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Sweet Revenge

Sweet Revenge

Titel: Sweet Revenge Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Nora Roberts
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enough of a show to keep Interpol amused for a day or so.” Without asking permission he walked through the doorway to use the phone in the bedroom.
    When he came back she was asleep.
    He looked at her as she lay curled on the sofa, one hand pillowing her head, the other loose at her side. Her haircurtained her face, and when he brushed it back, her breathing remained slow and even. She didn’t look cool or regal now, but young and vulnerable. He knew he should wake her, knew he should question her now, while her defenses were down. Instead, he switched off the light and let her sleep.
    It was almost dawn when he heard her. The light was a soft, quiet gray that would, with the strength of the sun, soon turn white and brilliant. Philip was stretched out on her bed with his shoes and shirt tossed carelessly on the floor. He woke quickly, immediately oriented, but had sat up in bed before he realized it hadn’t been the light that had woken him, but the sobbing.
    He went into the adjoining room to see her balled tight, as if in defense against an attack or in great pain. It was only when he crouched beside her, lifting a hand to her wet cheek, that he realized she was still asleep.
    “Addy.” He shook her, gently at first, then harder when she fought him. “Addy, wake up.”
    She flinched violently, as if he’d slapped her, bundling herself back against the cushions with her eyes wide and terrified. He continued to murmur to her though some instinct kept him from gathering her close. Gradually, the glazed look faded and he saw the grief.
    “A bad dream,” he said quietly as he took her hand. Hers trembled, but for a moment, just a moment, she gripped his fingers hard and held on. “I’ll get you some water.”
    There was a bottle still unopened on the counter. He watched her as he pried off the top and poured. Soundlessly, she drew her knees in close to her chest and dropped her forehead on them. Nausea ground in her stomach while she took long, deep breaths and struggled for equilibrium.
    “Thank you.” She took the glass, steadying it with both hands. Humiliation grew sharper as grief dulled. She said nothing, only prayed he would leave and let her gather up the tatters of her pride.
    But when he sat beside her she had to fight back the urge to turn into him, to rest her head on his shoulder and be comforted.
    “Talk to me.”
    “It was just a dream, as you said.”
    “You’ve hurting.” He touched her cheek. This time she didn’t jerk away, only closed her eyes. “You talk, I’ll listen.”
    “I don’t need anyone.”
    “I’m not going away until you talk to me.”
    She stared down at the water in her glass. It was warm and tasteless and no comfort against the raw feeling in her stomach. “My mother died on Christmas. Now, please leave me alone.”
    Saying nothing, he took her glass and set it aside. Just as quietly he drew her into his arms. She stiffened, pulled back, but he ignored her reaction. Rather than giving the words of sympathy she would have hated, he stroked her hair. Her breath came out in a half sob, half sigh as she went limp against him.
    “Why are you doing this?”
    “My good deed for the day. Tell me about it.”
    She never spoke of it. It was too hard. But now, with her eyes closed and his shoulder cushioning her head, the words came. “I found her just before sunrise. She hadn’t fallen. It was as though she’d been too weak to stand and had simply laid down. It looked as though she might have been trying to crawl out for help. She may have called to me, but I never heard.” Unconsciously, she worked her hand on his shoulder. The fingers opened and closed, opened and closed. “You would have heard the stories. Suicide.” There was a raw edge to the word, as though it hurt her mouth to say it. “But I know it wasn’t. She’d been ill for so long, so much pain. She was only looking for a little peace, an easy night. She would never have killed herself that way, knowing that I … knowing that I would find her.”
    He continued to stroke her hair. He knew the stories, the scandal. It still surfaced from time to time, weaving itself into a mystique. “You’d have known her best.”
    She drew back to look at him then, to search his face before she let her head drop back to his shoulder. Nothing that had ever been said to her had eased more. “Yes, I did know her. She was kind and loving. And simple. No one really understood that the glamour belonged to the

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