Love to Loathe Him: Chapter 32

She’s turned her bloody phone off. Gemma’s been moody with me all week, shooting daggers at me every time I breathe. It’s clear she can’t handle our arrangement. That’s a problem.

But dammit, I want to see her. And I’m more than a little pissed that she’s blown me off. I had tonight firmly blocked off in my calendar. I even ordered a nice spread from the Michelin-starred joint next door to me. Not that it matters in the grand scheme of things.

I’ll admit, I was looking forward to this evening. To having my wicked way with her all over again.

And yeah, I’ll own it—I’m not used to women turning me down. I know how that sounds, but it’s the truth. I don’t get rejected. It’s just not a thing that happens. Until now, apparently.

“James, change of plans. We’re taking a detour to Putney,” I tell my driver, scrubbing a hand over my jaw. I can’t believe I’m doing this shit. Chasing after a woman like some desperate fool.

Half an hour later, I’m outside her place, feeling like an idiot but too stubborn to turn back now.

I rap on her door, and she opens it, holding the furball. Her eyes widen.

“Want to explain why you decided to blow off our arrangement?” I demand, not bothering with pleasantries. But I still reach out to give Winnie an obligatory scratch behind the ears. I’m not a complete monster, despite what Gemma thinks.

“You seriously came all the way out here?” she asks, looking panicked.

I see movement at the front window. Someone’s peeking through the shutters. Must be her friend with the questionable taste in leather apparel. If I hadn’t been so laser-focused on getting Gemma naked that night, I might’ve questioned those assless chaps.

“I’m not playing guessing games over text,” I say. “We had an arrangement for tonight, and you’re going to tell me to my face why you decided to renege.”

She has the audacity to roll her eyes. “I told you, I was washing my hair.”

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Come on, Gemma. You’re thirty-three, not thirteen. I expect better excuses from a woman of your caliber. Or at least more creative ones.”

She shifts Winnie in her arms. “Look, I just . . . I don’t think it’s a good idea anymore, okay?”

“Bullshit. Is this about the coffee carts? Me shutting you down?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Then what is it?” I demand, stepping closer to her.

She takes a shaky breath. “Look, Liam. I can’t handle you being your usual asshole self at work after the things we’ve done. It’s too confusing, too messy.”

I stare at her, genuinely taken aback.

“Did you expect me to treat you differently now?” I ask bluntly, cocking a disbelieving eyebrow. “I’m being normal in the office. Nothing has changed. What happens between us after hours doesn’t change who I am during business hours.”

“I . . . no, of course not,” she sputters, her cheeks flushing scarlet. “It’s just . . . maybe I can’t flip some magic switch and be totally unaffected by you fucking my brains out one night and then ordering me around the office the next day like nothing happened. Maybe I’m not a robot like you.”

“So that’s it? You’re just gonna pull the plug on something we both clearly want?” I ask, frowning at her.

“Speak for yourself,” she retorts.

“Oh, I am. I’m being completely fucking honest here, which is more than I can say for you.”

She huffs out an exasperated breath. “Look, I got caught up that first time because we were away from the office, away from reality. But whatever happened with fisherman Liam was a fluke, okay? Now we’re back, and you’re you again, and I’m just . . . I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.”

I study her. “Okay,” I say slowly. “Would you go out with fisherman Liam?”

Her face scrunches. “What?”

This is a bad idea. A monumentally stupid idea. But standing here, looking at her, I want her more than I care to admit.

“How about this? Tonight’s off the table. I get it. But what if fisherman Liam wanted to take you out on his boat this weekend? No work bullshit, no real-world complications. Just a man and a woman enjoying each other’s company.”

She bursts out laughing, the sound tinged with disbelief. “You’re joking right?”

“No.” I’m dead serious. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow night, take you for dinner along the coast, and we’ll stay on the boat.”

“Fuck,” she breathes out. She pauses, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

“Fisherman Liam promises to be on his best behavior. He’ll be laid-back, easy-going . . . a real fucking catch.” I smirk, unable to help myself.

She smirks back. “That’s a terrible play on words. Like, dad joke levels of cringe.”

“Yeah, well, cut the guy some slack. He’s been out at sea for ages with nothing but his hand for company. And he can’t stop thinking about burying his face between your thighs again.”

She tries to hide her smile, failing miserably. “You fight dirty, you know that? Pulling out the fisherman Liam card . . .”

“No, darling. I just go after what I want, and I don’t stop until I get it.”

“Well, you can tell him that secretary Ginger can’t play hooky because she has to bust her ass this weekend on recruitment stuff. You know, for those seats we still desperately need to fill?”

Goddammit. Any other time, I’d be riding her to get those positions locked down. But right now? I want her riding me more.

And a small voice in me tells me that’s not me compartmentalizing. Or prioritizing what’s important. But I choose to ignore it.

“We’ll extend the deadline,” I counter, waving a dismissive hand. “And you know I don’t make my people work weekends anyway.”

“No, but we both know that’s usually how it plays out. And if I don’t get shit done, you’ll be breathing down my neck come Monday morning, Liam.”

“I won’t. I swear.” Christ, I’m practically begging.

“Will Skipper Magee be there?” she asks.

“Fuck no. The skipper won’t be anywhere near this excursion. I told you I don’t share, Gemma. Especially not with my old boat captain.”

“Good, because his feet are rank.”

I chuckle, shaking my head.

She stares at me. “All right, fine. I’ll come. But make sure fisherman Liam knows I’m not taking any orders, and I’m sure as hell not doing any of that rigging or jibbing or tacking or whatever.”

I smirk, taking a strand of her red hair between my fingers. I can’t wait to pull on this over the weekend. “Oh, he doesn’t expect you to lift a finger, baby. Except maybe to grip the sheets while he’s going down on you for hours.”

She swallows hard, her cheeks flushing pink. “Fine. You’ve got yourself a deal.”