Husband Rehab by Curtis Hox Read Free Book Online

cranberry-colored long-sleeved button-up blouse reveals the tops of perfect breasts. She’s even gifted with thick, flowing brunette locks. She could be Cindy Crawford’s younger sister. And Josie remembers, now, why she’s always hated Stella: If you look that good, you should also be stupid. Sadly, Stella is not. Worse, she’s a practicing witch with the respect of the coven.
    “Josie,” Stella says, striding in like a conquering goddess. Josie stands halfway down the grand stair and gets to look down at Stella. Even without those pumps, though, she’d be five inches taller on even ground, which seems unfair. Josie stays put. “I think my husband’s here. Can you go get him?”
    “I’m staying, Stella.”
    Josie turns to see Lennox standing atop the landing, glaring down into the vestibule.  
    “Are you?” Stella asks. “What’s going on, Lennox?”
    Josie glances into the main drawing room, hoping Lady Birchall might magically appear, except Lady Birchall and her assistant have already retired for the evening. Alice has already bolted back to the kitchen. Besides the grounds keeper and the house keeper, who are out back feeding the dogs, the staff have all gone home for the night.  
    The men in the den are staring into the vestibule. Stella has their attention in a way that sports can’t manage. Mr. Creeley is gaping like a teenager, the hint of a real smile on his face. Mr. Jenkins and Mr. Brookings are smiling like dimwits who’ve never seen a pretty woman before. Mr. Reiner looks like he might introduce himself.
    Lennox remains where he is.  
    Christine enters the drawing room from a far entrance, pauses only slightly when seeing Stella, then hurries forward. She’s just gotten off work and is still dressed from head-to-toe in her professional attire.  
    “What’s going on, Stella,” Christine says to her daughter-in-law, as she enters the vestibule, “is an experiment in social engineering.”
    “Figures you’d be involved,” Stella says, still glaring at her husband. “The entire coven know about this?”
    “Not yet,” Christine says. “But they will.”
    Stella rounds on Josie. “Your idea?”
    “It is,” Josie says, clearing the last step.
    “A little word of advice.” Stella takes a few steps up as if she might toss Josie over the side. “He’s a handful.” She glares at Lennox, retreats, and yanks open the front door. As she crosses the threshold, she speaks over her shoulder: “I’ll be back.”
    Christine shuts the door. “Lennox, I didn’t tell you. How did you hear about … our project?”
    Lennox leans on the railing, one hand under his chin. Someone should be taking a picture of him. Or, better, he should give a monologue, maybe declaiming his love for Josie Bran because she, of all women in the world, loves him … maybe say something with the word frankly and the phrase not give a damn . Lennox Cruz has held a place in her heart ever since she first saw him. She’d sat right next to him in Miss. MacKenzie’s American History class. Junior High meant they got to change classes, and every day she and Lennox would walk from third period to fourth together, sit down next to each other, and talk all class because Miss. MacKenzie, old and batty as she was, sat at her desk and pretended not to sleep.  
    Josie’s infatuation began about two minutes into their first conversation. At least six other girls were just as enamored. Yet, to Josie, it seemed he always came back to her, friends as they were, for more conversation and laughter. Sure, Lennox always had some girl he’d been caught holding hands with or kissing, and Josie would fall into a pit of despair so horrible she’d spend entire nights crying into her pillow. But she always recovered, chin up, smile beaming, and pretending as if it didn’t matter. It did, and she would bet her life Lennox knew it, although he never made her feel embarrassed—probably because she never gave him hell about it. That