Page 157 of Love to Loathe Him

I’m being ridiculous. It’s just a random boat.Ránis probably plastered on a thousand boats. What am I expecting here? That Liam suddenly developed a flair for grand romantic gestures and sailed across the ocean to Costa Rica just to sweep me off my feet, like some kind of pirate Fabio?

But I can’t stop myself. I have to know who owns this boat.

As I get closer, my heart is doing its best impression of a construction drill. I climb the ramp between the dock and the boat, my legs feeling like jelly. I peer onto the deck, fully aware that I’m basically trespassing at this point. The deck is empty, save for some fishing gear and a cooler. But there, perched on the bow like a beacon of promise and mindfuckery . . .

Is the hat.

It has to be Skipper Magee’s. It’s identical, right down to the frayed edges and the questionable stains.

Am I going mad? Are these the actions of a madwoman? Probably.

I deflate. It’s just a hat. Not a message from the universe. Just a piece of fabric with a bird on it.

I spin on my heel, ready to drown my embarrassment in something fruity with an umbrella, when—

Holy. Freaking. Crap.

CHAPTER 48

Gemma

Liam.

He’s standing at the bottom of the ramp, looking up at me with those intense eyes that have haunted my dreams, my nightmares, and every waking moment in between. My hands fly to my mouth, a gasp escaping before I can stop it. I’m certain my heart has decided to stop functioning altogether.

He’s here.

For a moment, we just stare at each other. My chest rises and falls rapidly as I struggle to breathe, my mind racing to catch up with what my eyes are seeing. He looks . . . different. Tanned, like he’s been out in the sun for weeks. His hair is a bit longer, curling slightly at the nape of his neck.

Before my brain can catch up with my body, I’m moving. Running down the ramp toward him. I stop just short of throwing myself into his arms, suddenly unsure. Is this real? Am I hallucinating? Did I hit my head during that disastrous surfing lesson?

“What are you doing here?” I choke out.

He takes a step closer. His scent—expensive cologne mixed with pure, raw masculinity—wraps around me, making me want to melt into his chest, bury my face in his neck, and never let go. I’ve missed him so much itphysically aches.

“I gave the journaling thing a shot,” he says, his voice a gravelly rumble that I haven’t heard in what feels like an eternity. “I’m starting to think I’m overpaying those corporate therapists.” He smirks, but there’s a hint of vulnerability in his dark eyes.

His hands find my face, large and warm, sending electric shocks down my spine. My skin buzzes where his fingers graze.

“But then I realized I had to come in person. So you can see the truth in my eyes. No more games, no more bullshit. Just you and me, real and honest.”

“I’m listening,” I breathe, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What is it you need to tell me, Liam?”

He leans in, his forehead resting against mine, his breath hot on my lips. “I love you, Gemma. I love you so much it terrifies me. I think I’ve loved you for a long time, I just didn’t allow myself to go there. And I want us to try again, for real this time. No more holding back, no more running scared. I’m all in, baby. Every last fucking bit of me.”

I suck in a sharp breath, tears stinging my eyes. “You . . . you came all the way to Costa Rica to tell me that? Did you . . . did yousailhere?”

He chuckles, the sound low and rough and so sexy it makes my knees weak. “No, darling. I’m not that good a sailor. Sailing would have taken forty days, and I couldn’t wait that long. I bought a boat here.”

Of course he did. Because he’s Liam McLaren, and normal gestures just won’t do. I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or drag him behind the nearest palm tree and have my wicked way with him. Maybe all three.

“You bought a boat,” I repeat, feeling slightly hysterical. “You flew to Costa Rica and bought a boat. To tell me you love me.”

He looks almost sheepish. “I needed you to know I wasserious.”

I launch myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and crushing my lips to his in a fierce, desperate kiss. He catches me easily, his arms banding around my waist like steel as he hauls me against his hard, muscular body.

I pour everything I have into that kiss—all the love, the longing, the aching need that’s been gnawing at me since the moment I walked out of the Ashbury Thornton office and away from him. And he gives it right back, his mouth hot and demanding against mine.