Chapter 6
Nathan
The drive and the ferry crossing were quiet, uneventful. At least on the surface.
In my head, I haven’t stopped replaying the moment Jasmine leaned in—the warmth of her chest pressed to my arm, the faint sweetness of her skin, the brush of her lips at the corner of my mouth.
One inch. That’s all it would’ve taken.
But I didn’t move.
I stood still like a coward, half-hard and thunderstruck, letting her step back and thank me. The painful erection the entire drive over, the filthy thoughts of pulling that dress up and taking her apart—I’m no gentleman.
And now I’m walking through a crowded reception hall, strangers everywhere, with the shape of her soft curves still stamped on me like a brand.
The banquet hall is elegant but loud—strings of light overhead, rows of white-clothed tables crowded with flowers, wineglasses, and happy chaos.
Someone’s aunt makes a toast. A toddler shrieks near the cake table. Jazz is on the dance floor, caught in her cousin’s arms, spinning and flushed, her smile wide and unguarded.
I can’t stop watching her. Can’t stop thinking how, for all these people who love her, she gives so much of herself to Sophie.
No—not just Sophie. To me too.
It’s not that I assumed she was completely alone in the world.
I knew her cousin urged her to move closer, but she didn’t have a room to offer Jasmine immediately after her mom died. And I didn’t realize until now that Jasmine chose us over these people. The realization cracks something open in my chest.
She glows—gold and firelight under the chandeliers. An older woman calls her name, telling her to visit more. Another voice teases that they’ll still adopt her, at her age.
Jasmine laughs, tossing her head back. “Maybe in the near future,” she says, breathless. “I’ll think about it.”
Her cousin squeals and hugs her. More cousins pile in, laughing. The music swells—fast, bass-heavy—mirroring the rush in my ears.
I sip my drink, but I’m already moving toward her. Not by choice. Instinct.
I could wait. Ask later what she meant. But her expression as she answered her cousin—bright, then shuttering as she tucks a strand of hair back—punches the breath out of me.
I stop just shy of the dance floor.
She’s still talking, caught in the group. Her voice carries. “I’m just starting to think about where my future really is.”
And the music fades.
The laughter, the lights, the color—all of it falls away.
Just that one sentence, echoing over and over. Tearing the floor out from under me.
She’s dancing with Sonia—laughing, radiant. Her back bare, hair loose, hips swaying with careless grace.
“I’m cutting in,” I say.
Jazz has her back to me, mid-conversation.
Sonia turns, one brow arching before she steps aside. “You already keep her too much to yourself,” she murmurs.
It’s not playful and knocks me off balance.
My first instinct is to bristle, but instead I answer, calm and certain. “Maybe she belongs with us.”
It slips out before I can stop it. Not an argument. Just fact.
Sonia’s smile fades. “As your housekeeper? As your grown-up daughter’s caretaker?” she says coolly. “She’s too young to waste away pining after—” Someone snatches her attention.
Pining after...?
The phrase lands like a dropped match, sparking fire I can’t stamp out.
Suddenly I’m back in the kitchen a few days ago, when Jasmine told me she didn’t like boys her age. In the dark, when her lips brushed mine and I did nothing.
Moments shift, rearranging into a pattern I’m not ready to see.
Is Jasmine pining after... me?
Jasmine turns before I can get a grip on my swirling thoughts. “Nathan.” Her smile blooms. “You dance?”
“Apparently.”
Her hand slides into mine, warm, unhesitating. I pull her close, and it’s not enough. She fits too well—every breath brushing my chest, every sway grazing me. Vanilla on her skin, silk clinging to her curves.
Our bodies fall into step as if they’ve always known the rhythm—and each other.
“I didn’t know you dance so well,” she says, tilting her head. With that innocence that doesn’t quite yet grasp what magic chemistry can unleash between two people.
A sound escapes me—half grunt, half laugh. Words fail me under her curious gaze.
“But then,” she sasses, “you do everything well, I guess.”
A tease, but it shoots heat through me. My grip tightens. She shivers. I feel it in both of us.
I could joke back, but I don’t. Instead, I lean close, breath brushing her ear. “I had a word with Clive earlier.”
She stiffens, brows knitting. “When? What did you do, Nathan?”
“I did what you wanted me to,” I say, searching her warm amber gaze. “Isn’t that why you asked me here? To take him on? To be by your side?”
Her breath hitches, lips parting. Color floods her cheeks. “Yes,” she says softly. “Of course. I just didn’t realize you’d be so… proactive.” She looks around before circling back to my face. “When did you even talk to him?”
“Between the toasts and the dancing.”
I didn’t just talk to him. I made damn sure he understood. That he owed her more than legal stalling and excuses. That she’s not alone anymore.
Jasmine studies me. And something shifts. Not just gratitude. Not surprise.
Hunger.
She looks like she wants to ask me something else. Like maybe she already knows the answer but wants to hear me say it.
And I’m standing here, undone, still pretending I have control.
Sonia’s words crawl back—pining after.
Is that why she’s leaving? Because I’ve been standing still in front of her this whole time and she wants more?
“Are you angry about something, Mr. Grayson?” she asks, her voice light. But there’s nothing casual about the way she presses against me.
I draw her tighter—just enough for her to feel how tense I am. Her breath stutters. Her body molds against mine.
“Is there a reason I should be, Jasmine?” I murmur. “Have you been hiding things from me?”