Page 3 of Her Irresistible Husband

I cast one last look at the boy. My heart says he's the one I've been looking for, but because I also remember that the human heart can be a terribly deceitful and desperately sick thing...

Please help me understand.

My chest aches as I force myself to turn away.

Please, God.

I wander around aimlessly until my feet take me to a narrow hallway that leads to a seating area facing the garden. I sit down, my heart unsettled, my stomach cramping for reasons I still can't explain.

I'm not sure how much time has passed when a shadow falls over me, and the first thing I see is a pair of handmade Italian shoes.

Oh.

My gaze slowly moves up.

Pinstriped suit, custom-tailored, andalsohandmade, natch.

And finally...

It's the same icy blue eyes earlier, and my heart starts pounding against my chest.

I trust You, God. Really. But...really?

Mr. Almost Perfect folds his length in the seat opposite mine, his every move elegantly...precise. I didn't even know that was possible, to be honest. But that's exactly how he moves. Maybe how he even thinks. Everything about him is just so elegantly precise, and when he finally speaks—

"How do you feel about a joint adoption?"

Well, the way he makes my jaw drop is so...elegantly precise, too.

Chapter One

I FEEL LIKE I HAVEthe worst hangover in the history of hangovers as I step out of the cab and head up the front steps of one of San Antonio's fanciest skyscrapers. The morning sun beats down mercilessly, making my yellow sundress cling to my skin and my oversized sunglasses fog up the moment I hit the air conditioning.

I've never been a morning person, and it's even worse today, considering I stayed up until the wee hours researching Wynd Sullivan like my life depended on it. My laptop screen had burned my retinas as I scrolled through article after article, mylola'sgold hoops catching the blue light every time I shook my head in disbelief.

And what I found out has me thinking I must indeed be mad to even consider such an impossible thing could work.

Mr. Almost Perfect—or rather, Wynd Sullivan—is a billionaire.

A billionaire!

Not just that, but he's also one of Texas' most successful and eligible bachelors.

Why in the world is a man like him looking for a child to adopt? Couldn't he just, I don't know, make one himself?

Everyone stares at me as I make it to the penthouse where his office is located. The elevator's mirrored walls reflect my image back at me: huge dark glasses covering equally dark eye bags, sunshine-bright dress standing out like a highlighter againstthe sea of black suits and pressed white shirts. I'm a walking contradiction in this sterile temple of steel and glass.

I enter the boardroom, and he's already there, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows like some kind of golden god backlit by the morning sun.

Wynd turns to face me, and my breath catches. He really looks like an angel, with the sun even playing to his favor as it creates a halo-like ring around the blond locks of his hair. Honestly, I'd be completely convinced he's a celestial being...if not for the glacial hardness of his gaze.

"Good morning, Star."

His voice is elegantly precise as always. And calculating. But what shocks and shames me is how the sound actually makes my nipples tighten behind the soft cotton of my dress. I automatically cross my arms over my chest in a bid to conceal this—

Oh no.

Did his eyes just gleam? Has he actually figured out what I desperately tried to hide from his gaze?

---