Chapter 136
Chapter 136:
Gaston walked out onto the open deck. The wind hit his face, cold and clean. He looked down to the main deck below.
Jocelyn was stretched out on a lounger, still fully clothed, reading a book. She looked small against the vastness of the ocean. He watched her turn a page — that single, quiet, methodical movement — and felt a jolt of something fierce and unnameable move through him.
He was going to break down her walls. Brick by brick.
He had three days.
The yacht hit open water, and the rhythm of the world changed. The Hudson’s chop gave way to the Atlantic’s long, rolling swells. The vessel rose and fell with a slow, heavy grace.
Jocelyn sat on the aft deck, working sunscreen into her arms. The sun was warm and the breeze was sharp with salt. Before coming up, she had gone back to the suite to unpack, and she’d found the white bikini again — held it up in the mirror for one fleeting, reckless moment. It was beautiful. Daring. But the thought of Gaston’s impassive face, his cool composure, had made her fold it back into the tissue paper. She settled instead for a simple one-piece beneath her sundress. A layer of armor. For the first time in weeks, she felt her shoulders drop a full inch.
Gaston emerged from the interior cabin.
He was pale. His usual golden complexion had gone washed-out, almost gray. He gripped the door handle with white knuckles.
“Are you okay?” Jocelyn asked, capping the sunscreen bottle.
Gaston groaned — a low, theatrical sound from the back of his throat. He took a step and stumbled, his balance apparently deserting him.
R𝘰𝗆an𝖼𝘦 ո𝘰𝘷𝘦𝗅ѕ 𝗼𝘯
“The sea,” he muttered, pressing a hand to his forehead. “It hates me p>
Jocelyn stood up quickly. “What? You own a superyacht and you get seasick p>
“I usually take a helicopter to the destination,” Gaston said, lying through his teeth. He swayed again, lurching toward her.
Jocelyn caught him. His body was heavy — a solid wall of muscle settling against her. His arm draped over her shoulders and weighed her down considerably.
“You’re burning up,” she said, touching his forearm. His skin was warm from the sun, but she mistook it for fever.
“Help me to the cabin,” he gasped. “I need to lie down p>
“Okay. Lean on me p>
She wrapped her arm around his waist and half-guided, half-dragged him inside. He smelled incredible — sandalwood, ocean air, and something distinctly his own. She found it extremely distracting.
She steered him into the Master Suite. The room was cool, the air conditioning humming quietly.
“The bed,” Gaston commanded, his voice a convincing rasp.
Jocelyn guided him to it. He collapsed face-first onto the duvet with a groan of suffering.
“I need water,” he mumbled into the pillow. “And a cold towel p>