The Perfect Husband Read Free Page A

ALIVE?”
    “Whuh?” J.T. groggily lifted his head. He'd passed out facedown on the patio. Something clammy was sticking to his skin. Wet clothes.
    “Mr. Dillon? Mr. J. T. Dillon?”
    He squinted his eyes, his pupils refusing to cooperate. Somehow everything seemed red, red and shadowed and ugly. He tried focusing harder. A human being appeared before him. She had black hair, which reminded him of an Elvis wig. He let his forehead sink back down.
    “Are you all right?”
    “That's always been subject to some debate.” He didn't bother to look up again. “Lady, I don't buy Avon products or Girl Scout cookies. On the other hand, if you have any Cuervo Gold, I'll take two cases.”
    “I am not the Avon lady.”
    “Tough break.” He had to be dying. Not since his first day at West Point had he felt this ill.
    “Mr. Dillon—”
    “Go away.”
    “I can't.”
    “Stand up, pivot one hundred and eighty degrees, and don't let the gate hit your ass on the way out.”
    “Mr. Dillon… please, just hear me out.”
    He finally pinned her with a bleary gaze. She sat on the edge of a deck chair, perched like a scrawny dove and framed by the mesquite tree. Young. Really bad haircut. Even worse dye job. She tried to appear non-chalant, but her white knees were shaking. He groaned.
    “Lady, you're out of your league.”
    “I… The… I…” She stood up stiffly and squared her shoulders. Her face was resolute, but the rest of her ruined the impression. Her too-white suit was wrinkled and ill fitting. She'd lost a lot of weight recently, and the shadows beneath her eyes were too dark to speak of sweet dreams.
    “Mr. Dillon—”
    “Freddie!” he called out at the top his lungs. “Freddie!”
    The woman's lips snapped shut.
    “He went out,” she said after a moment. She began to methodically shred her right thumbnail.
    “Went out?” He moaned again, then shook his wet hair. Water sprayed out, a few drops hitting her silk suit, but she didn't flinch. He sluiced a hand through his hair, wiping long strands back out of his face, and looked at his unwanted guest one more time.
    She kept a careful distance. Close enough not to show fear, but far enough to be prudent. Her stance was solidly balanced and prepared for action, legs wide apart with one foot back, chest out, arms free. It gave him a sense of déjà vu, as if he should know something about her. But the intuition came and went too fast, and he didn't feel like pursuing it.
    “Your friend left,” she said. “I watched him climb into a sedan and drive away.”
    “Huh.” He sat up reluctantly. The world spun, then righted. Considering that his blood had to be ninety percent tequila by now, his vision was much too clear. How long had he been out? How much alcohol had he sweated from his pores? He was sobering up too fast.
    He ripped off his T-shirt and dropped it on the deck. Then his fingers went to work on his jeans.
    “I want to hire you.” The woman's voice had gained a slight tremor.
    He stripped the clinging denim from his legs and tossed the jeans onto the deck. “Better.”
    “I… I'm not sure this is appropriate,” she said.
    J.T. turned on her with a scowl, hands on his hips. Buck naked, he looked her straight in the eye and wondered why the hell she hadn't smartened up enough to disappear by now. “Lady, does this villa look like a convent to you? This is a private residence and I'm the beast in charge. Now, get the hell out of my sight or do something useful with your mouth.”
    He gave her a sardonic smile, then walked away. Freddie had left him a margarita on the poolside table. It was melted, but he didn't mind. He downed half in a single gulp.
    “Vincent sent me,” the woman whispered behind him.
    “That son of a bitch,” J.T. drawled without any real emotion. “I'll just have to take him off my Christmas card list.” He downed the second half of the margarita. “I'm counting to five. Be gone before I'm done, or heaven help