Chapter 139
Chapter 139:
She turned and fled to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She ran cold water and held it against her cheeks, staring at her reflection. They were bright red.
He doesn’t want you, she told herself firmly. He was just cold. It meant nothing.
One hour later, the aft deck had been transformed.
Pierre — a flamboyant French photographer whom Gaston had flown in by helicopter, which was not lost on Jocelyn — was moving around the deck issuing commands at full volume.
“The light! It is fleeing! We must capture the love p>
Jocelyn stood at the railing in the white lace gown Gaston had chosen for the shoot. It was backless, plunging, and fitted to every curve. Beneath it, the thin strings of the white bikini pressed against her skin like a small, private rebellion. The ocean wind whipped the skirt around her legs.
Gaston stood beside her in a black tuxedo, his bowtie undone. He looked devastating.
“Closer! More passion! You are newlyweds, not business partners!” Pierre shouted, waving both hands toward them as though conducting an orchestra.
Jocelyn took a stiff, reluctant step toward Gaston.
He sighed. He leaned down, his lips brushing the curve of her ear.
“Think of the stock price,” he murmured. “The board needs to believe it. My father needs to believe it p>
𝗠𝗈re ոo𝗏𝘦𝗅𝘀 о𝘯.сo𝘮
Jocelyn steadied herself. Right. The contract.
“Do whatever you have to do,” she whispered back.
“Whatever?” he asked.
Before she could answer, his hand found her waist. Large. Warm. He pulled her flush against him in one smooth motion.
“Pierre. Be ready,” Gaston said over her head.
He dipped her.
Jocelyn gasped and grabbed his shoulders on instinct, her head falling back. The ocean spread out beneath them, vast and roaring.
Gaston leaned over her, their faces inches apart. “Look at me,” he said softly. “Look at me like you don’t hate me p>
Jocelyn looked into his eyes. They were dark and intent, swirling with something she couldn’t name or categorize. It didn’t look like acting. It looked like hunger.
For a moment, the camera ceased to exist. Pierre ceased to exist. The ocean ceased to exist.
Her breath caught. She saw the flecks of gold in his irises. She felt the strength of the arm holding her up, the only thing between her and the open air below.
“I don’t hate you,” she whispered. The truth came out before she could stop it.
Gaston’s gaze dropped to her lips. Something in his expression tightened.
Click. Click. Click.
“Magnifique!” Pierre crowed from behind his camera. “That is the cover of Vogue! That is the money shot p>
The spell broke.
Gaston pulled her upright. He didn’t release her immediately — his hand stayed at her waist for a beat longer than necessary, his thumb tracing a small circle against her hip bone.
“Good acting,” he said. His voice came out tight and rough.
He let go and walked toward the cooler for a bottle of water.
Jocelyn stood at the railing, swaying slightly in the wind. A pang of disappointment hit her chest — sharp and entirely confusing.
“Yeah,” she said to no one. “Acting p>