Chapter 137
Chapter 137:
Jocelyn went to the bathroom and soaked a plush hand towel under the cold tap, wrung it out, and filled a glass of water. When she returned, Gaston had rolled onto his back. He had unbuttoned the top three buttons of his polo shirt, revealing the tanned skin of his chest and the edge of a tattoo.
Jocelyn’s mouth went dry. She directed her attention firmly back to his illness.
She laid the cold towel across his forehead. Gaston’s eyes fluttered closed and he let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Better p>
She held the glass to his lips. He took a few slow sips, his hand brushing hers. His fingers, she did not notice, were perfectly steady.
“I should go,” she whispered. “Let you rest p>
She started to pull away.
Gaston’s hand shot out and closed around her wrist. His grip was firm and immediate.
“Don’t leave me,” he said, his voice dropping to a pitiful rasp. “If I’m sick in my sleep, I might choke. I need supervision p>
Jocelyn looked at him. “You run a billion-dollar empire, Gaston. You can manage a little nausea p>
𝗥e𝘤o𝗺𝘮end ѕ.𝗰о𝘮 𝘵𝗼 𝘺o𝘶𝗿 𝖿𝗋𝘪еո𝖽𝘴
“Please.” He opened one eye. It was full of carefully deployed vulnerability. “Jocelyn p>
She hesitated. Somewhere beneath the layers of cynicism and old wounds, her nurturing instinct stirred to life against her better judgment.
“Fine,” she sighed. “A little while p>
She settled onto the edge of the bed and picked up a magazine from the nightstand.
Hours passed. The sun began its descent, painting the suite in long bands of orange and purple. The yacht rocked on with its gentle, hypnotic rhythm.
Gaston didn’t move. His breathing evened out.
Jocelyn read the same page three times without absorbing a word. Her eyelids grew heavy. The only sounds were the soft creak of the ship and the steady cadence of Gaston’s breath. It was, against all expectation, peaceful.
She shifted, leaning back against the headboard. Just for a minute, she told herself. Just to rest her eyes.
She slid down. Her head found a pillow. The mattress was unreasonably comfortable.
Within minutes, she was asleep, curled on her side, facing away from him.
The moment her breathing changed, Gaston’s eyes snapped open.
The seasickness vanished without a trace.
He propped himself up on one elbow, moving with careful, deliberate stillness so as not to disturb the mattress. He looked down at her. Her hair lay spread across the white pillowcase. Her lips were slightly parted. She looked younger in sleep — unguarded in a way she never allowed herself to be when awake.
“You are so stubborn,” he whispered to the empty room.
He reached out and traced the line of her jaw with one finger, hovering just millimeters above her skin, not quite daring to make contact.
The air conditioning had grown colder. He reached across and pulled the duvet up over her shoulders.
Then he made his move.
He slid closer. He wrapped a heavy arm around her waist and drew her back against his chest.
Jocelyn sighed in her sleep. She didn’t resist. She shifted backward instinctively, seeking the warmth, her body fitting against his with an ease that felt entirely too natural.
Gaston went still, his heart hammering.
This was dangerous. This was a clear violation of every rule they had agreed to.
He didn’t care.