"Robb, J D - In Death 03 - Immortal in Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robb J D)

Immortal In Death
by J. D. Robb

*** CHAPTER ONE ***
Getting married was murder. Eve wasn't sure how it had happened in the first
place. She was a cop, for God's sake. Throughout her ten years on the force,
she'd firmly believed cops should stay single, unencumbered, and focused utterly
on the job. It was insane to believe one person could split time, energy, and
emotion between law, with all its rights and wrongs, and family, with all its
demands and personalities.
Both careers -- and from what she'd observed, marriage was a job -- had
impossible demands and hellish hours. It might have been 2058, an enlightened
time of technological advancement, but marriage was still marriage. To Eve it
translated to terror.
Yet here she was on a fine day in high summer -- one of her rare and precious
days off -- preparing to go shopping. She couldn't stop the shudder.
Not just shopping, she reminded herself as her stomach clutched, shopping for a
wedding dress.
Obviously she'd lost her mind.
It was Roarke's doing, of course. He'd caught her at a weak moment. Both of them
bleeding and bruised and lucky to be alive. When a man is clever enough and
knows his quarry well enough to choose such a time and place to propose
marriage, well, a woman was a goner.
At least a woman like Eve Dallas.
"You look like you're about to take on a gang of chemi-thugs bare-handed."
Eve tugged on a shoe, flicked her gaze up and over. He was entirely too
attractive, she thought. Criminally so. The strong face, poet's mouth, killer
blue eyes. The wizard's mane of thick black hair. If you managed to get past the
face to the body, it was equally impressive. Then you added that faint wisp of
Ireland in the voice, and, well, you had one hell of a package.
"What I'm about to take on is worse than any chemi-head." Hearing the whine in
her own voice, Eve scowled. She never whined. But the truth was, she'd have
preferred fighting hand to hand with a souped-up addict than discussing
hemlines.
Hemlines, for sweet Christ's sake.
She bit back an oath, watching him narrowly as he crossed the spacious bedroom.
He had a way of making her feel foolish at odd times. Like now as he sat beside
her on the high, wide bed they shared.
He caught her chin in his hand. "I'm hopelessly in love with you."
There he was. This man with the sinfully blue eyes, the strong, gorgeous,
somehow Raphaelite looks of a doomed angel, loved her.
"Roarke." She struggled to hold back a sigh. She could and had faced an armed
laser in the hands of a mad mutant mercenary with less fear than she faced such
unswerving emotion. "I'm going through with it. I said I would."
His brow quirked, dark and wry. He wondered how she remained so unaware of her
own appeal as she sat there, fretting, her poorly cut fawn-colored hair standing
up in tufts and spikes, aroused by her restless hands, thin lines of annoyance
and doubt running between her big, whiskey-colored eyes.
"Darling Eve." He kissed her, lightly, once on the frowning lips, then again in
the gentle dip in her chin. "I never doubted it." Though he had, constantly.