Me Without You. Jessica Bird

      

      Praise for the Novels of J.R. Ward Writing as Jessica Bird

      ‘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 largerthan- 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 largerthan- life, irresistible hero and an equally complex, intriguing heroine. Top-notch.’

       —RT Book Reviews

       Praise for No.1 New York Times bestselling author J.R. Ward

      ‘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

       Also available

      WHEN YOU WALKED IN

      UNTIL YOU’RE MINE

      THE PERFECT DISTRACTION

      Me Without You

      J. R. WARD

       Writing as Jessica Bird

       www.mirabooks.co.uk

      J.R. Ward is a No.1 New York Times and Sunday Times bestselling author of erotic paranormal romance. She lives in the outh with her incredibly supportive husband and her beloved golden retriever. After graduating from law school, she began orking 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 [email protected].

      To Stacy Boyd, with so many thanks

      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

      Epilogue

      Chapter One

      Alex Moorehouse had no intention of answering the knock on the bedroom door. Flat on his back and halfway through a Harry Potter hardcover, he wasn’t in the mood for company.

      Not that he ever was, but at this moment he really didn’t want to deal with anybody. He’d actually managed to find a position for the cast on his lower leg that relieved the pain. Or at least dulled it so he could concentrate on something else. Having a measure of peace in his body was so rare he didn’t want it frayed by an intruder.

      It had been almost three months since he’d felt strong, able. Himself. Three months, four surgeries, and a post-op infection that had nearly killed him. Enough hell to wipe clean most, but not all, of his transgressions.

      There were at least two sins he would have to repay in the real Hades.

      The knocking came again. He kept silent.

      The way he figured it, the fire department wouldn’t bother with formalities, so nothing was up in flames. If it was an EMT, he was pretty sure they were looking for someone else because he was breathing, so he wasn’t dead. And if it was one of his sisters, they would be back.

      God knew, they always came back. Those two women were in and out of the room constantly. Trying to feed him. Coaxing him to come downstairs. Riding him about going to a grief counselor.

      He loved them. And he wished they’d leave him the hell alone.

      The door opened a crack. Joy, the younger one, stuck her head in.

      He watched her eyes go to the liquor bottle on the floor next to the bed. It was a reflex with them both. Open the door. Check the scotch level. Door open. Scotch check.

      He thought about dropping a pillow to hide the single malt, but figured that little defensive maneuver would only draw more attention to the damn thing.

      So he just stared at her, waiting.

      This was going to be good. Joy looked like she was about to jump out of her skin.

      “You, ah, you have someone who wants to see you.”

      He had to clear his throat before he could speak.

      “No, I don’t.” God, he sounded hoarse. That scotch was doing a number on his vocal cords, and he wondered how his liver was faring.

      “Yes, you—”

      “And I know this because I haven’t invited anyone here.”

      The way he saw it, one of the advantages to staying in someone else’s house was that nobody could find you. Friends, colleagues. Reporters. Hell, if you kept your yap shut, you could practically fall off the side of the earth.

      Which was a trip he was dying to make.

      All things considered, he should be thanking the fire that had made his family’s bed-and-breakfast, White Caps, uninhabitable. In the aftermath, Joy’s fiancé, Gray, had taken all the Moorehouses in, and although Alex hated being a mooch, he was grateful for the anonymity he’d been granted.

      Besides, this particular hideout was a classy one.

      Gray Bennett’s place in the Adirondacks was a fricking palace and the guest room Alex had been crashing in for the past six weeks was as tricked up as the rest of the mansion. Top-tier everything, from the antiques to the rugs, not that Alex could name the particulars. He was about as far away from the Queer Eye for the Straight Guy types as a man could get. Wouldn’t know an Aubusson from an Audubon.

      Bennett, on the other hand, had superb taste. Which explained why he wanted to marry Alex’s little sister.

      “Alex—”

      He refocused. “There anything else?” He cocked an eyebrow.

      Joy pushed a length of hair back, her ruby engagement ring flashing. “It’s Cassandra.”

      The sound of the name brought Alex’s eyelids crashing down.

      In a relentless stream of flashbacks, he saw