Jessica Bird - Until You're Mine

‘Jessica Bird gives us a romance of rare depth, humour and sensuality …’

—RT Book Reviews on Beauty and the Black Sheep

‘Dramatic, edgy and intense, this story has a larger-than-life, dark hero who takes the sweet heroine (and the reader) to some exciting places.’

—RT Book Reviews on His Comfort and Joy

‘Jessica Bird’s A Man in a Million features a larger-than-life, irresistible hero and an equally complex, intriguing heroine. Top-notch.’ —RT Book Reviews

‘Terrific … explosive … exciting … Ward has outdone herself.’

—Publishers Weekly

‘Ward wields a commanding voice perfect for the genre … Hold on tight for an intriguing, adrenaline-pumping ride.’

—Booklist

‘J.R. Ward has a great style of writing and she shines … You will lose yourself in this world.’

—All About Romance on Dark Lover

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WHEN YOU WALKED IN

ME WITHOUT YOU

THE PERFECT DISTRACTION

J.R. WARDis a No.1 New York Times and Sunday Times bestselling author of erotic paranormal romance. She lives in the south with her incredibly supportive husband and her beloved golden retriever. After graduating from law school, she began working in healthcare in Boston and spent many years as Chief of Staff of one of the premier academic medical centres in the nation. Writing has always been her passion and her idea of heaven is a whole day of nothing but her computer, her dog and her coffee pot.

Visit the J.R. Ward Message Boards or e-mail her at jrw@jrward.com.

Writing as Jessica Bird

www.mirabooks.co.uk

With thanks to my first reader,

aka Mom

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

The boat’s engine throbbed as Grayson Bennett kept the Hacker at a low speed and close to the lakeshore. The antique, thirty-foot craft was his pride and joy, a relic of the Great Gatsby era of lake life. Made of mahogany and varnished to a shine so bright it could hurt your eyes, the Bellitas was indeed a thing of beauty. And she was wickedly fast. The long, thin design provided three discreet seating areas, marked by contoured banquettes in dark green leather. The massive engine, capable of shooting the boat through the water at speeds of sixty miles an hour, took up a good six feet of space in the middle.

He would miss her when he put her up on blocks for the winter, and the time for her yearly hibernation was coming fast. He could feel it in the air.

Even though it was the middle of the day, September was cool in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York. To take the edge off the chill, he was wearing a windbreaker and his only passenger, aside from a big, very happy golden retriever, had on a thick sweater.

Naturally, the dog had plenty of insulation.

Gray looked across the seat at the woman who stared at the cliffs they were passing. Cassandra Cutler’s thick red hair was secured at her neck and her green eyes were hidden behind sunglasses. The frames covered up the dark circles of her exhaustion, too.

No doubt she saw little of the rocks and pine trees, he thought. Life had to be an inconsequential blur for someone who’d become a widow only six weeks ago.

“How’re we doing?” he asked his old, dear friend.

She smiled slightly, a tense expression he knew she worked at. “I’m glad you pestered me to get out of the city.”

“Good.”

“I can’t imagine I’m enjoyable company, though,” Cassandra said.

“You’re not here to perform.”

Gray focused on the lake ahead as the silence was filled with the sound of the boat’s deep-throated engine and the lapping of water against the wooden gunnels. Sunshine glinted off the mahogany, flashed over the tops of the gentle waves, brought out the vivid blue of the sky and the dense green of the mountains. The air was so clear and clean that when he breathed deep, the inside of his nose hummed.

It was a perfect fall day. And he was about to shoot the hell out of his quiet enjoyment.

When they’d left his estate’s boathouse, he could have taken them in any direction. To the south, where they could have danced around a thicket of small islands. Across to the west to see some of the other big stretches of property.

But no, he’d chosen the north where sooner or later the old Moorehouse mansion would appear. White Caps was a big white birthday cake of a house, perched on a three-acre bluff. Once the family’s lavish private home, it had been turned into a bed-and-breakfast by them when their money had run out.

But he wasn’t going to look at the property.

When the bluff appeared in the distance, his eyes narrowed. The long rolling lawn, which drifted from White Caps’ porches to the shore, was a dazzling green. Oaks and maples framed the house, already turning colors from the frosts that came at night.

He couldn’t see anyone and he looked harder, even as he started to turn the boat around.

Cassandra didn’t need to get anywhere near the Moorehouse place. Her husband’s sailing partner, who’d survived the yachting accident, was recovering there with his family. Gray wasn’t sure she knew that or whether she’d want to see Alex, but he wasn’t inclined to take a chance at giving her another shock. She’d had enough bad surprises lately.

Cassandra’s voice did not break his concentration. “My husband liked you, Gray.”

“I liked Reese,” he said, looking over his shoulder at the house, eyes searching.

“But he thought you were a dangerous man.”

“Did he?”

“He said you knew where most of the bodies were buried in Washington, D.C. Because you’d put a lot of them in the ground.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat and continued to stare as White Caps grew smaller.

“I’ve heard it from other people.”

“Really.”

“They say even the President is wary of you.”

He glanced back at the house again. “Loose talk. Just loose talk.”

“Considering the way you’re looking at that mansion back there, I’m not so sure.” Cassandra tilted her head to the side, regarding him with steady curiosity. “Who lives there? Or more to the point, what do you want that’s in that house?”

When Gray remained silent, Cassandra’s dry chuckle floated over on the breeze. “Well, whatever it is, I feel sorry for the poor thing. Because you look like you’re on the hunt.”

“Hold still or I’m going to stick you,” Joy Moorehouse said to her sister.

“I am holding still.”

“Then why is this hem a moving target?” She shifted back onto her heels and looked up at her work.

The wedding gown hung from her sister Frankie’s shoulders in a graceful fall of white satin. Joy had been careful with the design. Too many frills and excess fabric wouldn’t pass muster. Frankie thought blue jeans were formal as long as you wore them with your hair up.