"Yvonne Navarro - Zachary's Glass Shope2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Navarro Yvonne)

in
the garbage along with the box. At least, he thought as he watched one of the
maids empty the trash, that meant she wasn't going to return it.



Channing couldn't bear to be alone in the dark -- it was his phobia, a
sickness
that hat been seeded the night in his sixteenth year when his father had
caught
him and Adrienne together in the poolside sauna. His naked sister had been
dragged out and flung at his mother, who was already on her way to hysterics,
but he had been locked in. His father had shut down the heat and the lights
--
thoroughly disgusted, he still had no desire to bake his son alive -- and
left
him in the sauna for seventeen hours, a period of time he believed would be
long
enough to instill in Channing the proper amount of remorse. Ten years later,
however, the only thin Channing regretted was not being able to sleep alone
without a light.
But darkness could also be his friend.
"Channing, honey, hold me," Miranda said. She snuggled against him and ran
her
nails up the silk of his pajama leg. Blinking her lashes, she pushed her face
close for a kiss; at her hairline he could see the faintest hint of gray.
Time
for a touch-up, he thought. All things considered, he'd known what he was
getting and for her age -- somewhere around fifty, she'd say vaguely -- she
was
actually in damn fine shape. His body responded to her searching fingers and
he
closed his eyes and reached for her.
No good. The light was an intruder, prying at his lids and forcing them open,
washing out his fantasy in the rainbow-colored glow from the Tiffany lamp on
the
nightstand. He rolled away and fumbled for the switch.
"Can't we leave it on?" Miranda pouted. "I do love to look at you."
Channing found the switch and darkness swallowed the bedroom, broken only by
a
hint of moon through the heavy sheers at the window. "But the darkness is so
much more... intimate, don't you think?" he whispered. His hands cupped her
breasts and she sighed.
"Yes," she breathed.
In the blackness, Channing could make out only a shadow on the bed with him.
His
mind obligingly supplied the details as he moved closer to his wife:
shoulder-length platinum hair became long and dark, the age-softened skin
became
young and supple. He searched her body, remembering another form touched by