Love to Loathe Him: Chapter 36

“We’re going mostly straight now,” Gemma yells, her face lighting up as she grips the helm. “Kind of.”

“We are,” I confirm, unable to stop the smile tugging at my lips. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and it’s doing things to me I’d rather not admit. Not out loud, anyway. We’re sailing back from the Isle of Wight to the mainland after a nice Sunday pub lunch.

“Why wasn’t I allowed to steer during the regatta?” she asks, throwing me a glare.

I smirk, watching her from my spot on the deck. Close enough to leap to her aid if needed but far enough to admire the view. “Being at the helm isn’t just about turning a wheel, darling. It’s strategy, navigation, split-second decisions. You weren’t ready for that kind of pressure. Couldn’t have you steering us in circles in front of the race committee, now could I?”

She rolls her eyes. “Fisherman Liam can be a bit of an asshole too, I see.”

A gust of wind catches her shorts, making them flutter against her long, tanned legs. She adjusts her stance, widening her feet to keep her balance, and damn if that isn’t a sight to behold. Her hand flies up to hold on to the captain’s hat, trying to wrangle her wild, fiery locks at the same time. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying the show.

She’s wearing one of my T-shirts, pulled into a knot at her stomach, leaving a strip of skin exposed. It’s like she’s trying to kill me, standing there looking like every sailor’s wet dream. Like a mermaid figurehead on the prow of a ship—my ship. Bold, fearless, daring the seas to mess with us. Safeguarding the journey home.

Yeah, she looks good up there. Good enough to make me consider capsizing my own boat just to get her wet.

“Well, now I’m in charge,” she declares, her voice carrying over the wind. “I’m captain of the boat.”

I chuckle. “Better not let Skipper Magee hear you say that. He gets mighty upset when people wear his hat.”

She freezes. “What? This is Skipper Magee’s hat?”

“Aye,” I confirm, barely containing my laughter at her stricken expression.

She lets out a shriek and flings the hat off her head like it’s on fire. Only problem is, she overestimates the deck and the damn thing lands in the water.

“Gemma,” I say, though I’m more amused than angry. “He loves that hat.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I just meant to take it off! It’s just . . . gross!”

I stop the engine and fix her with a stern look, though I’m fighting back a grin. “Are you going to go in and get it?”

Her eyes widen comically. “What? Into the actual sea? Can’t I just buy the man a replacement?”

“His dearly departed sister bought him that one forty years ago,” I explain, laying it on thick. “Calls it his lucky charm—says it’s kept him from a watery grave on many an occasion.”

“Dammit,” she whimpers, and for a moment I feel a pang of guilt for teasing her.

I can’t keep up the act any longer, even if I wasn’t entirely fibbing about the old man’s superstitions.

Chuckling, I strip off my T-shirt, catching the way her eyes rake over my chest. “Relax, Gilligan. I’ll get it. Try not to crash the boat while I’m gone.”

“Are you going to be okay? Is that safe?”

“Probably not. If I’m not back in ten minutes, sell the company and name a charity after me.” I flash her a wink.

“Wait, seriously?” she squeaks. “Liam, don’t you dare—”

I plunge into the water before she can finish her sentence, the cold shocking my system. As I swim toward the bobbing hat, I can hear Gemma’s colorful curses floating over the water. The woman’s got a mouth on her when she’s not restraining herself.

I can’t remember the last time I felt this . . . light.

My fingers close around the waterlogged fabric of the hat, and I turn back toward the boat.

Gemma’s leaning over the railing, her fiery hair whipping in the wind, worry etched on her face. And fuck me if I don’t realize in that moment that I’d swim through a sea of hungry sharks just to see her smile again.

That’s definitely a complication. A complication that’s making my chest tighten in ways it shouldn’t.

I’m so distracted by the redhead waiting for me that I don’t notice the wave until it’s too late. It hits me hard, yanking the hat right out of my hand and into the water.

“Shit,” I mutter, diving under the surface after it. The current carries the thing away from me, and I power through the water, resisting the cold. I need to get this hat or the skipper won’t forgive me. Stubborn old bastard shouldn’t have left it on my boat if he cared that much, though.

After what feels like an eternity, my fingers finally close around the hat once more. I’m so close to the boat that I have to push away to avoid crashing into the hull.

I break through the surface on the other side of the boat, the water cascading off my body as I reach for the ladder. Gripping the rungs tightly, I pull myself up, to find Gemma’s back to me. She’s frantically pulling off her shoes, her top already discarded on the deck. What the hell is she doing? Is she planning to jump in after me?

