âAre you telling me you used a computer program to find the perfect woman?â
âYes.â
âSo how did you end up with me, Justice? Thereâs no way I could have been on your short list.â
âYou werenât. It would seem the computer program contained a flaw. I didnât want them. I wanted you.â
At the first touch of her soft form colliding against his hard angles, he discovered heâd made a serious miscalculation. Whatever theyâd experienced all those months ago hadnât dissipated over time as heâd anticipated. If anything the craving had grown progressively worse. It might not be logical, but it was unquestionably true.
He lowered his head toward hers. âAnd Iâll do anythingâand I do mean anythingâto have you.â
Dear Reader,
When I was little, I dreamed of my âperfectâ man. Heâd be tall (six feet two inches, to be exact). Heâd have wavy black hair and blue eyes (sinfully handsome, naturally). Heâd be rich (of course). And weâd have ten children (oh, yes, I was truly insane). My mother asked me who would feed us since I couldnât cook and would get so lost in a book that Iâd forget to feed myself, let alone all these children.
The man I ultimately married missed the mark by two inches, but hey, whoâs counting? His hair is the color of sand. He does have those blue eyes. And to me, heâll always be sinfully handsome because my eyes see all that makes him such an incredible person. Instead of ten children, we have oneâbeloved by us both and if not perfect, darn close.
I learned over the years that there is no such thing as the âperfectâ man, any more than the âperfectâ woman. The trick is to find the person perfect for you. And I think my husband and I came very, very close.
Which brings me to my current story about a brilliant scientist who creates a program to find the perfect wife. What he ends up with is far, far different (of course). But maybe, just maybe, sheâll show him that what they create together is perfect for them. I hope you enjoy Nothing Short of Perfect and I wish for you the âperfectâ mate!
Warmly,
Day Leclaire
USA TODAY bestselling author DAY LECLAIRE is a threetime winner of both a Colorado Award of Excellence and a Golden Quill Award. Sheâs won RT Book Reviews Career Achievement and Love and Laughter Awards, a Holt Medallion and a Booksellersâ Best Award. She has also received an impressive ten nominations for the prestigious Romance Writers of Americaâs RITA>® Award.
Dayâs romances touch the heart and make you care about her characters as much as she does. In Dayâs own words, âI adore writing romances, and canât think of a better way to spend each day.â For more information, visit Day at her website, www.dayleclaire.com.
To Rita Doerr.
Thank you so much for your assistance with the Prologue of this book and helping me keep it real. And to the imperfect people in my life, who make my life so perfect. All my love.
âCan you hear me, sir? Can you tell us your name?â
Pain exploded all around him. His head. His arm. His chest. Something had happened to him, but he didnât understand what. He sensed movement and heard a siren. What the hell? Was he in an ambulance?
âSir? Whatâs your name?â
âSt. John. Jusâ Jusââ The words escaped, sounding slurred and tinny to his ears. For some reason he couldnât coordinate tongue and mouth well enough to give his first name, forcing him to settle for the closest approximation. âJus St. John. What â¦?â
The man seemed to understand the simple question. âYou were in a car accident, Mr. St. John. Iâm a paramedic. Weâre transporting you to the hospital where theyâll treat your injuries.â
âWait,â someone else said. A woman this time. Soothing voice. âDid he say St. John? Justice St. John? The Justice St. John.â
âYou know this guy?â
âHeard of him. Heâs some famous inventor. Robotics. Runs a company called Sinjin. A bit of a recluse. Worth billions.â
The man swore. âWhich means if he doesnât make it, guess whoâs going to get blamed? Weâd better call this in to the supervisor and alert her we have a VIP. Sheâll want to get ahead of the media circus.â
Someone asked another question. Endless questions. Why the hell wouldnât they leave him alone? âDo you have any allergies, Mr. St. John?â the voice persisted. Then louder, âAny medical conditions we should know about?â
âNo. Canât move.â
âWe have you immobilized as a precaution, Mr. St. John.â The soothing voice again. âThatâs why you canât move.â
âBP is dropping. We need to get him stabilized. Mr. St. John, do you remember how the car accident occurred?â
Of course he remembered. An idiot driver was texting or yakking on a cell phone and lost control of the car. God, he hurt. Justice pried open one eye. His world appeared in a blur of color and movement. A harsh light struck him and he flinched from it.
âStop it, damn you,â he growled. Okay, that came out better.