, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.
Cover designed by Regina Wamba of www.MaeDesign.com
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Published by Sigal Ehrlich
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Version 2014.01.25
Acknowledgments
Inner Core was written during one of the most intense periods I’ve experienced. Wonderful intense periods. And I honestly would have not been able to do so without the help of some incredible people I’m blessed to have in my life.
Firstly, my husband. Though I’m supposed to be a so-called writer, it is beyond my ability to find the right words to describe how truly amazing you are. Thank you for taking care of everything when I didn’t, and for making me stop from time to time to breathe. I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you for being my more, my so much more.
My kiddos, for being as perfect as you are, and still loving unconditionally even with less mommy-time.
Liis, my personal Marry Poppins, for loving my kids almost as much as you do.
Shachar, my inspiration, my gorgeous inspiration.
Capy, for your encouragement, always, and for being my Tasha and Ian combined.
My beta readers, thank you for being as passionate, patient and fun to work with. Evelyn, Liis, Sima, Zohar, Hila, Tali, Sirle, and Sylvie. And a special thanks to Beth, for the extra time and effort.
Ravit, for your time, the laughter, sarcasm, ideas, suggestions, mini arguments. It was a blast working with you on the last touches of the book. You are amazing, I’m beyond thankful for all your help.
My editor, Nicole Hornbaker, I couldn’t have asked for a better editor to work with. You know just how to hone my work in a way that doesn’t differ from my voice. It has been an absolute pleasure working with you.
Cassandra and Kate, for always giving my work the last needed polish to make it just as I’ve envisioned it to be.
Regina Wamba, for tolerating my sometimes-over-the-top control-freakery, and designing the amazing covers for the series.
Bloggers, truly incredible bloggers. I cannot begin to express how thankful I am to you and your support, it’s priceless.
Special gratitude to:
Kawehi, my kindred spirit, of Kawehi Book Blog. Michele of Devilishly Delicious Book Reviews. Jen of Lustful Literature. Beth of Tome Tender. Dearest Carmie and the awesome ladies at Forever Me Romance. The great bunch of women at A is for Alpha B is for Books. The coolest blogger out there, Liz, of Fictional Candy (dear, I’m your fan). Alice of All Things in the Clouds Sweet. Bianca, aka the blogger who rocked me to my core, of Bianca of BJ’s Book Blog. Theo, sweet Theo of Shattering Words, Cindy of The Book Enthusiast Blog, Tiffany of Tiffany Talks Books, and the lovely ladies at Four Brits and a Book.
And most importantly, my readers. Since Layers was released I’ve been constantly overwhelmed by your response. You guys are truly amazing and I could have not asked for better readers. I am more than grateful to you.
Thank you! Thank you for reviewing, messaging, emailing, loving, liking, spreading the word. You guys absolutely rock.
And lastly, warm thank you to some special ladies: My fav, aka Julie, Tatiana, Sharon, and Rachel.
For Capy, aka Hila, for being the friend one could only wish for.
To reach the core of inner beauty, one must first unravel the many protective layers.
Inner Core
Chapter 1: One in Seven Billion
The arrivals hall at O’Hare is relatively busy, particularly for a Sunday morning, but it’s a good thing. The larger the crowd, the more people I can spy on, like some twisted stalker. I can’t help but wonder what a professional would say about this questionable habit of mine.
I needed distraction. I had to get out of the house, out of the bubble of emotional and mental torture. I was going insane. I had to get away from the tense gloom that had descended unbidden over my parents’ home since we got the horrifying news about Steven, my younger brother who’s a combat medic deployed in Afghanistan. We are a fraction of a family, waiting to hear news of the segment that makes us complete, desperately hoping that we will be whole again. Each one of us in our own way dreads the thought we won’t. It’s been a nerve-wracking twenty-four hours that seem like a lifetime of waiting, waiting for any sort of news that will either shatter our lives or ensure that our Steven survived the suicide bomber that exploded next to his platoon’s convoy in Kabul.
I wade through people standing in groups and those waiting solo, making my way toward a bench just in front of the sliding doors that are continuously pouring with passengers from incoming domestic flights. Abruptly I halt, taken by my image as it reflects on the glass doors ahead. I am pale. I am disheveled, my long wavy blonde strands pulled up in a messy bun, my usually dark brown eyes without their vivid glee. Even my freckles don’t seem to add the liveliness they usually do. I guess I look as worn as I am inside.
I settle on the bench and think about how the airport is the best place to defuse some of the frustration, anxiety and pain I’ve been abiding for far too long now. It's a place that has always proved successful in seeding hope in me, like a parallel universe which brings people together, which helps cease longing. And with the thought of longing, the thought of Daniel involuntarily drifts into my mind, accompanied by the unbelievable ache I’ve been carrying inside my heart since we went our separate ways two weeks ago.
