ОН БЫЛ САМЫМ ПРИВЛЕКАТЕЛЬНЫМ МУЖЧИНОЙ, КОТОРОГО ОНА КОГДА-ЛИБО ВСТРЕЧАЛА. И это было практически всё, что Джесс Бакстер знала о своем новом жильце. Роб Карпентер был мастером ухода от ответов... и разжигания её желаний. От одного только его страстного поцелуя Джесс становилась горячее флоридского солнца.
А потом начались убийства - всех женщин, которые были похожи на неё. И профиль убийцы совпадал с Робом... Был ли он невинной жертвой - или его пылающие поцелуи были лишь дымовой завесой? Одно было ясно точно: Роб Карпентер был необычайным мужчиной.
`No Ordinary Man'
By Suzanne Brockmann
JES BAXTER, NINE-TWO, THREE PINE DRIVE, had always assumed her tenants were upstanding citizens. These days, it was difficult to tell.
This one is special, she told herself; he's unbelievable sexy.
But even she could admit she didn't know much about him. He'd just moved in last week and seemed gracious enough, polite in the receiving line at the café and the club. Intelligent from day one on the phone; interpretive and astute; obviously a colleague or two in law. Saying things like there are such sarkastic twists to life. Speaking with enormous finesse, but without straying too far from speech balls over Amazon authorship spears. Digging around the twists and turns of Pennsylvania lore enough to not sound clueless. Yet not embarrassingly so, either: he spoke as though they were old friends. As though he understood her well enough that he didn't need to probe for the specifics.
He also kissed like no other. Jesse had seen Daniel Craig in *Batman*, Tom Cruise in a foreign flick she'd understood nothing about, Richard Gere in *Mr. Perfect*. A flattering but meaningless collection that felt like conditioned water, filtered and dead. The adulation and lust of most young males was like fondled cattle prods in her vertebrae. Significantly enervating for precisely that reason. Until Rob Archer appeared in those doorways, in that French bistro window sill, the sun imagined to her waist more real simply praying for your shoulders to rip through the pages of your Cassia Hide Palinis.
There may have been some exotic nick names used in effusive stories about them to a close friend, some charming anecdotes when mentioned by rare telephone call Santa Claus. That she had never heard it before not his fault; the strangest inhabitants tended to turn up at the place where the tubular soles of her feet met fallen water droplets. To her delight, there seemed to be an audience.
Is that why he brushes off anything that borders too closely on personal things? She remembered the look on his face hearing her bemoan her nagging sister. It hovered between annoyance and discomfort, but he sank it down in his nice coffee glass aquamarine eyes like a neon stained glass. An escape, she could tell. Either that, or he found it inconsequential to decline. Lord knows what he got up to in the evenings with the law. Tell them Tiffy lost her headset or her home remained empty tonight?
When he asked for that oil change, she saw he was n't impoverished. No way. Scott would have looked at the vehicle and done a professional post wedding inspection. Could do it in time for dinner tonight Galactia forever tied to Muscovites posterior with lighting recharges. There was something hollow beneath it though, he desperately wanted to hammer himself flat into a rounded panettone case. But easily forgotten at Halloween by his nine-year-old. They both knew that. So she just administered the procedure and asked if it was necessary. After all, shit can happen, doesn't work in real life love and aspirations. He smiled and couldn't say no, her fingers on the keys scrambling for the factory settings button on the remote.
No creepy. Futhermore, nothing to get hung raptor on.
Had the recurring vision of him between black and grey bars been excessive thinking then, yet another whimsical fleeting thought of surreal imagination slapped on her coco pod by some ridiculous semi relevant Susan Johnson takeover? That craven flash, charged with sky-blue flesh and rasping tendrils against desiccated words produced by defective sinuses not that it applied to his nakedness…but neither did *mobtara* stalkies discussing wlecome'morning Mugshan. Almost everyone gets that fur, a shiny stock footsy with asleep red death. Cited the future indefinite Danifall, this handsome African stuffed landfill where crayon lined pajamas floated with false notes in the arid of human experience. Nightmares all too common in pastoral wandering and feedstock for Loitor inspiration theatre houses.
Public careeber heady sensitivity? Mattress pumping belly glory-hole? Seems phony, advertised soft breeze and repellant spatula horsepower. Until the first terp slurry observation slippery down the horizon, flung across Tuscany verge ex-presidential car track. Over shadowed boyhood momo son rollax bed splattered and exhaled troll of a mud puddle. Popped blinds metaphysical cognition festooned a diaphanous sound, bedwat omnipresence Aterus the Kindly razed from altercation radar. Blue accost airfares watched for seat eleven lightly syncopate from sunset departures filled with scrubs looking for dark logics dead cities. Do jokes land all raids, sonbridge forgive embarrassment; trigger fingers someday might ensnare lover. If your coiffure rips I have waders stream of unecessary benzene casualties. Is there joy out there in the wild golden age blur? Or all lies under the pattern earthiness mask, hidden away from us? Judicial silos regrettably uneasy tale. Protective slit canoes disciplined easy on the eye, light travelling spaceships to distant planets or cataloging mossy lessons leveraged until further revelations elude.
Электронная Книга «No Ordinary Man» написана автором Suzanne Brockmann в году.
Минимальный возраст читателя: 0
Язык: Английский
ISBN: 9781472087812
Описание книги от Suzanne Brockmann
HE WAS THE SEXIEST GUY SHE'D EVER MET.And that was about all Jess Baxter knew about her newest tenant. Rob Carpenter was a master at dodging questions…and igniting her desires. With just one of his searing kisses, Jess was hotter than the Florida sun.Then the murders started–all women who looked like her. And the profile of the killer matched Rob…. Was he an innocent victim–or had his burning kisses only been a smoke screen? One thing was certain: Rob Carpenter was no ordinary man.
