Page 113 of Love to Loathe Him

“Whatever you’re doing, it’s clearly working for you,” I mutter, eyeing his chest and shoulders as I try and fail to extract a pathetic scrap ofmeatfrom my lobster leg.

Liam grins at me. “Here, give me your plate.”

My eyes widen. “Youarea big eater. No wonder you’re built like a tank.” I mean, the man’s already devoured his lobster and half his steak like it was a light snack. “Should I just ask the waiter to bring you a trough?”

He rolls his eyes, the picture of exasperation. “I’m not going to eat yours, you cheeky minx.”

I hand over the plate, watching as Liam takes the weird lobster fork thingies and starts working on the crustacean carcass. “I’m impressed. Is there anything you’re not good at?”

He slides the fork in with a fluid, practiced motion. “Slide it in smoothly, right along the shell, then give it a twist and pull. Nice and easy. See?”

I bite my lip, smirking. “When you say it in that authoritative tone, it gives me flashbacks to the office.”

He hands me back my plate, his expression stern but his eyes glinting with amusement.

“Let’s see if you’ve learned anything from my lesson. If you haven’t, I’ll be forced to administer a thorough reprimand. And trust me, it won’t involve a slap on the wrist.”

I’m not mad about this fusion of banker and fisherman. Not at all.

I position the fork just like he demonstrated, sliding it in smooth and slow along the shell, my tongue poking out in concentration. I give it a twist and yank, holding my breath . . .

And the lobster meat goes flying, smacking Liam right in his handsome face.

“Ahhh! I’m so sorry.” I gasp, dissolving into laughter as I reach out to wipe his cheek.

He plucks the errant chunk of meat from his face and pops it into his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick the residue from my fingers. It’s primal, like I’m watching a caveman.

A roar of laughter erupts from the next table, the sound so different from the sounds of the posh London establishments we frequent for work events. It’s a breath of fresh sea air, reminding me that there’s a whole world outside the corporate bubble we live in. I feel like I’m on holiday, even though we’re barely an hour outside the city.

When Liam picked me up after work, I expected him to roll up in some flashy sports car, like the black Aston Martin he favors for work. But instead, he surprised me by showing up in a Land Rover. Okay, it’s not exactly a Skoda, but still, it had sailing and fishing paraphernalia shoved in the back seat, and it was actually (gasp) a little dirty. Except for my seat, which was gleaming. It felt weirdly sweet.

I’m definitely dealing with fisherman Liam tonight, and it’s giving me a warm, fuzzy feeling in my chest. Concerning, because that feeling is dangerously close to fondness, and fondness is not something I’m supposed to have for Liam McLaren. Lust? Sure, I’ve got that in spades. Hatred? Oh, absolutely. But fondness? That’s unchartered territory.

Ever since I read his background profile, it’s like I’m seeing him in a whole new light. Which is probably delusional and a surefire sign that I’m setting myself up for a world of hurt. But I can’t help it.

And tonight, he’s being lighter than his usual grumpy self, cracking jokes and smiling like a real human being. Maybe the seaair changes the man. I guess he kept his promise on bringing fisherman Liam.

“Okay, I have a question for you,” I say, pivoting to a safer topic. “How’d you get into sailing? Did you just wake up one day and think, ‘Damn, I’d look good in canary yellow trousers’? Because let me tell you, not many men can pull off that particular style.”

He takes a sip of his beer, chuckling. It’s a nice sound. “University. My mate Edward Cavendish got me into it. You remember him from the regatta?”

“The hot surgeon?” I nod, picturing the man I’d seen with Liam. Handsome attracts handsome. And rich attracts rich, apparently.

A smirk tugs at Liam’s lips. “Most ladies agree with you. I’ll only agree with the surgeon part but that’s the one. I used to go to the coast most weekends at uni.”

I take a sip of my wine, trying to keep my face neutral. “You didn’t head back to Yorkshire on the weekends?” I ask. “To see your mum and stepdad?”

He shrugs, his fork stabbing into his vegetables with a little more force than necessary. “Not really.”

“Liam,” I start, my heart in my throat. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

He looks up as he cuts his steak.

“The IT team came back with the background checks. On all of us.”

“Yeah? And?”

I bite my lip. “They ran one on you too.”