Faltering

  FALTERING

  A Novel

  Julia Danes

  Dylanna Publishing

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by Julia Danes

  All rights reserved.

  Dylanna Publishing

  Cover Design by Mayhem Cover Creations

  First Edition: March, 2014

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the permission of the copyright holder. Please purchase only authorized editions of this work, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights are appreciated.

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  My shoulders slump and a disappointed sigh escapes my lips. “Please, Freya, don’t leave me here alone.” I’m not trying to lay on the guilt, but I’ve been in a foul mood ever since I heard the news. Going solo on this trip is going to suck.

  Freya looks over at me, her mouth downturned in a frown. “I’m so sorry, Emma. I know this trip means a lot to you, but I’ve no choice. My mum needs me back home right away. I really can’t say no after everything that’s happened—plus, she’s cutting off my money supply.”

  “I know, don’t worry about me. It’s not your fault.” I shrug as if it doesn’t really matter and fall back onto the skinny mattress of my twin bed. “It’s just, what am I going to do now?” I sound whiny, even to my own ears. I’m being selfish—Freya has been looking forward to our trip down the Nile just as much as me. Ancient history is our thing, dorky as that may seem, but that’s why we’re both here in Cairo, and we’ve been planning our big adventure for months. There is no way I’m leaving Egypt without taking this trip. Alone or not.

  As Freya packs up the rest of her things, I sit on the edge of my bed, one foot tapping the floor, my fingers twirling the ends of my long blond hair. Rivulets of sweat trickle down my back and my thin sundress clings to my skin. We’ve propped open the room’s sole window with a couple of textbooks, trying to catch a breeze in the increasingly stifling desert heat. It isn’t helping much.

  Freya presses down hard on her overstuffed suitcase, trying to force the zipper closed. “Success!” She grunts and looks up triumphantly as she finally gets the bag closed. Blowing a dark lock of hair that has fallen into her eyes out of the way, she scans the now-bare walls to see if she’s forgetting anything. The tiny dorm room we’ve been sharing all semester at the university is now almost empty.

  “I’m just going to go alone. It’ll be more of an adventure that way, anyway, right?” My voice rises betraying my uncertainty. Yeah, I’d flown halfway around the world by myself to study here, but that had been under the guidance of the university. Setting out, by myself, in a strange and exotic country was a whole different bargain. Butterflies flutter in my stomach.

  Freya slides her heavy suitcase off the bed and drags it across the floor toward the door. She turns toward me, and her big blue eyes cloud with concern. “I think you need to rethink this, Emma. Traveling alone here is not a good idea. Maybe I could call my mum again and beg her to let me stay another week or two?”

  I shake my head. “No, really, it’s okay. I know she really needs you back home. You should go.” Freya’s dad passed away six months ago. Her mum has been running their B&B in Hertfordshire, a town just outside of London, alone ever since. She desperately needs her only child’s help with the place until they can find a buyer for it.

  I pull myself up off the bed and walk over to Freya throwing my arms around her in a sisterly embrace. “I’m gonna miss you so much, girl.” We’d hit it off right away when we were thrown together as roommates and grown even closer over the last couple of months.

  Freya’s eyes mist over. “Promise you’ll come visit me over the winter holidays. You know we’ve got plenty of room.”

  “Definitely. I’d love to come for a visit. Maybe you could come to Boston too?”

  Smiling, Freya nods. “Sure thing.”

  We head out across the grassy campus to where a cab is waiting to take Freya to the airport. I’m dragging my feet as we reach the edge of the sidewalk.

  “You sure you don’t want me to ride to the airport with you?” I’m stalling. I hate the thought of saying goodbye and being left here on my own.

  “No, you’d just be stuck in traffic all the way back.”

  We hug one last time before she slides into the back seat of the taxi. “Remember to call me—I want to hear all about your trip!” Freya’s head is peeking out the half-open window. A small wave and then the taxi pulls out into the constant surge of traffic. The driver blares his horn as a bicycle weaves right in front of the taxi, forcing him to slam on his brakes. It’s amazing there aren’t more accidents. Nobody ever pays attention, just darting right out in front of the moving cars and trucks.

  The taxi soon disappears and I turn and hug myself tight, suddenly chilled despite the heat.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I squint as the blazing sun hits my eyes like the flashing bulbs of a thousand paparazzi, making it difficult to see. Pulling on my dark, oversized shades, I head down the dusty sidewalk. I can’t face going back to my now-empty room, so instead I’m on my way to a coffeehouse around the corner where we’ve always hung out. Although most of the other students have already left for the summer, I’m hopeful there might still be a few stragglers.