Truth be told, he never really leaves my mind. The thought of him hovers constantly, whether I like it or not.
The sound of his voice when I called him last night plays vividly in my head now. How my name sounded like a prayer of redemption coming from his lips. How my heart missed a beat at his emotionally saturated tone. How every part of me drew to it, in hope. And how reality and sense crashed down, strong and illuminating, at the faint sound of my dying phone.
It was a wakeup call in the form of a dying line. And just like that, he was gone again. Gone like my courage and the confidence that getting back together was the right thing to do. As much as I want him―with an almost irrational need―I also clearly know that I couldn’t possibly let myself be vulnerable again, as I unquestionably am when it comes to Daniel. I cannot imagi
ne ever going through so much agony as I went through by this breakup.
I need a timeout from these voices echoing Daniel’s name through my head; I can’t do this now. It feels as though I'm about to lose it. You need a quick exorcism, that’s what you need. I can’t have him occupying my thoughts this way. I’ll deal with everything Daniel when I get back home. I can’t handle both the anguish of worrying about Steven and the ache for Daniel. There's only so much my heart and my brain can take at a time if I don't want to risk being committed.
An unpleasant numbness slowly spreads over my backside from the hard plastic surface of the bench, prompting me to shift in my seat. I watch the scene before me, of the expectant crowd as they wait for their loved ones. A sparkle reflected from a mylar red balloon floating above even the highest of heads in the herd draws my attention. A breeze from the automatic exit doors tilts the balloon hypnotically from side to side, encouraging my gaze to deeper fixate on it and the background gradually blurs away. I stare at the fine string that tethers the balloon to someone's hand. A security announcement funnels in the background, urges people to not leave their belongings unattended. I drop my stare lower, to the chubby little hand holding the balloon. It belongs to a child standing with a woman who I guess is his mother. I study the delicately freckled features that ornament the child's sweet round face. My heart flutters when my gaze pauses on his hazel eyes: a shade lighter, and they would be identical to the ones I so long to drown in. And I recycle, yet again, my memories of Daniel, of the call last night and his voice that manifested relief for us both.
Did I make the right decision not to call him back? The dying line took away my courage and any bit of assurance I had in me when I dialed his number. You did the right thing, Hales. Stop beating yourself up. Just stop!
And through my mulling a sudden spark draws my focus, the light of joy. Joy that could only be enticed from the lips of a cheerful child. The little boy holding the balloon giggles and runs to a man who waits, squatting, to receive him in his open arms. My heart swells at the sight; this is the very moment of why I love watching people at airports. As disturbing a habit as this is, these kinds of encounters are just priceless.
My gaze drifts to the herd of people coming out of the automatic doors behind the boy’s father. I gape at them, absorbed for a long while. I shake my head, take a deep breath, and check my watch.
I should go before I show up on airport security radars as a suspected sleeper cell agent. Ungluing my body from the seat, I start to walk toward the exit that leads to the parking lot.
Paid parking stub in hand, I buckle up and start the engine. Fragments of songs are blending into each other as I scan the channels, shifting the car into drive, and with nothing better to listen to, I leave the radio on a talk show. I roll my eyes at the idiocies that come out of the hosts' mouths. With a sudden urge for an iced caramel latte I start tapping my fingers nervously at the wheel. The swanky rental car in front of me doesn’t move, nor does it make any signs of moving soon. I inch forward, trying to see the driver causing this setback, and shake my head when I see a fluffy bob and a hunched shoulder that probably belongs to some older woman. C’mon! I honk once but it doesn’t seem to bother the person ahead.
Grandma, you of all people should know we live on borrowed time. Let the rest of humanity proceed with their lives. Urgh…
My impatience grows with every passing second, I step out of the car, slam the door, and, cursing under my breath, stride toward the hazard.
I thump the window in subject, looking ahead while composing a quick tirade in my head. My feet, with a mind of their own, irritably stamp the ground and I grimace, waiting for a reaction from the nursing home tenant on the run.
When she says, with the sweetest smile, “Yes sweetheart,” I just shake my head and return a sheepish grin.
I say, “Have a nice day ma’am,” then turn on my heels and take my shamed self quickly back to my car.
Okay Hales, time to get it together. You might be a total wreck inside but do not let that loose on the general public. Get a grip, and fast.
