Inner Core: (Stark, #2)

by Sigal Ehrlich

  D, you are so my illegal drug.

  “Christ, Hales, you look insanely beautiful.” His eyes fall on me with a gaze that suggests he's about to rip my clothes off. I grin at him, ego about to breach Mars’s atmosphere.

  You should talk.

  “I am so going to finish the night either in a fight or with a severe condition of blue balls.” He leaves a scorching kiss/bite below my ear. A giggle escapes my mouth at the graveness he gives this sentence.

  Who said romance was dead?

  “No fighting necessary as I'm not sure I'll be able to detach myself from you, sir. And about that severe condition you mentioned: believe me, I am so planning to take care of that. The sooner the better.” I bat my eyes at him suggestively.

  In other words, D, I am going to cling to your illegally arousing self like a cat in heat til I'm able to satisfy the feeling you just evoked in me.

  “For fuck’s sake, I can’t believe we need to go now.” He grunts beside me. I inwardly tut.

  We walk hand in hand to the car, me elated and pouty, satisfying-immediate-desires-depraved him.

  Chapter 13: Lost Nostradamus Prediction

  Tapping my fingers on the mahogany bar’s hard surface, waiting for Daniel to order our drinks, I scan the high-class decor of the Ritz’s aristocratically themed ballroom. The venue and the attendees of the event emanate nothing but sophistication.

  “How could you not check out her butt?” I ask, watching Daniel for a second. There’s no way he could be oblivious to one of the most bootylicious creatures I’ve ever seen. Her posterior could bring any red blooded, heterosexual man to a tongue protruding, heavily panting frenzy.

  “What’s that?” he asks, squinting at me as though I were acutely deranged.

  “Aren’t you guys wired that way? Shouldn’t it be a reflex with you? Even I checked her out.”

  “Glad for you. And no, Hales. Are you seriously asking me that?” His brows hide behind the clusters of unruly dirty blonde that rest on his forehead. His lips twist into a side smile as he shakes his head. “Why should I, when I have this piece of perfection?” And to emphasize his statement he slides his palm over my dress, squeezing a big hunk of my alleged 'piece of perfection'. “You're a complete nut case, you know?” he adds with an intense kiss with humored lips over my unsuspecting mouth. When I return from being momentarily stunned, I say, “Takes one to know one,” and I'm rewarded with a devilish grin.

  The gentle press of Daniel’s hand on the small of my back is ever present, like the slowly burning need I’ve been incubating since seeing him all dressed up. We pace the room holding hands, utterly content with each other, halting from time to time as Daniel exchanges words with his business acquaintances, introducing me as his girlfriend to each with proud air he doesn't bother to hide.

  Making our way to one of the more secluded corners of the hall, we embrace and taste expensive champagne from each other's mouths, gradually disconnecting from our surroundings. I'm pretty sure our molecules are about to melt together by the intense adhesion.

  “We need to find a more private corner,” Daniel murmurs with a husky tone that's full of intent, freeing any remaining butterflies that weren’t already causing a tidal wave in my core. I put my chilled champagne glass against my heated face, trying to cool down, at least visibly, which leads to a throaty chuckle to roll out of my partner’s amused mouth.

  “I’m actually amazed you managed to behave so far. I expected you to drag me to some corner and have your way with me a long time ago.”

  He snorts then murmurs, “I should have gotten a halo and a pair of goddamn wings by now.” I giggle and kiss the side of his mouth.

  “Let’s go find that corner.” He takes my hand and brushes it against his lips before leading me towards a hideaway. But after only a few steps, we freeze in unison: me because of the familiar person catching my eye with a smug we-hooked-up look. I can’t quite fathom the reason for Daniel’s pause. I nod curtly; hoping the guy heading our way won't talk to me, well aware of my boyfriend's lack of “tolerance” for past lovers. When I glance at Daniel I notice his face taking on an edge, his eyes with riotous depths. What’s going on with him?

  I thread my fingers through Daniel’s, about to ask him if he's okay. But Brad is closing the gap between us, and I fidget and tense at the coming introduction and at his blazing, suggestive stare. As he takes his final steps I remember why I was attracted to him in the first place, ages ago. He has this influential, polished look: perfectly built, with his enchanting sapphire eyes and slick black hair.