Her breaths come fast and panicky. “No, no no,” she says, all shaky.

“Gemma,” I call out, striding toward her, my wet feet slapping against the deck. I grab her hips and she jumps—probably because my hands are freezing.

She whirls around, her eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears. “Liam,” she chokes out. “I thought . . . I couldn’t see you.”

I frown. “I got the hat,” I say, holding up the soggy thing. “It’s okay.” I didn’t mean to scare her, but the realization that she was genuinely worried about me slams into me harder than any wave could’ve.

She slams her palm against my chest, the sting of it barely registering through the chill of my skin. “I thought you were dead, you asshole. I . . .”

She takes a shuddering breath, and the raw emotion in her voice hits me like a punch to the gut. I stare at her, at the care and concern etched into every line of her beautiful face.

“Were you going to jump in after me?” I ask, my voice rough with disbelief.

“I couldn’t just leave you out there.”

I reach out to her, but she pushes me away with a ferocity that takes me by surprise. “Stop it. I’m furious with you right now. That wasn’t funny. You really scared me.”

“Hey,” I say softly, all the teasing gone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I lost the hat and had to dive under to get it back. I wasn’t thinking.” I wasn’t thinking about anything but you, I nearly add.

“Don’t. Ever. Do that again.” She bites her lip, as if she’s trying to physically hold back the flood of feelings.

And fuck me, but it makes me want to pull her close. Wrap my arms around her and promise her everything will be okay. That I’ll never hurt her, make her worry like that again. To promise her things I have no right promising. Things I’m not capable of delivering.

Instead, I say, “Okay, but do me a favor and tell me you’ll never jump into the ocean for me. Even if I’m dying. As it happens, I’m a strong swimmer.”

As we stare at each other, I feel it. The way something has fundamentally shifted. Something I can’t undo. This woman was ready to leap into the ocean for me, even though she’s clearly terrified of it.

I don’t deserve her worry or her affection. But now that I’ve got them, I don’t think I’m willing to let them go.

I thrust into her with a desperate urgency that takes even me by surprise. Her pussy feels amazing, squeezing and pulsing around my cock. I drive myself in and out, relishing the way she milks me for all I’m worth. Savoring her beautiful little breathy moans as her tits bounce against my chest.

Damn.

The boat rocks beneath us, matching the rhythm of our bodies. Our ragged breaths fill the air, mixing with the creaking of the wooden bed frame.

She was willing to jump into the fucking ocean for me.

She closes her eyes, her head tipping back in ecstasy. But I’m not having it. I need to see her, need to witness every flicker of emotion on that stunning face as we fuck. “I need to see those gorgeous green eyes when you come.”

I grab her wrists, pinning them above her head as her eyes fly open. I need to feel in control, even as I’m losing myself in her. The irony isn’t lost on me.

Our eyes lock. In those emerald depths, I see everything—her pleasure, her need, as desperate as my own.

I thrust into her harder, faster, like a man possessed. I have to consciously remember to hold my weight up so I don’t crush her, but fuck, it’s hard to think about anything but the feel of her around me, under me.

I’m chasing release, sure, but it’s more than that. I’m chasing something I can’t name, something I’ve never felt before. The slap of skin on skin echoes in the cabin, a primal rhythm punctuated by our gasps and moans.

My cock is insatiable, like it’s making up for years of watching Gemma strut around my office knowing I couldn’t have her. Every thrust feels like revenge for all the times she taunted me in her fitted dresses.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” I pant, feeling her muscles clench around me.

And as she comes, crying out my name over and over again like it’s the only word she knows, I follow her over the edge.

I stiffen and come hard inside her, making sure she takes every single drop of my hot seed.

My world narrows to just this moment, just us. On this boat.

Mine, my caveman brain roars. Mine. She’s fucking mine.

“Damn.” I breathe heavy against her cheek, my heart pounding like I’ve swum the Channel. That was more than a workout. That was . . . something else entirely.

But when I look at her, basking in our shared release, she looks almost mournful.

“I wish you were a real fisherman,” she says softly, still wrapped around me, her words catching me off guard.

I don’t answer her. I can’t. Because I’m not a real fisherman. I never will be. And for a moment, I resent her for making me want something I can never have.

“Tomorrow,” she sighs, “we go back to being HR Gemma and CEO Liam.”

“We do,” I agree, my voice rougher than I intend as I pull out of her.

And I probably need it. Another day on this boat with Gemma and I might just forget who I really am.