After I leave the oh-so-blessed Starbucks, gulping the much desired cold, sweet, caffeinated beverage, I head back to my parents’ house, though it's the last place I really want to be. A taxi that stops right outside their gate distracts me while I try to rear park the sedan in the narrow slot next to my mom’s hybrid. STEVEN? My heart speeds up at the thought. When I anxiously step out of the car the taxi’s passenger door opens and I gasp. Even though I'm surrounded by an infinite amount of oxygen, none of it seems to enter my lungs. I gape at the passenger as he leaves the vehicle, and for a beat I actually lose my balance. The world around me stills; I am cemented to the asphalt, unable to move or preform any action, including breathing, other than to watch him, hypnotized―as though he were a figment orchestrated by my wild imagination. What the hell is he doing here? If I weren't immobilized I would pinch myself.
Daniel takes a few cautious steps toward me. His eyes are tense, assessing me from a distance. It all takes barely a moment―one that drags sluggishly, that feels like a lifetime―during which my heart beats in double time, wildly pounding in my ears.
When he is finally a step away, I squirm absently, afraid my erratic heart will leap out of my ribcage. He halts inches away, gazing at me with his beautiful hazel eyes, just a thin layer of air separating us. I tilt my head up to look at him: Daniel, standing very much real right in front of me, his face stern, and his stare unfathomable. He crouches slightly, leveling his eyes with mine. There are countless emotions swaying over his handsome face. I try to take them all in til the most desired one appears and stays. The one I’ve been waiting much too long for.
“Tell me what to do, Hales.” He breaks the tense silence with his familiar, low, hoarse voice, capturing my stare firmer with his.
I watch him, dazed. My lower lip starts to tremble and I bite it to stop. Emotional tears prick at the corner of my eyes.
“'Cause I really don’t know what you want, and I don’t want to screw this up any further.” His voice is gentler as he watches me, searching for my reaction, his eyes clearly hinting at his anxiousness. To my astounded silence he adds, “I hope it’s not too late, and that I didn’t cross too many of your lines, and there’s still a chance to go back.”
I blink, while experiencing the most severe heart pang, silently, standing there before him.
He lets out a faint, soft sigh, “Please, baby, tell me what to do.”
“Just hold me?” I manage to say weakly through my trembling lips while my heart makes its way to my throat, full with an overwhelming need for him. The first cathartic touch of his body against mine sends wild currents up and down my spine. I let myself lean into him, dissolving into his firm embrace as he swaddles me closely. I take in every ounce of the familiar, incredibly indulgent scent of fresh, lust, and male that is him. I close my eyes and melt into his warmth.
“I thought it was over. I thought you gave up on me,” he whispers in utter relief into my hair, his lips fluttering gently over the crown of my head. He tightens his embrace around me too forcefully, as if he isn’t about to ever let go. But it is so welcome; I cling to it with every single molecule of my grateful body. And it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
“As if I’m even capable of doing that.” My words are a gasp of ultimate surrender, ultimate delighted surrender to my inner will, to him, to us. After two excruciating weeks I finally feel that I am exactly where I belong. And these fourteen days of painful eternity end in a single necessary, deeply desired embrace.
D, you are so my one in seven billion.
“Steven is fine,” he says next in a soothing, low tone, still holding me close to him with my head resting over his hurriedly beating heart.
My eyes shoot up, pursuing reassurance of what I’ve just heard, staggered. He bobs his head once, the empathetic, thin smile on his lips backing his words. My eyes fill with a glossy layer of tears as I cock
my head questioningly, still not fully believing.
“He's fine, Hales,” he repeats, calmly. My lips part reflexively in dismay. So many questions rush through my head. I can’t even catch up with my own train of thoughts. What is he doing here? How did he know I would be here? How did he know about Steven? Where did he get the information about Steven being fine? And before I can ask any of them, I am lost in the mixture of longing and relief transmitting through his eyes. They morph from hazel into something deeper. Something that stirs me deep inside. His lips slightly part, and his stare burns on my lips. He slowly inclines his chin toward me and with the slightest tilt of his head his lips drop to mine.
I gasp.
The first touch is feather-like, hesitant. He slants his head back just enough to look at me closely, seeking my consent, his breath caressing my face. Next his mouth crushes to mine fervently. I part my lips to allow his tongue inside so it can recouple with mine. Our encounter is affecting every part of my body. His tongue traces the length of mine, commencing a thorough, demanding, delectable tour of my depths, taking me over. And with one sole kiss I am again utterly drunk on his taste, on his feel. It’s like therapy. Therapeutic recreation. After long moments in which we are floating in our own bubble, physically reuniting, kissing each other senseless, we reluctantly break our intense contact to come up for air.
“What are you doing here?” I finally manage to ask, breathless.
“I came for you,” his eyes owning mine.
“You called me and you needed something, but I couldn’t reach you, so I came.”
I gape at him with various emotions twirling through my head; they all conclude with just how much I love him. Regardless of everything that happened, I simply love him.
Inner Core: (Stark, #2) Page 1
