Page 80 of Love to Loathe Him

I so badly want to have sex with him and he’s already read my embarrassing diary. And it’s not like I’m planning to stick around Ashbury Thornton long-term now anyway. A few more months and I’ll have enough to buy me time when I try to become an independent consultant.

Plus, fisherman Liam is just so fucking irresistible, with his rugged charm and his rough hands . . .

“It’s okay.” He downs the rest of his drink in one smooth swallow. “Let me walk you back to your hotel.”

Crap. He’s made the decision for me. A part of me is relieved, but a bigger part aches with disappointment.

The walk back to the hotel is quiet, the silence between us heavy. I’m terrified that at any moment I’m going to blurt out how horny I am and try to attack his face.

Liam, as if sensing my inner turmoil, points out various facts about the Isle of Wight as we stroll along the quaint streets.

“Did you know,” he says, his voice low in the stillness of the night, “that the Isle of Wight hosts an annual garlic festival? You can even get garlic ice cream there.”

Garlic isn’t the sexiest topic of conversation, but somehow, coming from fisherman Liam’s mouth, it sounds like pure filth.

With every step, I become more convinced that I should have said yes.

But I can’t very well invite him up to my room. Not with the rest of the team staying here and the risk of someone seeing us together.

We linger outside my hotel. I shuffle from foot to foot. “Thanks for walking me back.”

“It’s a great view from this hotel. I hope you can see the sea from your room,” Liam says, and then he does something that knocks me off balance. He smiles. Not his usual smirk or that loadedgrin from the all-staff meeting. No, this is something different, something . . . genuine.

It’s a casual, sexy smile that I’ve never seen before, and it’s directed solely at me. My heart does a little flip, and I look away, suddenly flustered.

I glance at the dark sea, waves crashing in a rhythmic, hypnotic dance. It’s beautiful. Romantic. Dangerous.

“It is,” I say softly. I look back at Liam, who seems lost in thought, staring out at the water. “What are you thinking about?”

“Sorry,” he says, turning his attention back to me. “Being near the water always makes me more contemplative.” His smile is tinged with melancholy. “Thinking about what life would be like as a fisherman.”

I swallow hard, taking in his handsome face. I feel like I’m seeing a glimpse of the original Liam. The Liam before the money and everything that comes with it. “Simpler?” I ask.

He steps closer. Gently, he reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Simpler,” he echoes, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. “Good night, Ginger. Sweet dreams.”

And then he’s turning and walking away, his broad frame disappearing back to the port, leaving me standing there with my heart pounding and my thighs squeezed together so tightly I’m legitimately worried I’ll break my vagina.

Two hours later, I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. There is positivelynochance of me falling asleep anytime soon.

My brain is running on overdrive, replaying every moment with fisherman Liam in excruciating detail.

I turn in the bed and shove the pillow over my head, groaning into the fluffy depths. Why couldn’t I have just said fuck it and gone back to Liam’s boat for a night of wild sex?

Oh, right. Because I’m an idiot. An idiot with a reputation to uphold.

I grab my phone from the nightstand, desperate for a distraction before I start humping my pillow.

And because I have zero self-control, I find myself scrolling through my contacts until I land on Liam’s name.

My pulse quickens. He was online just twenty minutes ago. Which means he’s still awake.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m out of bed and rummaging through my backpack like a woman possessed. I yank on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, sling my hair into a ponytail, and I’m halfway out the door before my brain catches up with my body.

Holy shit. I’m really going to do this. I’m really going to march my ass down to the docks in the middle of the night and throw myself at Liam McLaren.

I should not do this.

But I already am. The HR manager can clean up this mess on Monday.