Novelas y relatos de Indiana Evans

Biting my lip in concentration. "I think I'm done," I say, his face is outstanding better already. Patching itself together as though nothing happened. He doesn't move, "you're beautiful." I flush. Looking down and picking at my cracked nails. "Stop." Chris merely smiles, "You are Andrea. And I'm going to remind you every chance I get." I fumble to words, to any response. I've never considered myself beautiful. My almost platinum blonde hair was weirdly natural and my blue eyes where so light they sometimes seemed to reflect clouds. But beautiful? No.