When I don’t move to accept the gloves, he takes my wrist and slips one on, tightening the laces with practiced ease.
“Let me get this straight,” I say slowly. “You want me to . . . hit you?”
“Now’s your chance. You won’t get this opportunity again.”
He slides on the other glove and cinches it snugly, his fingers brushing against my skin. My pulse is thundering in my ears as the weight of the gloves registers.
“We don’t have time for whatever game this is,” I protest weakly. “This is absurd.”
“You don’t want to?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Because it seems like you do.”
I swallow hard, mouth dry as I gaze at his toned form. “I do,” I admit in a strangled whisper.
He puts his hands up, his stance relaxed, almost taunting. “Then do your worst.”
I stare at his rock-hard six-pack, my tongue darting out to wet my suddenly dry lips. Then, before I can overthink it, I pull my fist back and punch him square in the stomach, putting every ounce of frustration behind the blow.
And the insufferable bastard chuckles.
“It didn’t even move,” I cry in disbelief as my fist bounces off those abs with barely a ripple.
“Is that all you’ve got for me, Gemma?” he taunts silkily. “I thought you were supposed to be angry with me.”
Gritting my teeth, I rear back and punch him again even harder, channeling every scrap of confusing, lust-fueled anger into the strike. But his stomach remains unyielding, the muscles not even quivering under the force of my assault.
It’s like I’m caressing him with a feather instead of pummeling him with all my strength. How is that even possible? What is he made of, fucking steel?
The arrogant prick smirks at me lazily, his breathing even and controlled. It’s infuriating . . . humiliating . . . and, to my dismay, making heat rush straight to my core.
“Come on, you can do better than that,” he goads. “Put some real force behind it. Show me what you’ve got.”
Fine. If he wants me to bring it, I’ll fucking bring it.
I stare him straight in the eyes. But instead of aiming for his unbreakable abs again, I change trajectory at the last second, my fist lashing out to connect with his stubborn jawline in a vicious crack.
He’s not expecting it, his head snapping to the side with the force of the blow. He curses under his breath, rubbing his jaw, his eyes flashing with something dark and dangerous.
I look at him in horror, my heart pounding in my chest. I’ve gone too far. I’ve crossed a line, and now he’s going to—
“Feel better now?” Liam’s rough voice breaks into my panicked thoughts, his expression unreadable.
“A little.”
“Good.” In one smooth motion, he reaches out and begins deftly unlacing the boxing gloves from my trembling hands. “I’ll meet you in the conference room in ten minutes.”
And with that, he winks, turns on his heel, and walks away, leaving me standing there in the middle of the empty gym. My heart is pounding, my skin is flushed and tingling with a heady mixture of fear and arousal . . . and my mind is reeling.
Holy shit. What the hell just happened?
Did I really punch my boss in the jaw?
For the rest of the day, I’m stuck beside him in interviews, watching him rub the spot I decked. Every time his fingers graze the spot, it sends a jolt through me. I don’t think it hurt him; he’s just reminding me of what I did like a naughty little secret between us.
CHAPTER 19
Gemma
It’s been a weeksince I introduced Liam’s jaw to my fist—a moment I’ll cherish forever. Sure, HR frowns upon violence in the workplace, but come on, the man had it coming.
