The Wallace Girl: The Feud Series

by Scott, Eliot

  One of her arms floats over my waist, the other to my chest, with her hand settling in near my neck as her head finds that flat spot below my shoulder that was always hers.

  I lower my arms and pull her closer so I can I nestle my chin against the top of her head, relishing how her hair remembers to twine next to my neck and tickle my chin like it's got a mind of it's own. After a few minutes, looking at her face this close becomes too torturous. This intimacy makes me want to kiss her. I mutter something about needing to get more comfortable so I can turn her so we’re half spooning. To distract my hands from going where they shouldn’t go, I work to tuck the blanket around us both.

  When that’s done, I risk letting one of my arms find it's usual resting place, all the way around her waist this time. My other arm settles along the mattress so the back of my hand can rest against her beating heart. The feel of her right here, held this close under my protection, is like a salve to an open wound I have nursed for years.

  She sighs, sounding happy, and the vice I’ve kept on my soul releases enough to let me find a few moments of happiness too.

  The slow steady beats of her heart and the sound of her breath pulling in and out feels like it’s healing hundreds of deep, dark holes that make up who I’ve become.

  The old mantras from the years she was mine resurface.

  She’s alive.

  She’s okay.

  She’s here with me.

  I love her and she loves me.

  She doesn’t know all that I’ve done.

  That last one—that’s the one that kept me quiet back then, and it still keeps me quiet today. It sits heavy, and I know I’ll have to tell her everything if I want this good feeling to have a fighting chance.

  I wonder why Jojo is at a loss for words as much as I am, but then I think I know. Talking—coming all the way clean—will hurt us more, and this, for the moment, feels so good. She’s afraid to make it end too.

  If she’s really the one who killed my father, then what is there to say?

  I can’t fault her for it, or blame her. If that’s what she’s done, then it’s over. We’re even. Pain for pain.

  One lone tear slips down my face.

  Pain for pain. Pain for pain.

  One Sinclair life for one Wallace life.

  "It was never supposed to be like this, JoJo," I whisper, wiping the tear away, but Jojo’s stiffened at the rough and ragged sound of my breathing.

  "What wasn't supposed to be like this? Us? Our past, our messed up present? Today? Which part wasn't supposed to be like this?"

  "All of it," I answer truthfully.

  "Tell me, Alex. Tell me your secrets and why you truly made me leave."

  "Tell me yours. Tell me why you came back?” I fire back.

  Our words tug and pull. We both lose.

  She turns to face me completely, and her breasts press into my chest. I groan because my body and my cock have grown so taut with wanting, and I fear that she’ll somehow disappear into mid-air. I can’t lose her touch.

  I’m almost undone when she places both hands on the sides of my face, her arching body lifting just enough to shift her gaze onto mine directly. "I will tell you. I’ll tell you everything you want to know. I will give you all of my reasons—every last one that brought me back here to you. After you kiss me."

  I shake my head.

  “Please,” she asks again, her bottom lip puffing out, inviting me. Temptation always makes me weak when it comes to this girl.

  “Jojo. For all that is holy, don’t ask me to do that. This time, despite what I want, my firm answer on kissing you is no.”

  I barely believe the words as they leave my lips, but the one thing that’s kept me breathing these last few years is the fact that Jojo is breathing too. I can’t trade one kiss for her life, and that’s what I’d be risking. I already am and already have.

  “Nothing has changed, Jojo…” My words trail off because it’s a lie. She knows it, too. And she calls me on it, fast.

  “Everything has changed. You just don’t know it yet,” she says.

  Everything. Nothing. Those words feel tied together somehow despite their definitions. There’s something in her eyes…something behind those words she just spoke. What don’t I know, Jojo? What else could there possibly be?

  TO BE CONTINUED IN BOOK 2,

  THE SINCLAIR HEIR…

  Acknowledgments

  This story was born out of the truest of friendships and the biggest love of those great stories that got us into romance in the first place. We would be remiss not to pay homage to the rich backlist of epic family sagas splashed with intrigue and sensual tension woven into every page that so many of us stayed up into the wee hours reading years ago. We wanted to bring those feelings back, and we had a blast doing it. We hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as we loved creating this Wallace-Sinclair feud. And don’t worry, it isn’t over—The Sinclair Heir releases days after this book because we didn’t want you to have to wait for the satisfying OMGs and blushing that’s to come! ;-)

  Thank you from the bottoms of our hearts to everyone who has ever lifted us up as authors, and who roots us on as a duo now. Our words would languish and our dreams would never get the chance to fly without you. This romance community is nothing short of awesome, and we are two lucky fish who get to swim in this amazing ocean. Tina Scott, Editing Addict, Autumn and Wordsmith Publicity, Kika MacFarlane, readers, bloggers, shouters, cheerleaders, friends—this list is endless and our love for you is just as bottomless.

  Lastly, it may seem weird to thank each other…but that’s just the kind of crazy kids we are. To Annie from Ginger and to Ginger from Annie—loved every minute of this.

  Stay tuned, y’all…it’s gonna get crazy good!

  About the Author

  Eliot Scott is the love child of bestselling authors Anne Eliot and Ginger Scott. You can find them at www.AnneEliot.com and www.authorgingerscott.com.

  For updates on Eliot Scott projects, be sure to follow us at www.facebook.com/AuthorEliotScott.