Chapter 572

Chapter 571:

Gaston walked in. He had ended his Wall Street meetings early. He wore a dark, tailored suit with his tie loosened, and the air in the room instantly grew heavier with his presence.

His dark eyes swept across the scene — Penelope’s barely contained excitement, the glossy folder on the table. Expecting in the Upper East Side.

His jaw tightened. A cold, dangerous shadow fell over his face.

Penelope stood immediately, her producer’s bravado evaporating under Gaston’s stare. “Mr. Collins. Always a pleasure p>

Gaston walked slowly to Jocelyn’s side and placed a large, heavy hand on her shoulder, his thumb brushing against her neck. The gesture was casual. What it communicated was not.

He looked at Penelope. His eyes were flat and merciless.

“I hope,” he said, his voice a low, vibrating threat, “that you are not trying to sell my wife a circus ticket p>

Jocelyn reached up and covered his hand with hers. She looked up at him, her gaze calm and unwavering.

“It is a very interesting proposal,” she said smoothly. “Penelope was just leaving. You and I are going to discuss it tonight p>

Penelope grabbed her bag and was out of the sunroom in seconds.

𝗕𝗲 𝘁𝗁𝗲 𝖿𝗶r𝘴𝘁 t𝘰 𝘳𝗲𝖺𝖽 𝗼𝘯

Gaston looked down at Jocelyn. His thumb stilled against her skin. The battle lines were drawn — his obsessive need to keep her sheltered pressing up against her fierce need to shine. The clash between the two was only just beginning.

Night had fallen over Manhattan. The city lights glittered beyond the massive windows of the master bathroom.

Jocelyn had filled the deep, freestanding soaking tub with warm water and a few drops of lavender essential oil. Steam curled lazily into the air.

Gaston stepped out of the glass shower stall and wrapped a dark towel low around his waist. Water dripped from the hard, defined muscles of his chest, tracing a path down his stomach. The dark ink of the “J.W.” tattoo over his heart stood out starkly against his skin.

Jocelyn sat on the edge of the plush chaise lounge in the corner of the bathroom, wearing a silk robe with her legs crossed. The reality show contract rested in her lap.

Gaston walked over without a word. He reached down, plucked the contract from her lap, and tossed it onto the marble counter. Then he leaned down, bracing his hands on the arms of the chaise and trapping her, and pressed his mouth to hers in a slow, heavy kiss.

“No business in the bedroom,” he murmured against her lips.

Jocelyn kissed him back, her hands sliding up his damp chest to wrap around his neck. Her fingers tangled in the hair at his nape, scratching lightly, and she felt the immediate, involuntary shudder that moved through his frame.

She pulled back just an inch, looking directly into his dark, dilated eyes.

“I want to do the show, Gaston,” she said. Her voice was soft, but the steel underneath it was unmistakable.

Gaston went completely rigid. The heat in his eyes disappeared, replaced by a cold, possessive fury. He pushed off the chair and stood to his full height.