He catches my eye and smiles, all perfect teeth, as he jokes and chats with his team.
Abandoning Andy and Robbie to their dart game, I meander over toward the group of fresh-faced victors.
“Gemma,” Alastair greets me with a grin, his posh accent crisp as ever.
“Congratulations on the win today.” I smile.
“It was a close call,” he replies, his blue eyes twinkling. “Though I suspect Liam essentially handed us the victory by letting young Max take the helm at the end there.” He punctuates his statement with a conspiratorial wink.
I smile. “Liam simply felt bad for taking the win year after year. He thought it was only fair to give the rest of you a fighting chance this time around.”
Alastair chuckles, not buying my blatant bullshit for a second. “Is that so? I did notice your formidable boss was still lingering aboard his boat. He looked . . . displeased, let’s say.”
“I’m sure he’ll be making an appearance at the awards ceremony later,” I deflect breezily. “He’s probably just tying up some loose ends first.”
“You know, Gemma”—Alastair’s voice takes on a low tone—“my offer from the other week still stands. Why don’t you come by my office sometime for an informal chat? No pressure or anything.”
“I haven’t forgotten. I just need some more time to think it over.”
Alastair smiles, but there’s a glint of something harder in his eyes. “Of course. Take all the time you need. I’ll be here waiting patiently when you inevitably realize it’s the right choice for your career.”
He gets slapped on the back by some eager guy, and I take that as my cue to bail. I say my goodbyes and walk toward the pub’s broad front windows overlooking the moonlit marina beyond.
Sure enough, there’s a solitary light burning on Liam’s boat—the man himself nowhere to be seen. He’s probably down there alone, brooding over today’s events. The thought creates a strange tightness in my chest I don’t want to examine too closely.
Indigestion from chugging my wine too fast. That’s got to be it.
Definitely not a case of caring whether Liam is dealing with his frustrations in a healthy way. It must be a lonely life, needing to exert total control and dominance over every aspect of your world.
Against my better judgment, I find myself scanning the docks again, my heart doing a little flip-flop in my chest as I imagine Liam down there. Maybe I should . . . I don’t know, check on him or something equally ridiculous. Make sure he’s not putting a hole through that sailboat. Besides, he should be up here with the team, networking, maybe even trying to play nice with Alastair.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I slip out of the pub. I totter down the cobbled stones toward the port, my heels clicking. This is what Liam’s paying me for, after all—to help humanize him, to show his face and win some favor with the TLS guys.
With a deep exhale, I hoist myself over the railing of Liam’s boat, silently cursing as the tight fabric of my dress restricts mymovements. This was so much easier in those hideous yellow trousers and clunky sailing shoes. And without wine sloshing around in my belly.
And fuck me, there he is. At the top of the boat. With his naked back to me.
Liam, stripped to the waist, vigorously sanding something on the deck.
His arm and shoulder muscles flex and stretch hypnotically with each rough push and pull of the noisy power sander, his skin shimmering with a sheen of sweat that I swear I can smell from here. A heady mix of testosterone and ocean.
Wait a second . . . is he . . . is he seriously whistling a fucking sea shanty under his breath? It’s working for me. Like,reallyworking for me.
I can’t tear my eyes away from the mesmerizing play of muscles in his back, the way they bunch and release with each movement. So many muscles in that back, sweaty like he’s been oiled up for a photoshoot. Is it wrong that I want to lick the sweat off them?
Liam in a suit is hot, but fisherman Liam? That’s a whole different level of sexy.
I tilt my head slightly to the side, transfixed. I could watch him like this all night, my ovaries munching down on popcorn at the show.
I swallow hard, trying to ignore the way my body is reacting to his presence. It’s just physical attraction, right? A harmless office crush, nothing more.
As if sensing the weight of my horny stare boring into his back, Liam turns to face me head-on. Our eyes meet and lock, and I swear I feel a jolt of heat straight to my clit.
“What are you doing here?” He frowns. “You shouldn’t be wearing those on the boat.”
“What?” I say, my brain still stuck on the fact that Liam’s shirtless torso is even more glorious from the front. I saw his chest when I was pummeling it in the boxing ring, but I think it’s managed to get sexier since then.
“No heels on the boat,” he snaps gruffly, stalking toward me. “Take them off. Now.”
