Chapter 138
Chapter 138:
He buried his face in her hair and breathed in the scent of her shampoo — vanilla and honey.
Then, quietly, he reached for his phone on the nightstand and held it up.
Click.
A photo: the top of her head tucked beneath his chin, his arm around her, the last of the evening light falling across both of them.
He saved it to a hidden, encrypted folder. He named it, simply: Mine.
He set the phone back down. He closed his eyes, listening as her breathing settled into his own rhythm.
For the first time in years, he fell asleep without thinking about business or revenge.
W𝗲 𝗎𝗽d𝘢𝘁𝘦 𝘦𝘃e𝘳𝘺 we𝖾𝗄 𝗈𝗇 𝘨а𝘭𝗻о𝗏е𝘭ѕ.cо𝘮
Sunlight poured through the porthole like a laser beam, hitting Jocelyn square in the face.
She groaned and tried to roll over. She couldn’t.
There was a heavy weight draped across her waist. A very heavy, very solid weight.
She blinked, her mind still foggy with sleep. Heat radiated against her back. A hard chest. Legs tangled with hers.
She froze.
She looked down. A muscular, tanned arm was wrapped around her stomach, the hand large, the fingers relaxed but possessive. On the wrist, the platinum Patek Philippe watch she had bought him caught the morning light and glinted.
Panic detonated in her chest.
She scrambled away, flailing against the sheets, and rolled straight off the edge of the bed with a loud thump.
“Ouch!” she hissed, grabbing her elbow.
Above her, the mattress shifted. Gaston sat up. He stretched with unhurried ease, his back muscles moving beneath his skin like a panther waking from a long, comfortable nap.
He looked down at her on the floor. His hair was rumpled, sticking up at odd angles. His eyes were half-lidded and entirely too relaxed.
“Did we hit an iceberg?” he asked, his voice a deep, sleep-roughened rasp.
Jocelyn scrambled to her feet, pressing a hand to her chest. Her face was already burning.
“Why are we in the same bed?” she demanded. “Why were you holding me p>
Gaston rubbed a hand over his face. The sheet fell to his waist. He was shirtless — an expanse of chest and tanned skin that was suddenly, shockingly familiar. A jolt shot through her, not of horror but of memory. The night of the soup. The feverish haze. She shoved the thought away, her cheeks burning hotter.
“You insisted on staying to monitor my vitals,” he said, yawning. “Then, in the middle of the night, you attacked me. You were very aggressive. A cuddler p>
“I was not!” Jocelyn’s voice climbed. “I fell asleep reading! You must have grabbed me p>
“I was incapacitated by seasickness,” Gaston replied, the picture of injured innocence. “I couldn’t have grabbed a fly. It’s fine, Jocelyn. I’m open-minded. Everyone needs comfort p>
He winked.
She opened her mouth to argue. A sharp knock at the door cut her off.
“Mrs. Collins? The makeup team is here! We need to start in twenty minutes p>
Jocelyn looked at Gaston. He smirked.