Page 131 of Love to Loathe Him

I pull back, suddenly aware that I’m clinging to him like a koala in the middle of his swanky lobby. “Sorry for ambushing you,” I mumble, feeling my face heat up. “I just . . . I needed to thank you in person.”

“It’s fine,” he says, his tone clipped and unreadable.

“How did the meeting go?” I ask.

His jaw tightens. “Badly.”

Shit. Of course it did. Because I wasn’t there. Because I was too busy being a hysterical mess over my missing cat to do my job.

“Sorry,” I mumble, untangling myself from him and taking a step back.

He’s annoyed. It’s written all over his handsome face, in the clench of his jaw and the furrow of his brow. And I get it, I do. No matter how much he enjoys our arrangement, no matter how much he wanted to help find Winnie and is relieved she’s safe, work is always going to be his top priority. And here I am, the flakyemployee who blew off the most important meeting to go on a wild cat chase.

Before I can move away, he grabs my face and kisses me. Hard.

I lean up on my tiptoes, pressing myself against him like I’m trying to fuse our bodies together. His lips are firm but soft, his stubble a delicious burn against my skin that I know I’ll feel for days. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, passionate and demanding, and I’m lost. Thoroughly, deliciously lost.

My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, probably stretching the expensive fabric beyond repair. But I can’t bring myself to care, not when he’s kissing me like this.

One of his hands tangles in my hair, tugging just enough to send shivers down my spine, to make me gasp into his mouth. The other slides down to grip my hip, his fingers digging in possessively, like he’s trying to leave his mark on me.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.

This means something. I know it does. It has to. Because you don’t kiss someone like that unless you feel something.

I glance at the doormen, who are doing a piss-poor job of pretending not to gawk at us.

“Coming up?” Liam asks. He takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine, and I swear to god my ovaries explode.

Every cell in my body screams yes, begging me to follow him up to his penthouse. But I shake my head. “As much as I want to—and trust me, I really, really want to—I can’t. Winnie’s welcome home party awaits.”

He chuckles, the sound doing crazy things to my already jelly-like knees. “I’m glad she’s home safe. Give her a belly rub for me.”

“Me too,” I whisper, feeling the waterworks threatening to make a comeback. I’m a mess. A happy, grateful, emotional train wreck of a mess.

“Hey, do you want to join us? For the party?” I ask, smiling up at him.

He hesitates. “I can’t. I’m going to be working all night.”

I pout, giving him my best puppy-dog eyes. “Come on, take a break. Even big-shot CEOs need to let loose sometimes.”

He runs a hand through his hair, hesitating. “Look, I didn’t want to tell you until it was a done deal, but . . . I’ve found a way to keep more of the charity open. I need to do more work on it.”

I push back to look at him, my eyes wide. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”

His expression remains stern, like he’s trying to keep me grounded. “It’s just a proposal,” he says. “But I think it’ll go through. The charity’s going to partner with a developer who’s offering reduced rent as part of some corporate social responsibility thing. They get a massive tax break for it.”

I blink at him, my mouth falling open. He’s telling me this so casually, not like he just pulled off a miracle.

“This isn’t a joke, right?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“No, Gemma. It’s not a joke. But you can’t repeat this to anyone, okay? It’s not a done deal yet. Only the exec team knows.”

“So let me get this straight. You saved my cat and the charity, all in one day?”

He smirks. “I need to find a way to keep you and Whitmore sweet, somehow.”

“Liam.” I’m going to cry again. I can feel it. “You should be so proud of yourself.”