  “Hayley.” He takes my free hand and kisses it briskly, while Daniel’s hold on me turns into a death grip. “It's been a long time and yet you're just as stunning as I remember you,” he says, trying to flatter me but with a clear undercurrent of conceit. Brad turns Daniel’s way with a malicious, strained smile “Daniel.”

  Daniel?

  “Glad to see you again.” He addresses us both this time, clearly trying hard to pull off a nonchalant, cheerful stance.

  “Well, that makes one of us,” Daniel retorts belligerently, watching Brad closely with a murderous gaze. My eyes dart to seek Daniel's, searching for some evidence to the reason for the sudden mood alteration.

  “So, you two are together?” Brad returns his gaze to me, drinking me in, that cocky amusement intact.

  “Yes,” Daniel answers, sharp and clear. The sparks of wrath caused by colliding currents of testosterone are almost tangible.

  “Well, we do have a history of sharing, don’t we, Stark?” I'm not sure what exactly happens at that moment, but when I follow Daniel’s and Brad’s gazes my eyes flick over to the glass in Daniel’s hand. What I see is that Daniel’s hand is damp against the champagne flute. Brad heaves out a short, irritating chuckle, which immediately makes my hand itch with the desire to slap his annoyingly smug face.

  Daniel, cursing under his breath, places the dripping glass on a tray carried by a passing waitress. He then lifts his hand to his mouth, sucking on the wetness. His entire demeanor is as if he's a Dexter episode in the making.

  “So, Hayley, what have you been up to?” Brad places a friendly though intrusive hand on my shoulder. In spite of my unmistakable squirming he keeps his grip firmly intact.

  What are you so smug about? I clearly remember that my post-coital thoughts were along the lines of NEVER AGAIN.

  Before I manage to brush his hand off me, or answer, Daniel’s voice slashes out dark and icy. “There are three kinds of mistakes as I see it,” Daniel says as he looks at Brad, jaw noticeably ticking. “The ones you learn from, the ones you stupidly repeat and the ones that’ll kill you. Doing what you're doing right now is the third one. Take your hand off her this second.” He utters the end of this sentence through gritted teeth, his eyes radiating a promise that there will be blood. I squeeze his hand, trying hard to somehow calm him down. Brad sizes Daniel up, palpably trying to rile him. “Maybe we should have it out at the club?”

  My eyebrows instinctively rise.

  “Would be my pleasure to introduce you to your maker.” Daniel’s gaze still resembles that of a hunter awaiting to take a calculated pounce. “But you're not worth serving time for.” This tense situation seems to be getting a lot of attention and so, aiming to ease it and with a crucial need to talk to Daniel in private, I ask, “I am going to get wine. Do you want some, Daniel? Join me?”

  “Scotch.” His narrowed eyes, low and stony don’t shift away from their intense stare at Brad.

  “You guys know each other?” Tasha’s cheerful voice interrupts my plan and dissolves some of the tension in our little group.

  “Oh, I know Hayley.” Brad’s look is overly evocative and highly annoying. He enfolds Tasha’s waist with his arm.

  No, Tash! This is your Brad? No! Talk about an evening gone completely wrong.

  “And Daniel,” he says, his tone less sleazy.

  “That’s convenient! We don’t need to go into intro formalities.” Tas
ha grins, totally oblivious to the odd, intense exchange of words a second ago.

  “Should we get you guys a refill?” I ask, pulling Daniel with me toward the direction of the bar.

  “I’ll have what Daniel's having.” Brad continues his irritating assault, very much entertained.

  Kudos for the double-entendre, slimeball. I direct a hostile glance at him.

  “I’ll kill him,” Daniel mutters through gritted teeth to himself, but when he makes a move to turn back Brad’s way, I squeeze his hand tighter and beg him with my eyes. He's just one Jack Daniel’s away from garrotting the guy.

  “Nothing for me Hales,” Tasha sings joyfully, still blissfully ignorant. I find it strange that my mostly sharp friend hasn't caught on to the rotten vibe that should be obvious to any moron. Is she that high on Brad? Tasha and Brad… Just the thought of it annoys the living hell out of me.

