Love to Loathe Him: A Billionaire Office Romance
Love to Loathe Him: Chapter 24

The thud on the deck pulls me out of my book. What the hell?

I toss my book aside, frowning. I can’t remember the last time I had trouble sleeping on my boat. Out here on the water is the one place where I can finally find some peace.

But tonight? Sleep eludes me, my mind churning with thoughts I can’t seem to quiet.

Another soft thump from above.

I slide out of bed, my muscles readying for a fight. I don’t take kindly to intruders, especially not on my boat. It’s not the skipper. I know exactly where he is, and it’s not here.

I don’t bother getting dressed, just grab the wooden boat hook propped in the corner. Wouldn’t be the first time some drunken assholes tried to start shit, thinking they could catch me off guard. Got the police called on me last time for beating the fucker senseless. Now I’ve got a zero-tolerance policy—you come on my boat uninvited, you deal with the consequences.

Whoever’s up there is about to get a rude awakening.

My fingers flex around the smooth handle as I make my way silently up the stairs to the deck.

Halfway up, I freeze. There’s a pair of jeans crumpled on the steps. Sure as hell not mine. What the actual fuck?

At the top, a T-shirt. I snatch it up, breathe in deep. The scent slams into me, sets my heart pounding for an entirely different reason.

A few more steps and there’s a lacy bra hanging off the ropes. Fucking hell.

Anticipation coils tight in my gut as I emerge onto the moonlit deck, my eyes scanning for—

“Gemma?” I rasp, my voice rough with disbelief.

“I’m here.”

I turn. I’m not sure which of us is more shocked. She lets out a startled yelp, her wide eyes darting from the boat hook in my hand to my exposed cock.

My jaw clenches as I take in her outfit—or lack thereof. She’s lounging on the deck wearing nothing but a tiny scrap of a thong and my sailing jacket, hanging open to reveal the tantalizing curve of her breasts.

My fist tightens around the wood so hard I’m going to get splinters.

“Jesus, Liam!” she cries, scrambling to her feet. “Were you planning to brain me with that thing?”

I let out a rough chuckle, equal parts startled and flustered.

“No,” I murmur, letting the wooden rod clatter to the deck as I drink her in, my gaze devouring every inch of her. It’s the middle of the night in the English sea, and my cock is already rock hard just from looking at her.

“Hi,” I say.

She shivers, and I know it’s not from the cold.

“Hi yourself,” she replies, a hint of nervousness in her tone now that I’m openly staring at her body.

“Gemma. You are full of surprises.”

“It’s Ginger.”

“Ginger.” I smirk, but it fades to a frown. “Did you walk down here alone?” My eyes narrow as I take her in, wondering if this is some fevered dream conjured up by my oversexed mind.

She tugs at the jacket but doesn’t close it. “Obviously. I didn’t bring the whole team down for a peep show.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Disapproval has my hands clenching into fists. “It’s dangerous. Wandering around alone at this hour. Anything could have happened to you.”

She bristles. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” I breathe, the word coming out harsher than I intended. “I definitely do not want you to leave.”

“Good.”

I swallow hard, my eyes locked on hers as I take a step forward. “You’re shivering. Let’s get you below deck.” I pause, the weight of what’s about to happen settling between us. “If we do this, I need you to understand something. I want you. Badly. But what happens on this boat tonight . . . it stays here. Tonight, we are whatever we want to be, but then it ends. I need to know I have your consent on that.”

She nods, her voice soft but steady as she says, “Ginger only wants fisherman Liam.”

I close the distance between us, my thumb grazing her lower lip. “Then that’s who you’ll get.”

I push a hand into my sailing jacket, feeling her soft skin beneath my palm. Her breath hitches and she moans softly as I run my thumb over her nipple.

My hard cock brushes against her stomach, and hell, I have to get her downstairs before I take her on the deck, not caring if the entire port can see.

I hoist her over my shoulder, ignoring her surprised yelps as I carry her down the stairs.

“If you want fisherman Liam,” I growl, “you’re going to get him. Every fucking inch.”