  My pale, slightly freckled skin is burning hot in the harsh sunlight and I walk briskly, eager to get inside. A burly man, arms gesticulating widely as he speaks on his cell phone, is heading straight toward me, unaware of our impending collision. I quickly move to the side, and a sudden sharp pain shoots up my ankle as the tip of one of my high heels sinks into a wide, deep crack in the sidewalk, sending me teetering off balance. My ankle twists hard—a sudden knot of pain. Ouch. I shoot my arms out, trying to regain my balance, but it’s too late. I’m falling. I land hard on one knee, my hands reach out to break my fall, and my bag is thrown loose from my shoulder, its contents shooting out in all directions. Crap. I close my eyes for a second, not moving, bearing the sting of gritty pavement crushing into the skin of my knee and hands. Sharp pain stabs up my leg.

  A couple of teenage boys are standing off to the side, clearly amused by my fall. Embarrassed, I quickly move to grab all my stuff before it is lost or crushed in a trample of feet. My cell phone, my lifeline, is teetering right at the edge of a gaping sewer hole, and I scramble over and grab it. Turning it over, I sigh with relief, it’s got
a few scratches but it’s not shattered. I turn back around and a couple of more sympathetic passerby are stooping down to help me. Hands quickly gather up my belongings and shove them into my open bag. I make another quick scan around and notice the teenagers who’d been leaning on the corner building have disappeared, but nothing of mine is still on the ground, so I continue down the street, wanting to escape my humiliation as quickly as possible. I’m limping, my ankle throbbing with every step.

  Still wincing a little, I step through the open doors of the coffeehouse and the sweet, smoke-filled air hits me. I blink a few times, adjusting to the dim light. Rich, deeply colored tapestries cover the walls. Glasses clink against the metal tabletops. It’s mostly deserted inside: a few tourists, a couple of business-types, but not a familiar face anywhere. Frowning, I head to a table off to the side under a large, slow-moving ceiling fan and sit down. I push my hair back off my forehead and reach for a napkin to wipe some of the dust and sweat away.

  Even inside, it’s hot. Stiflingly hot. Summer has suddenly arrived in full force and this desert heat is nothing like what I’m used to. I slip my sandals off under the table and look down at my knee. It’s scraped raw and already starting to bruise. Lovely.

  I order an iced tea and when the cold glass is placed in front of me, I gulp thirstily. A small sigh of relief escapes my lips as the cold, sweet liquid eases the dryness in my throat.

  Another quick scan of the room. My eyes stop on a guy sitting just a couple of tables away. Head slightly bent, he’s absorbed in the papers he has spread out on the table in front him; his brow is furrowed in concentration and his dark, wavy hair is slightly mussed around his face. Suddenly, he looks up, as if sensing my stare, and catches my eyes before I can pull them away. His gleam with amusement and the corners of his mouth turn up slightly. Caught. He knows I’m looking. I turn my head quickly, taking another long sip of ice tea, and pretend to be engrossed in the journal on the table in front of me.

  I sit for a few more minutes, making little designs in my journal and mulling over my plans. Do I really want to do this without Freya? I check my phone; it’s time to go. I need to finish packing and get out of my dorm room by tomorrow. I also need to finalize my travel plans. Without Freya my budget is going to be extremely tight.

  I signal for the waiter to bring my check and then reach into my bag to retrieve my wallet. I come up with nothing and open it wider so I can reach all the way down. It’s not there. Where is it? I close my eyes and try to remember everything that should be in my purse. Shit, could I have left my wallet in the street without noticing? No . . . no . . . no! Could one of those passersby have walked away with it, those teenage boys? My breath quickens as I dump everything out onto the table to take stock. My hands quickly sort through, finding a lipstick, brush, phrase dictionary, and my plane ticket home, but not my wallet, which holds all of my cash and credit cards. A knot forms in my stomach and my throat tightens. My passport is missing too. Maybe I left it back in my room? But I don’t think so. Mentally kicking myself for being so stupid, I take a couple of deep breaths to calm down and try to formulate a plan. Is there any chance my stuff is still on the sidewalk? Doubtful.

  The waiter is standing nearby and notices my discomfort. “Is everything okay, miss?”

  No, definitely not.

  “I dropped my bag earlier and now I can’t find my wallet or my passport.” I try to keep my voice from shaking but I’m really worried. I don’t have more than a dollar in change and no other identification. “I . . . I don’t have enough money to pay my check.” Tears of frustration threaten to spill onto my cheeks.

  What do I do now? Should I try to retrace my steps and see if I can find my things?

  I close my eyes for a second and take a deep breath. When I open them, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Gorgeous is getting up from his table. Oh my. He’s sexy as hell. His eyes find mine as he walks toward me. My stomach flutters and I can’t look away. He’s built like an athlete, his gait smooth and graceful. But as he gets closer, what holds me are his eyes. They’re the most mesmerizing shade of hazel, almost green, flecked with gold. He stops in front of me and his gaze glides over me, absorbing me for several seconds. The way he looks at me makes me forget everything else. My heart speeds up and I stare back at him, my lips parting and my mouth falling open slightly.

  “I’ll take care of it.” He’s addressing the waiter, but he doesn’t take his eyes off me as he speaks. The deep, warm voice, with just a hint of a familiar accent envelops me, demanding my attention. Something stirs inside me. I want to hear that voice whisper in my ear.

