Page 74 of Love to Loathe Him

He’s going to fucking destroy me, wreck me so thoroughly that I’ll never be the same again. And I want him to.Needhim to.

I want Liam. I want his hands on me, his mouth devouring mine. I want him to strip away every last shred of my control, my professionalism, until all that remains is a primal need for him.

A sudden eruption of drunken cheers and laughter from a group of guys on the dock makes me nearly jump out of my skin.

Something seems to snap in Liam, his eyes hardening instantly. The charged moment between us shatters. I see it in his eyes, the ice water that douses the flames.

He’s not just some random sailor, and I’m not the sultry siren who’s accidentally stumbled onto his boat. We’re boss and employee about to do something neither of us can come back from.

“Gemma,” he rasps out, his voice husky. “Go back to the pub. Now.”

“No,” I whisper, trying to put my hand on his chest, to feel the pounding of his heart. But he stops me, his fingers wrapping around my wrist in an iron grip.

“Now,” he says in an even harder tone.

In one fluid motion, he hauls me up into his arms, his chest flush against my aching breasts. For a heart-stopping moment, I think he’s going to throw me down on the deck and have his way with me, audience be damned.

Instead, he lifts me easily and sets me down gently on the dock. He places my heels beside me, a silent, pointed message.

I stare up at him, my chest heaving.

Without a word, he turns on his heel and heads to the bow of the boat, picking up his discarded sander and resuming his work.

CHAPTER 22

Liam

I yank irritably atthe starched collar of my tuxedo shirt as I step into the hotel ballroom. The thing feels like a noose around my neck, choking me after a day of freedom on the open water. I’d much rather be in my sailing gear, now filthy and reeking of sweat and sea salt, and back on the boat by myself.

The room is crawling with drunken imbeciles who think they’re hot shit just because they managed to stay upright on a boat for a few hours. It’s a predictable pattern—once the sailing’s done, those who couldn’t navigate their way out of a bathtub get completely shitfaced, celebrating their pointless participation.

As I push through the crowd of shouting people and spilled booze, my gaze lands on a sight that makes my jaw tighten.

Alastair fucking Harrington leaning against the bar, a drink in his hand, looking like he owns the place. And next to him, perched on a bar stool with her legs crossed, is none other than Gemma. She’s saying something to him, her head tilted up to him.

Like he has any right to breathe the same air as her. To touch her arm like he is right now, his fingers lingering on her skin in a way that makes me want to break every bone in his hand.

MyHR manager, which means she’s off-limits to other opportunistic bastards.

MyHR manager who looks entirely too fuckable in that tight red dress, the hem riding up her thighs as she crosses and uncrosses her legs.

Seeing Harrington blatantly infringing on my territory launches me forward with an aggravated stride.

I don’t know what Gemma’s playing at, but my control is wearing thin, and now it’s worse seeing her with him.

The way she looks tonight . . . it’s enough to make me want to drag her back to the boat and fuck her out of my system. Out of hers too so she can go back to looking at me like she hates me.

I took an ice-cold shower on the boat, trying to quell the raging hard-on she gave me earlier. Didn’t work. My mind’s still full of her, wondering what she tastes like, how she’d—

“Where are you going with a face like an angry bull?” Edward steps in front of me, his smirk a familiar sight that usually calms me. Not tonight. He’s decked out to the nines, looking every inch the distinguished surgeon.

I pat him on the shoulder. “Good to see you. Didn’t think you’d make it.”

“Looks like I found you just in time to stop another fight breaking out.”

“I wasn’t going to fight.” My eyes dart back to Gemma. “I’m just going to rescue my HR manager from that insufferable prick.”

Edward’s gaze follows mine, taking in the scene with a contemplative hum. “She doesn’t look like she needs rescuing,” he observes. His eyes widen in realization. “This must be the lovely Gemma. Quite a stunner, isn’t she? Reminds me of the mermaid on your chest, come to think of it.”