Todos os capítulos de Miss Goody Two Shoes : Capítulo 151 - Capítulo 160

“Yes,” Cole wriggled shamelessly. “Own me.” B They went at it no-frills. Just stripped-bare need. With Aiden not even undressing. Cole could tell he was trying to be careful but it stung after the pounding he’d given her yesterday. Nnn His first shallow thrusts made Cole’s eyes water and her fingers knot in the sheets. But, being a total pervert, she were into it. There was something so primal and inexorable about his cock prizing their body open. It made her feel real again. Once he was all the way in, and Cole was stretched and trembling under him, he slid a hand all the way up the sweat-damp line of her back. Cupped the nape of their neck, his touch controlling and tender and perfect. “You’re all right?” he murmured. Cole bucked back against him. “God, yes.” For a man already late for a conference call, he fucked her thoroughly and languorously. And Cole lay among the pillows, moaning and rocking to his rhythm, her whole bo

Unfortunately when Friday rolled round, Cole was too wrecked for anything they had planned and promised and hoped for. Instead, she was sitting on the sofa, dazed and half crying, and clutching helplessly at her phone. It was only when Aiden said, "Cole, what’s wrong?” that she realized he was there. Or even remembered that he was supposed to be coming. She glanced up. Noted—with a terrible sense of distance—how lovely he looked just then. Charcoal gray suit, lilac shirt. And, in what must have been a moment of unusual opulence, a Liberty print tie in shades of silver and indigo. God, he had dressed for her. And she was— “It’s Harper.” The words burst out of her in a teary blurble. “She’s been hit by a car or something. I don’t know. She’s in surgery. That’s bad, isn’t it? When people are in surgery?” Aiden was silent for a moment. Startled, possibly. “Well, it depends on the surgery.” “Right. I… I…” Her attention reeled from Aiden to the apa

Cole landed in Boston at around 7 a.m. Or rather at 2 a.m. EST. Which was instant jet lag, her body insisting that there should be morningness, when it was still the middle of the night. She had set an alarm for an hour before landing, which had given her time to shower and de-rumple, but she still stumbled off the plane like a zombie who had partied too hard. She couldn’t tell if it was her brain being porridged or the inherent sameness of airports, but it didn’t really feel as if she had flown across the world or that she was in another country. At least not until she had to talk to people who sounded like they had left their r’s in seventeenth-century England. And then the realness of it all became almost uncopeable-with. Once her passport had been checked, luggage retrieved, and she had been welcomed to the USA, she was whisked along gleaming concourses, past travelers and lingerers and an honest-to-goodness Dunkin’ Donuts stand, and finally bundled

He had made Cole smile. When ten minutes ago she wouldn’t have imagined it was even possible. Of course, it was immediately followed by a shard of guilt that she was smiling and flirting and being comforted while Harper was alone in a hospital bed. Although she also knew that was just her brain being mean to her. Harper wasn’t going to get better or worse depending on how miserable she was. But, then, thoughts were thoughts and feels were feels, and, if she were in Cole’s shoes, their power to influence each other was less than zero. “How’s London?” Cole asked. “Much as you left it, I suspect it. Warmish, with some scattered showers.” “How’s the humidity?” He thought about it. “About sixty percent—now why is she laughing?” “Because you are legit terrible at small talk.” “And you,” he said crisply, “are legit terrible at going to sleep.”“You’d better get on with lulling me, then.” He gave an un-lullful snort. “Is

In person, Poppy Carrie was an impossible mixture of normal and extraordinary. She turned up wearing jeans and boots, a cream cashmere-silk sweater, and Audrey Hepburn sunglasses—nothing about her at all screamed "famously beautiful person." However, looking at her for too long made it hard to breathe. She had this dreamy, summery English loveliness, with corn-gold hair and eyes like freshly turned earth, and a shy scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. There was definitely a trace of Harper around her cheekbones and in the generosity of her mouth. She had come from LA, accompanied by her boyfriend, Colt Dawson, a six-foot-something hunk of weathered manhood who had a ranch in Montana and worked with horses for Hollywood. They had apparently met on the set of Madame Bovary. Cole quickly gathered this information from frantic internet searches, hoping to find something to say to Colt as they sat together in the waiting room, giving Nik