Chapter 92
Chapter 92:
“I don’t want to see him! The liar!” Grandma turned her wheelchair away.
Jocelyn pulled out her phone. Her fingers were shaking so badly she could barely type.
Code Red. Room 302. You need to act like you love me. Convince her. Please.
Gaston replied instantly: I’m outside your door.
Ten seconds later, the door flew open.
Gaston stood there, breathing hard, his hair slightly windblown. He had run. Jocelyn realized with a jolt that he must have followed her, anticipating trouble.
He took in Jocelyn’s pale, sweaty face and Grandma’s tear-stained cheeks. He assessed the situation in a heartbeat.
He didn’t hesitate. He walked straight into the room, his presence filling the small space. He passed Jocelyn without a word and went directly to the wheelchair.
𝖱еa𝘥 𝗼n a𝗇у 𝖽𝗲𝗏𝗂𝗰е о𝘯.с𝗈𝗺
He knelt down on one knee — ruining his suit pants on the hospital floor — so that he was lower than Grandma.
“Mrs. Wolfe,” he said. His voice was commanding but gentle. “We need to talk p>
Grandma glared at him. “You stay away from her. You trickster p>
Gaston didn’t flinch. He took Grandma’s frail hand in his.
“I know what Elouise said,” Gaston said calmly. “She is a bitter, hateful woman who would say anything to hurt her daughter p>
“She says you like men,” Grandma accused. “That my Jocelyn is a cover p>
Gaston laughed softly and shook his head. “People say I’m an alien, too. Or a vampire. Or a criminal. Rich people attract rumors, Mrs. Wolfe p>
He stood up and turned to Jocelyn.
“Come here,” he said.
Jocelyn stepped forward, her legs trembling.
Gaston reached out and pulled her to his side. His arm went around her waist, clamping her to his body like a vice.
“Look at your granddaughter,” Gaston said to Grandma. “She is beautiful. She is smart. She is fierce. She is the only woman who has ever challenged me p>
He looked down at Jocelyn. His eyes were burning.
“Do you really think,” he whispered, “that I could be immune to her p>
Grandma sniffed. “Words are cheap p>
“You’re right,” Gaston agreed.
He turned Jocelyn to face him. He cupped her face with both hands, his palms hot against her fever-chilled skin.
“Forgive me,” he whispered to her.
Then he crashed his lips onto hers.
It wasn’t a polite peck. It wasn’t a stage kiss.
It was a possession.
Gaston’s mouth was firm, demanding. He tilted her head back, his fingers tangling in her hair. Jocelyn gasped, opening her mouth in shock, and he took the invitation instantly.
His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting her, claiming her. He tasted of mint and strong coffee and something uniquely Gaston.
Jocelyn’s knees gave out. Literally.
Gaston caught her, his arm tightening around her waist, holding her up against his chest. She clutched his lapels to stay upright. Her brain short-circuited. The fever, the stress, the fear — it all evaporated, replaced by a white-hot jolt of electricity.
He kissed her like he was starving. Like he had been waiting ten years to do this.
The kiss went on. Ten seconds. Twenty.