Read on for an excerpt from the next novel in Sarah Title's Southern Comfort series,
Two Family Home,
coming this August.
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Lindsey unlocked the door and pocketed the key. Her guilt at sneaking into Walker's secret lair intensified as it mingled with fear and anticipation. But she had to know what he did all day. He could be doing something illegal. He could be cooking meth. Although she, unfortunately, had enough experience with people cooking meth to rule that out. Walker just didn't have that desperate, starving look. And he had all of his teeth.
If those were his real teeth.
Shaking her head, she felt along the wall for a light switch. She flicked it up. And her heart stopped.
She'd assumed there was an empty apartment above the garage, but there was no second floor. The high, high ceiling and the concrete floor gave the space the look of a warehouse. There was a small space heater in the corner, but Lindsey thought there was no way it could do anything to heat the space in winter. She imagined Walker in here, blowing on his hands, determined to get back to work.
In the middle of the cold, concrete floor, there was a tree. Or rather, the sculpture of a tree.
It was tall. Lindsey thought it was twice as tall as she was, but that wasn't saying much. She stepped closer to stand near the trunk, under some of the branches. Most of the tree looked like it was just a frame, metal pipes welded together to give them shape. But at the bottom, tiny squares of metal were covering the roots and moving up the trunk. Would the whole tree be covered? She looked up through the branches and squinted into the overhead light. It was amazing. Cold and hard and beautiful.
“What are you doing?”
Lindsey spun around, guilt immediately heating her face. Walker stood in the doorway, his hand on the light switch, or maybe he was reaching for one of the metal bars leaning against the wall. She must have woken him up. His hair was a disheveled mess and his boots were untied, but he'd managed to throw on his uniform of jeans and a ratty T-shirt.
“I didn't touch anything,” she said, throwing up her hands.
He didn't look mad, exactly. But he didn't look pleased.
“I'm sorry, IâI wanted to make sure you weren't cooking meth.”
He cocked his eyebrow at her.
“Meth is very dangerous,” she pointed out.
He shook his head. “I'm not cooking meth.”
“No, I see that,” she said, turning toward the tree. She had so many questions for him. How much of this did he plan before he started welding? How did he capture that look of bark with something so completely un-bark-y? How did he make something so . . . moving?
Her brain jumbled with questions, and she was a little intimidated by his skill, and maybe a little embarrassed that she'd underestimated him. The only question she could get out was, “How will you get this out of here?”
“It comes apart,” he said. “And then I'll weld the pieces back together when I install it.”
“Walker, it's . . . I had no idea.”
“No idea of what?”
Lindsey jumped and turned to find Walker right behind her, crowding her into the tree. “No idea what you were doing in here. That you were so talented. Walker, this is . . . incredible.” The last word came out in a whisper as his eyes darkened and his head tipped closer to hers. She didn't think about the potential weirdness. She just stood up on her toes and leaned a hand against his chest. He leaned down to close the gap between their mouths. He was kissing her.
LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by
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Kensington Publishing Corp.
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New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2015 by Sarah Title
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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First Electronic Edition: February 2015
eISBN-13: 978-1-60183-453-9
ISBN: 978-1-6018-3453-9