  “Two Jacks neat please, make em’ double,” I ask one of the bartenders. Though not my usually chosen beverage, I too am in need of some heavy-duty intoxicant.

  “Well, I guess you figured out the nature of my acquaintance with Brad. Now, can you please tell me what’s going on? What the hell happened between the two of you?” I ask Daniel, watching him throw back the bronze liquid in one swig. He twist his mouth, eyes me for a beat with a glare between fire and ice.

  “It’s not that I ever thought I was lucky enough to take your virginity, but this… This goes beyond slaughter; this is flaying then pouring acid on it in broad daylight.”

  What the hell? Aren’t we just overreacting a teeny bit to me sleeping with someone before I even met you? I take a deep breath, willing myself to calm down.

  “Daniel, it’s just a guy I slept with once, it shouldn't be that big of a deal.” Relax.

  His stare changes to burning hazel. “He is not just a guy, Hayley, he is the guy. He's that best buddy I told you about who backstabbed me.”

  I choke on my next sip of burning whiskey. The glass remains frozen in midair next to my lips as I tilt my face up to meet a pair of incredibly furious eyes. This goes beyond horrendous: Brad is the guy who used to be Daniel’s best friend? The best buddy who tried to sue Daniel for Daniel's company, after a lifelong friendship?

  “Oh, no,” I murmur, deflated. My hand instinctively covers my mouth.

  “Oh yes,” Daniel’s mocking reply is encrusted with poison.

  Disastrous… And yet for a moment I can’t overlook the full half of the fiasco glass. My end-times prophecy just got its official stamp: Daniel has stopped himself from going ballistic at a situation like this. I squeeze his hand, glad to feel him reciprocate. On cue, one of his business associates stops to talk to him, giving me a moment to myself to dwell on the past few minutes. I inhale deeply as I try to process Daniel’s reaction, Brad’s deliberately slimy banter. My mind is a turmoil of blurring questions.

  This debacle gives new meaning to the word clusterfuck.

  “I’ll be back shortly.” I let go of Daniel’s hand and start walking ahead. Daniel just nods, composed, but I know too well that it's just for appearance's sake. I'm deep into my thoughts, completely oblivious to my surroundings, except for one spot at the end of the hall: the door marked with the universal sign for the women's bathrooms. I need to get away for a breather to think—hell, to recuperate. Had I not been an integral part of this lucid predicament, I would have pegged it as some kind of pathetic sitcom that makes you squirm in your chair. A sitcom by writers so jaded and far from being talented that signed their SLA with a capital M for mediocrity.

  “Ah!” Baffled, I give a startled cry when I'm grabbed forcefully by my arm pulled, almost losing my balance, into a dark, cushioned space. I nearly jump out of my skin. My heart skips a beat, panicked, until I recognize the mixture of Daniel’s alluring body scent now mixed with mild bittersweet aroma of alcohol. As my eyes acclimate to the room, I spot hanging coats, telling me we're in the cloakroom. Shifting my gaze to look at Daniel, I wince at his dark, dangerous, and sinfully pointed glare. He doesn’t speak, nor does he release my gaze. His breath is abnormally heavy and quick. He looks predatory. My heartbeat accelerates and my palms become moist. I am nervous and turned on and my head is throbbing. I’ve never seen him like this before.

  This is a new degree of wild. The way he looks at me is different, and I can’t decide whether I should like it or not. I can’t gauge what he's thinking. He seems hell-bent on devouring me and the glee in his eyes tells me that this time it’s not just love. But nevertheless, my heart literally skips some crucial beats in anticipation. The only sound coming from him is a low growl that reverberates through me to the very depths of my stomach. Far from being gentle, he pushes me into the wall, taking with us some long evening coats. Metal hangers squeak as they slide on the rails, harmonizing with the purr of fast, virile breaths. He lifts my dress so it hovers around my waist and yanks down my thong, ripping it from my hip. His actions are primal and rough, but I don’t stop him. I am entirely intoxicated by the magma gushing through my veins. Though I feel a sense of alarm my body still reacts to him in aching need, sending contradicting signals to my resentful mind. I can hear the faint sound of a zipper as it sets him free, and then he pulls me up, by my thighs, to rest on the fabric stretched against the wall. Hurriedly Daniel grabs my leg and wraps it around his hip, then my right leg finds itself placed higher, against his ribs, and then with a sharp, forceful slide he sinks into me, leaving us both utterly breathless.

