She narrows those defiant green eyes at me. “Why? Do you feel you deserve to be disciplined?”
“If memory serves, you weren’t complaining about my lack of discipline on Saturday night.”
Gemma’s cheeks flush. “I thought what happened on the island was supposedto stay there.”
“Touché.” My smirk widens, but the sight of Ollie approaching snaps me back to reality. The reality that I shouldn’t be flirting with my employee.
“I have another meeting incoming,” I state, rising to my feet. “I’ll send details about dinner.”
She nods and strides out. Watching her go, I feel unsettled.
Saturday was a day of firsts. I didn’t win the race, but for once, Whitmore didn’t look at me like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe. I’ve got Gemma to thank for that.
Sleeping with her wasn’t part of the plan. But seeing her away from the office, doing something I love . . . I let my guard down. I slipped up. Now I can’t seem to put that guard back up.
I’ve bedded plenty of women at the port before, ones who don’t know my bank balance or my name. Women looking for a fantasy with the brooding sailor, and I’m happy to oblige. It’s clean, simple. No strings attached.
But this? This is messy. It’s blurring lines I’ve kept sharp for years. Gemma’s not just some random woman I can fuck and forget. She’s my HR manager, for Christ’s sake.
That diary of hers opened Pandora’s box. Now I’m seeing her in a whole new light. Not just as the beautiful, no-nonsense HR manager who hires and fires for me. But as a woman with depth, with fire, with a mind that both challenges and intrigues me.
Now I’ve got to figure out what the hell I’m going to do about it.
Gemma
“Looks like the prime minister has arrived,” Lizzie announces, her nose practically glued to the window.
I roll my eyes but can’t ignore the nerves rippling in my stomach as I smooth down my shift dress one last time. I’m wearing one of my most sensible outfits. A shield so I can remember this is professional. A business dinner. Not “Fifty Shades of Sailboat: The Sequel.”
But who am I kidding? Ever since Liam suggested dinner yesterday, it’s all I’ve been able to think about.
“For the love of god, get away from the window and quit peering out like a nosy neighbor,” I hiss at Lizzie. “Now wish me luck,” I add, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.
“Good luck.” She grins wickedly. “If he made you squirt the first time, just imagine what’s going to happen this time around.”
“Elizabeth!” I scold, physically squirming as if the neighbors could somehow hear her outrageous comment. “It’s aworkthing. We’re discussingwork.”
“Work work work,” she mocks, cackling. “Yeah right, if you’re two porn stars.”
I roll my eyes and stride out the door before she can say anything else mortifying.
My stomach does a somersault when I see Liam waiting in the back seat of the car. I fully expected him to send a driver like last time, not show up in the flesh. It’s not a date, I remind myself sternly. A business dinner. With the man who’s seen me naked. And made me squirt. No big deal.
“You look beautiful,” he says when I slide into the car.
“Thank you,” I reply, trying to sound casual even as my heart skips a beat. “You look . . . very handsome yourself.”
Understatement of the century. He looks like a god, which is not helping mythis is justworkmantra.
He inclines his head slightly, the faintest hint of a smile playing at those full lips, acknowledging the compliment. Smug git.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“La Rocca,” he says, casual as you like, as if he’s just suggested we pop down to the local Greggs for a sausage roll.
“La Rocca? For a work meeting?” I splutter.
“It’s a work dinner,” he corrects, “at a restaurant that I happen to like.”
