You do not come into my considerations when I’m dressing for work, Mr. McLaren. Please control yourself and focus on the agenda or I’ll be forced to take it up with HR.
I don’t dare look at him, but I can hear him typing. Could we be any more obvious?
I can’t focus on anything else when you’re sitting there, looking like a fantasy come to life. I can’t wait to bend you over my boat tonight.
I squirm uncomfortably in my chair, trying in vain to ignore the way my body is instinctively reacting to his words, the vivid images they’re conjuring up in my mind. This is so beyond messed up—we can’t be sexting each other, for crying out loud.
This is hardly the time or place for this conversation. Behave yourself, Mr. McLaren.
“I’m sorry, am I boring you, Gemma?” Ollie snaps, glaring at me pointedly. Shit, I vaguely registered him talking in the background, but I was so distracted I hadn’t realized he was addressing me directly. Caught red-handed—or rather, red-facedin this case.
“Sorry, can you repeat that?” I ask.
I cringe inwardly. This is so unprofessional of me. This meeting that we are discussing is important, and I’m the one who will be leading it. I need to get my head back in the game.
He sighs, the sound dripping with disdain. “If you aren’t going to be bothered listening, I don’t know why we have you in these meetings at all. Perhaps you should go back to your little HR clinic instead.”
I glower at him. It was one bloody lapse in focus—as if he’s never zoned out during one of these discussions before.
But before I can defend myself, Liam’s voice cuts through, laced with undisguised wrath. “Watch your fucking mouth,” he snarls at Ollie. “Talk to her like that again and I’ll make damn sure you regret it.”
I freeze, mildly mortified.
The room goes so quiet you could hear a pin drop, everyone clearly stunned by Liam’s outburst. And I can’t blame them. This is so far outside his usual cool, detached demeanor.
“Sorry, boss,” Ollie says, properly cowed.
I glance over at Liam, my eyes drawn to his broad chest moving with his breaths as he glares at Ollie like he’s going to rip his throat out. Memories of his weight on top of me flash through my mind, hot and vivid.
I look away quickly, my face on fire. I can’t be thinking about that right now. Not when Ollie’s eyes are narrowing in suspicion, not when everyone in the room is looking at us.
I feel exposed, like Liam just ripped off a layer of my carefully constructed armor in front of everyone.
“Ollie, you say a lot in these meetings that I could certainly do without hearing,” I mutter, surprising myself with my blunt retort.
I instantly feel a flush creeping up my neck, mortified that I’ve allowed Liam’s uncharacteristic display of protectiveness to throw me off my professional game.
“That was unprofessional,” I mutter, backtracking. “I apologize.”
But the damage is done. The curious glances of my colleagues now dart between Liam and me, no doubt wondering what on earth is going on between us.
This sure doesn’t feel like we’re compartmentalizing anymore. It’s like we’ve forgotten how to act like boss and employee in front of others.
What we’re doing is supposed to be sexual, transactional. Hot, sweaty, and uncomplicated. But while the weekend was explosively passionate, a small part of me—growing bigger by the second—is concerned. Afraid, in fact.
As much as I’d love to convince myself that this is just physical for me, I can no longer deny it. It’s notjustsexual. I’m far too caught up in him, his presence far too overpowering. He’s bleeding into every corner of my thoughts, to the point where I find myself daydreaming about his handsome features during important interviews.
And that’s the terrifying part. Liam has always had too much power, but never over this aspect of me. Never over my heart. I never meant to give him that, but somehow, without me noticing, the ruthless bastard’s found a way in.
I trace a figure over the veins of his forearm, enjoying the warmth of his skin against mine. We’re lying together on his bed, the gentlerocking of the waves lulling me into a sense of peaceful relaxation. It’s been a blissfully lazy weekend filled with good seafood, coastal walks, and time out on the open water.
He bought me a wetsuit. What man buys a woman a wetsuit if it doesn’t mean something?
And I got to try it out. It’s almost as bad as the canary yellow sailing trousers. But I’d wear a potato sack if it meant more weekends like this.
Now it’s Sunday afternoon, and the impending Monday looms too quickly. I’m so content here, my head resting on Liam’s chest as it rises and falls with each breath. I run a finger over his nipple and he chuckles, gently grabbing my finger like I’ve tickled him.
I find myself staring at the little mermaid tattoo on his chest, with her long red hair cascading over the anchor.
