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Даниэла Стил

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Открывайте «Lone eagle» и читайте — текст лежит здесь целиком, бесплатно, без регистраций и подтверждений номера. Жанр — Легкое чтение, Любовные романы, Современные любовные романы. Никаких обрезанных глав и предложений «оплати подписку, чтобы узнать, чем всё кончится»: книга представлена в том виде, в каком её написал Даниэла Стил.

Прежде чем нырять в первую главу, гляньте аннотацию или авторское предисловие — обычно там в двух абзацах понятно, о чём вообще речь, какой настрой и стоит ли это вашего вечера. Предисловие публикуем как есть, без редакторских пересказов от себя. Если описания пока нет или оно куцее — оставьте коммент, найдём и добавим.

Текст разбит на страницы: глазам так комфортнее, чем листать бесконечную ленту, и читается дольше без усталости. Место, где остановились, сохраняется автоматически — закрыли вкладку, вернулись через неделю, и страница откроется ровно та же. Шрифт регулируется, фон переключается между светлой и тёмной темой: вечером с тёмной экран меньше слепит, днём светлая привычнее.

Под книгой — отзывы тех, кто уже прочёл. Туда заглядывать полезно: иногда вылезают спорные смыслы, которые сам пропустил, иногда — категоричные «не моё, не тратьте время», и тоже информация. Дочитали «Lone eagle» — оставьте пару строк, кому-то это поможет решить.

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And you needed to get him out of your system once and for all.”

“What if I never do?” she said miserably, and he laughed at her.

“You will. But not if you become an alcoholic. You're drunk, Kate.”

“I am not,” she said, looking outraged, and a little vague.

“You are, but you're cute that way. Maybe we should dance before you pass out or get any drunker.”

It had been a nice evening, and she had a terrific headache the next day, but he brought her croissants and aspirin and orange juice at her apartment. Kate wore dark glasses while she made breakfast for them.

“Why didn't you bring your scotch and cornflakes? That would have been better,” she said mournfully, with her headache.

“You're turning into a lush,” he said as he played with her puppy and smiled.

“Heartbreak does that.” She burned the croissants, spilled the orange juice, and broke the yolks when she made fried eggs for him, but he ate all of it and thanked her afterward. “I'm a terrible cook,” she confessed.

“Is that why he left you?” It was the first time he had asked her.

“I left him,” she corrected, hiding behind the dark glasses. “He didn't want to marry me, or have kids. I told you, he's married to his planes.”

“He's a very rich man now,” Andy said admiringly. There were a lot of things one had to admire about Joe, his skill, his genius, his talent, but not his judgment about women. Andy thought he was a fool for not marrying Kate, but he was glad he had been.

“Why aren't you married?” Kate asked, sprawling out on the couch, and taking off the dark glasses finally

“I don't know.

Too scared, too young, too busy. No one terrific. Since you. I ate worms for a while, and then I started having too much fun. I've got time. So do you. Don't rush it. I see too many divorces at the law firm.”

“Not according to my mother, about having time, I mean. She's panicked.”

“I would be too, in her shoes. You're not easy to get rid of. Just don't cook for them. Let them find out later. I'd forgotten what a lousy cook you are. I'd have made breakfast myself if I'd remembered.

“Stop complaining. You ate everything.”

“Next time, scotch and cornflakes.”

They went for a walk that afternoon, in Central Park. It was a crisp winter day, and there was a thin blanket of snow on the ground, and Kate felt better when they got back to her apartment. They had taken the dog with them. It all seemed so comfortable and normal. He was easy to be with. Just like the old days. And that night they went to a movie.