  The waiter nods and then leaves.

  The handsome stranger continues to look at me, the touch of a smile breaking the square, masculine lines of his face. For a moment I’m lost, unable to speak, struck silent by the perfection of his face and my own suddenly wicked thoughts.

  “May I?” He gestures toward the empty chair, and I nod my head as he pulls it out and sits down. He folds himself gracefully into the seat across from me and places his arms on the table, clasping his hands loosely in front. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, revealing tanned forearms with a light dusting of dark hair. He’s dressed better than a typical college student, and looks a few years older, but not by much—maybe late twenties. His tan linen trousers and white cotton button-down shirt are slightly wrinkled. The slightest shadow of stubble graces his jaw but he still manages to look polished and pulled together.

  Shaking myself out of the momentary daze I’ve fallen into, I remember my manners. “Hey, thanks.” I smile and then reach out and take a sip of my drink. My stomach is fluttering and I’m at a loss for what to say. Why is my heart pounding all of a sudden?

  “I couldn’t help but overhear.” He’s sitting still, watching calmly as I pick all my things up off the table and put them back into my bag. “Maybe I can help?” He leans back in his chair, one hand twirling the spoon lying on the table. There’s an energy about him. Confident. Self-assured. His sultry eyes stay on my face, flickering between my eyes and my mouth when I speak.

  “Thanks, but I’m not sure how. I have to be out of my dorm room tomorrow and I’ve just lost all my money, my passport, and my only other ID. I’m totally screwed.” My voice breaks on my last words and I take a deep breath to try and calm myself. The last thing I want is to start crying in front of this gorgeous stranger, but the tears are building behind my eyes again.

  He leans forward slightly and reaches out with one hand to gently touch my arm. His fingers are warm and I catch a whiff of his scent—clean and masculine. The tightness in my throat loosens a little as his touch shoots a pang of heat through me. “Hey, it’s okay, don’t get upset.” His deep voice is soothing, like a caress against my skin.

  “No, I . . . I’m fine, really.” I’m off-kilter. I’d like to sit here forever, being lulled by this gorgeous stranger’s presence. But anxiety over my situation is creeping in and I’ve got to find a way to deal with it. My mind is racing as I try to figure out my next move. What does someone do with no money, no ID, and no passport in a foreign country?

  He’s pulled his hand away and is leaning back in his chair, studying me as I move to put my journal away and gather up my things.

  I lean down to grab my sandals and slide them on my feet. As I do, my hair falls into my face. Before I can brush it away, he reaches across the small expanse of table and sweeps my loosened hair back, tucking it gently behind my ear. His fingers linger for the briefest second, just grazing my earlobe and tracing down the side of my jaw. I let out a little gasp, surprised at the contact, and my eyes lock with his. I can’t quite read his expression; the gold flecks in his eyes seem to sparkle. There’s an instant pull toward him, like an undertow, and a little shiver courses through me.

  I look away, unsure of what to say. I’m not used to guys acting like this. I’m not used to reacting this way either.

  Unfortunately, I’ve got this new mess with my missing things to deal with, so I push
back in my chair and stand up, throwing my bag over my shoulder. “Well, umm, thanks for paying my check.” I should just walk away now, but I don’t. Instead, I just stand there next to the table, looking at him. The first couple of buttons of his shirt are open, revealing the tanned skin of his chest, covered in a faint sheen of sweat. I have a sudden flash of me bending over, unbuttoning the rest of the buttons, and running my hands across his muscular chest.

  Startled by my thoughts, I shake my head to clear it and take a step back, turning to leave, and almost stumble again. He reaches out his hand and lightly grabs my arm, steadying me. “Wait a minute. Where are you going? What are you going to do?”

  I look down at his strong, tanned hand gripping the pale skin of my arm; another surge of heat passes through me and my heart rate increases. “I’m . . . I’m not sure.” My voice comes out breathy and I wish I hadn’t finished my ice tea because my mouth is suddenly dry. He releases my arm and I move away a little, needing to break the electricity I feel between us.

  “I can help you. I’ve got some connections here.” He rises from his chair, reaches into his pocket, pulls out a couple of crumpled Egyptian pounds, and throws them on the table. He’s tall, at least a head taller than me, and his broad shoulders strain against the fabric of his shirt. “Come on, my office is right around the corner. I’ll make a few calls, see about getting you a new passport.” He takes a step toward me and extends his hand. “Alec Hawthorne.”

  I look down at his hand, unsure what to do. Am I crazy to consider leaving with a stranger? Get a grip, he’s just being helpful. He’s not dangerous. I bring my hand up to meet his and he engulfs mine in a firm grip. There’s a spark when we make contact and I jerk my hand back, out of his grasp, and look up in surprise. Did he feel it too?

  He raises a questioning eyebrow at me, the hint of a smile on his lips.