Page 48 of Baby For My Ex's Brother

Still grasping her hand, I pull over a notepad from the corner of the desk, all while keeping her trapped in my gaze. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, so close to my face that I can almost taste the sweet skin I had my lips on just hours ago.

"Let's make one thing clear," I say, the pad now under my free hand. I grab a pen now, not breaking eye contact. "This—us—it's inevitable. Always has been.”

“So we’re…” I see the ghost of a smile on her lips and feel a surge of satisfaction. Yes. Yes, she wants this as much as I do. “We’re a thing?”

"That’s one way to put it," I chuckle. "Doesn’t change the fact that tonight, we're going to be together again."

I jot down an address on the top sheet of the notepad, the pen scratching in quick, sure strokes. Ripping the paper from the pad, I hold it out to her without releasing her hand. "Be there at nine p.m. No questions asked."

Her eyes widen just a fraction, a silent question flickering in their depths before she squashes it. She knows better than to ask; this is a command, not a request.

"And Shiloh," I say, my voice dropping an octave as I lean in closer, so close that our breaths mingle. "Wear something nice. I want to take it off you slowly."

Her breath hitches, and I can tell she's caught in the web of desire we've spun around each other. With a final squeeze of her hand, I press the piece of paper into her palm, the rough texture contrasting with her soft skin.

She nods, a quick, jerky movement that betrays her nerves.

"Okay," she whispers, and then she's turning, a whirl of blonde hair and slender limbs, making for the door like it's her lifeline.

"Shiloh," I call out, a smirk tugging at my lips. She stops dead in her tracks, her back to me, stiff as a board.

"You forgot something," I remind her, gesturing to the file on my desk with a tilt of my head.

With a sharp intake of breath, she turns, and I can see her mentally brace herself as she walks back towards me. It's clear she's trying to keep her composure, but the way she leans over the desk to grab the file, offering me a view that sends heat coursing through my veins, tells me all I need to know about her true state of mind.

Her hand trembles slightly as she reaches for the folder, and I can't resist.

I lean forward, my voice low and steady. "I can’t wait to taste you again."

The color rises to her cheeks, a beautiful flush that I'm determined to see spread across her whole body later tonight. Shiloh straightens up, clutching the file to her chest, and I swear I can almost hear the rapid pounding of her heart.

"Nine p.m., don't be late," I say, letting each word hang between us, heavy with promise.

"Understood." Her voice is barely above a whisper, but it's music to my ears.

As she hurries out of my office, I lean back in my chair, allowing myself a moment of smug satisfaction. Shiloh might act like she’s running away, but we both know she'll come back to me—she always does.

And tonight, I intend to remind her why.

Chapter twenty

Shiloh

My whole life isstill in boxes, my wardrobe haphazardly shoved into one of said boxes… and I have to find something nice to wear.

Shit.

After a solid hour of looking for clothes, I slip into my long-sleeved white mini-dress, a chic little number that's the crown jewel of my modest wardrobe. It hugs my curves in all the right places, flaring just above the knee.

My reflection in the mirror nods back at me—innocence wrapped in cotton rather than the sultry siren I had hoped to channel tonight. The pink lipstick glides over my lips, leaving behind a faint blush rather than a bold statement.

"Could've used something with a bit more... oomph," I mutter to myself, scrutinizing the girl staring back at me.

But there's no time for regrets; I’m due for my date (or at least, I think that’s what it is?) with Liam.

With a deep breath, I grab my purse and head out the door. Eight o'clock on the dot, I'm in the back of a cab, fidgeting withthe hem of my dress as the city flies by. The address Liam gave me is saved on my phone, the glowing numbers a lifeline to my churning stomach.

When the taxi pulls up to Le Noblesse, I'm convinced there's been some mistake. This place, with its valet parking and patrons dressed like they've stepped off a fashion runway, can't be where Liam intends to have dinner with his secretary.

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