  He tightens the grip on my thigh, holding me taut against his body, as I counter his thrusts. Our eyes burn into each other. His mouth turns to claim mine. He doesn’t kiss me: he screws my mouth with his possessive, lashing tongue. His movements are domineering and ferocious. I can taste the salty dampness that has formed above his lips, blended with the flavor of whiskey. He conquers me; his rawness sends me sinfully to a brain-shattering climax. He quenches his desire inside me, finally expressing anger and ownership with a dry roar of my name. As his head drops into the nook of my neck I whisper, through panting gasps, “I am yours.”

  I was before you dragged me to your cave and marked me, and I will be, always.

  I inhale deeply, spent and satiated. With his head still buried in the niche of my shoulder Daniel utters, “Christ, Hayley, of all the people! Out of everyone it had to be the one person I detest?” He takes a deep, frustrated breath. “He had you, Hales.” His voice is beaten and dark, affected. His head doesn’t leave its den, and I realize painfully that he's avoiding looking at me. Though I know I should be irate or feeling degraded, I'm not. My empathy goes out to him, knowing that if it was the other way around, I would have been devastated. I'm well aware that I myself already hold plenty of animosity in my heart for anyone who's ever been intimate with him, physically or emotionally. I can’t even fathom the thought of how I would feel if it were someone I loathed, someone who betrayed me.

  And if there's one chapter in my thick book of sordid memories I wish I could delete… There's a long moment while we are physically attached and mentally departed when we just let our sweat evaporate. Daniel is first to break contact.

  “I’m going to wash my face,” he says, his voice still restless. At the sight of his departing figure I adjust my dress so I too can go freshen up. I barely rest my hand on the door of the ladies room when Tasha pushes it open. Her confused eyes x-ray me.

  “What the heavens have I missed, Hales?”

  My mouth twists. “Let me lay it out for you, Tash.” I sigh. “Brad is Daniel’s number one persona non grata. I spent one night of sin with him in the past, and now you're seeing him. How about that for a horrendous coincidence?” I say dryly, returning her stare, disturbed and frustrated.

  She flicks her eyes over me with a creased forehead, frantically playing with the colorful Swarovski ring on her finger, trying to take it all in. A heartbeat later I watch emotions flash erratically over her face as the information sinks into the soil of her recognition.

  “You have a few
things to think about while I vomit.” I pat her hand and give her a cynical, gloomy smile, which she mimics, then make my way to the first stall in the right-hand line of doors.

  “This really bad joke gone wildly wrong has to be one of Nostradamus' lost predictions of disaster…” Even though she murmurs her words still reach me before I take the final step inside the stall, and I give a short, wry snort in agreement.

  For the rest of the night Daniel and I make sure not to cross paths with my best friend and her date. The evening lingers unpleasantly due to Daniel’s combative mood and my desire to return home and make it all go away. But eventually, thankfully, it does come to an end.

  When we finally make our way back to the car, we excruciatingly retrace our happy steps, the placid breeze having turned to a mid-December draft. We were two blissfully entwined souls coming in and are two very detached ones leaving.

  Chapter 14: Rolling Snowball

  Daniel slouches on the bed beside me propped up on a pile of plump pillows, and keeps a very evident, guarded distance. I turn to lie on my side, watching him closely. As a reaction to the vision beside me my heart free falls and crashes to the ground. Daniel is still wearing his tux, sans bowtie, his arm slanted over his face, shutting out the sight of me. Despite the almost nonexistent distance between us I know that at this moment we could not be further apart. I hope with all my heart that behind his closed eyes he isn't conjuring some disturbing vision of Brad and me. A fear that things are at a threat of going downhill gnaws at me mercilessly.

  “Daniel… Are you okay?” I ask softly, knowing he's far from being even close to being fine, but I do it anyway for the sake of reopening a line of communication. Trepidation bleeds through me at the thought of what's about to come.

  “Christ, Hayley,” he says from under his shielding arm. “The amount of bullshit that ran through my head tonight.” He heaves out an exasperated sigh. “So no, Hayley, I’m not okay and I’m not going to pretend I am.”