Chapter 275
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Chapter 275:
“My father is a very paranoid man,” Gaston said, his tone conversational. “He is also a romantic. Before he left, he made me promise he could call tonight to see how we’re settling in as a couple. He will expect to see us in the same room, looking comfortable. If he logs in and sees you moving into the guest wing, he will turn the car around and bring your grandmother straight back p>
Jocelyn bit her lower lip. She knew the ruthless instincts Elbert Collins applied to everything he cared about. It was entirely plausible.
Gaston pushed off the counter and walked toward her. “Since we have the weekend to ourselves, we need to establish some ground rules. An affection training protocol. Your reactions to me are too stiff. It looks suspicious p>
He moved to the wet bar, poured two glasses of sparkling water, and handed her one, then gestured toward the massive leather sofa.
They sat. Jocelyn placed a decorative pillow between them as a physical barrier.
Without warning, Gaston reached across the pillow and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. The rough pad of his thumb dragged slowly across her earlobe.
Jocelyn gasped softly. Her shoulders jerked back in a full-body flinch.
𝗥еа𝗱 𝘸𝘪𝗍𝘩o𝗎𝘁 і𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗋𝗋𝘂p𝗍і𝗈n𝘴 𝗈𝗇
Gaston dropped his hand and laughed — a low, rich sound. “You see? You react as though I am holding a knife. You fail p>
“I was not prepared!” Jocelyn shot back, her competitive instinct flaring. She sat up straighter and pushed the pillow off the sofa.
Gaston stood and stepped into the open space between the sofa and the floor-to-ceiling windows. He held out his right hand, palm up.
“Then let us do some desensitization training. Come here p>
Jocelyn hesitated, looking at his large, calloused hand. Slowly, she reached out and placed her fingers in his palm.
His fingers closed around hers. He pulled — gently but deliberately — and she stumbled forward, landing softly against his chest. He placed his other hand on the small of her back, drew her flush against him, and began to sway, leading her into a slow, music-less waltz across the white marble floor.
The afternoon sun stretched their shadows long across the room. There was no sound but the soft slide of their shoes and the uneven rhythm of Jocelyn’s breathing. Her heart had completely lost its tempo.
The waltz ended when Jocelyn’s back struck the edge of the sofa. She pulled away instantly, her chest heaving as though she had just run a sprint.
“I have to check the hotel emails. The quarterly reports are due,” she blurted, not meeting his eyes. She turned and practically sprinted down the hallway toward the study.
Gaston stood in the sunlight, watching her flee. A slow, predatory smile curved the corners of his mouth.
Night fell over Manhattan, turning the city into a grid of glowing diamonds beyond the penthouse windows.
Jocelyn stood in the master bathroom, studying the silk pajamas she had chosen — long-sleeved, buttoned to the collarbone, completely opaque. Armor.
She took a slow breath, opened the door, and walked into the master bedroom.