Chapter 311
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Chapter 311:
“You are a menace,” she said, though she was smiling. “You acted like an animal in heat in front of my grandmother. It was mortifying p>
Gaston reached forward and pressed a button on the console. The thick, soundproof privacy partition glided smoothly upward, sealing them off from the driver.
He turned to her, his eyes dark and unhurried. He crowded her gently into the corner of the leather seat.
“Read the contract, Mrs. Collins,” Gaston whispered, his voice a low, vibrating threat. “I have the legal right to demonstrate our marital affection whenever I deem it necessary for public relations p>
Jocelyn scoffed. “We were not in public. We were with family. You had no reason to perform p>
Gaston let out a low, breathy laugh. He reached up and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face toward his.
“Who told you I was performing?” Gaston murmured.
He didn’t wait for an answer. He crushed his mouth against hers.
It was a deep, consuming kiss. His tongue swept past her lips, claiming her mouth with absolute authority, his large hand sliding beneath the cashmere sweater to grip her waist. Jocelyn’s breath hitched. Her hands flew up instinctively to grip his shoulders, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. She was drowning in the sheer force of his desire.
The Maybach sped toward Manhattan. Gaston pulled back slightly and looked down at her swollen lips and heavy, glazed eyes.
𝘛he 𝗺𝘰ѕ𝘵 𝗉𝗈р𝗎𝘭а𝘳 𝗻𝗈𝘃𝗲𝗹ѕ 𝗼𝗻 ѕ.𝗰𝗼𝗺
He smiled. He had her exactly where he wanted her.
Thursday morning at the Wolfe Hotel.
Jocelyn sat at her desk, rubbing the back of her neck. She had just finished a grueling two-hour video conference with the European investors.
There was a soft knock at the door.
The young receptionist walked in, struggling under the weight of a massive, absurdly large bouquet of deep red Ecuadorian roses. The arrangement was so enormous it completely concealed her upper body.
“Delivery for you, Ms. Wolfe,” the receptionist beamed, carefully setting the flowers down on the edge of the desk. Her eyes were wide with undisguised envy.
Jocelyn stared at the bouquet in disbelief. The roses were breathtakingly expensive.
She reached into the dark green foliage and pulled out a small envelope. Inside was a sleek black card with a single word printed in silver foil: Sorry. No signature.
Jocelyn frowned for a moment. Then a memory surfaced.
That morning, as she was getting dressed, Gaston had noticed the neckline of her silk blouse was slightly low. He had walked up behind her and deliberately, possessively bitten down on her collarbone, leaving a fresh, stinging red mark.
A wide, genuine smile spread across Jocelyn’s lips.
She touched the velvet petals of the roses. It was incredibly sweet, she thought, that the arrogant, ruthless Gaston Collins would resort to such a clumsy, old-fashioned method to apologize for his behavior. She picked up her phone to text him, then stopped. No. She would thank him in person tonight.
At six o’clock, Jocelyn carried the massive bouquet into the private elevator and rode up to the penthouse, her heart light.
She pushed the front door open.