Page 25 of Baby For My Ex's Brother

The rain is immediate, soaking through my blouse as I dash for cover, dragging my suitcase behind me. I can't shake off the tightness in my chest or the anxious flutter tickling my ribs. It's not just the weather—it's everything.

Or, if I’m being honest with myself… it's Liam.

I tossed and turned all night after getting back to my hotel room, angry at what I’d participated in, frustrated with Liam, and on fire from his touch. The way his fingertips had grazed my thigh under the table—the way he’d grabbed my elbow, commanded me to look at him.

I can’t get him out of my head, and it’s making me crazy.

Once I'm inside, the bustle of the airport wraps around me. The noise of departure boards clicking and distant announcements is a stark contrast to the muffled sounds of the storm outside. I weave through the crowd, keeping my head down.

I'm through security faster than I expected, probably because I packed light—too angry last night to care about options. But it's only as I adjust my bag on my shoulder that I notice the commotion up ahead.

"What do you mean canceled?" a man bellows, his face red and his veins popping.

He's not alone in his outrage. A steady stream of passengers drag their luggage away from the gates, faces twisted in irritation, spewing complaints about delays and cancellations.

"First the delay, now this? Unbelievable!" a woman snaps, her words stabbing the air as she yanks her carry-on behind her.

A knot forms in my throat. I edge closer to one of the departure screens, squinting at the flashing red text that spells out what I already know: FLIGHTS CANCELED DUE TO SEVERE WEATHER CONDITIONS.

Swallowing hard, I gulp down the anxiety that’s building in my chest. The possibility of being stuck here with Liam is not something I'd prepared for. That's when I hear his voice, that deep, commanding timbre that seems to carry over the chaos.

"Look, I need a flight out of here now, and it doesn't matter which one!" Liam's back is to me, a rigid line of tension visible even through his tailored suit jacket. His hand slams against thecounter, palm flat and fingers splayed—a physical punctuation to his demand.

"Sir, as I've explained," the gate agent replies, her voice strained but professional, "all flights are grounded until the storm passes. There's nothing we can do at this moment."

"Then find something we can do!" Liam’s words slice through the terminal, drawing disapproving glances from stranded passengers nearby.

"Sir, if you continue to raise your voice and threaten staff, I will have no choice but to call security." Her eyes flicker to the phone on the desk as if contemplating making good on her warning right then and there.

It's almost surreal, watching Liam—the man who controls courtrooms and bends multimillion-dollar deals to his will—being put in his place by an airline employee half his size. Given our current situation, it should be amusing, perhaps even a bit satisfying. But instead, all I feel is a sinking sensation in my stomach.

"Fine!" he snaps, turning sharply on his heel, and that's when his gaze locks onto mine.

Shit.

I do not want that energy directed at me.

He stalks toward me with determined strides, intent and unyielding, a man on a mission. My heart races, not entirely from fear of the brewing storm outside or the threat of a bumpy flight.

"Shiloh," he says, his voice clipped as if he's gritting his teeth against the situation—or maybe against having to deal with me. "We're renting a car."

I blink up at him. "Renting a car? Liam, what are you—"

"Flights are canceled," he interrupts, his tone brooking no argument. "Weather’s a mess, and I need to get back to Boston.We're driving." His jaw sets in that stubborn way it does when he's made up his mind.

"Driving? Liam, that's—"

"Look, Shiloh," he cuts me off again, his words sharp like the edge of ice. "I don't have time for this. I have meetings, commitments. I'm not going to sit around waiting for the skies to clear." There's an impatience in his stance, a ferocity in his eyes that tells me arguing would be futile.

"Okay," I say, even though a thousand questions pound against the inside of my skull. Why does he need to rush back so badly?

And more importantly, why do I feel the need to follow him, despite the fact that every fiber of my being is screaming that this is a bad idea—averybad idea?

"Isn't that too far?" I ask, trailing after him, my heels clicking loudly on the polished airport floor. The question feels stupid even as it leaves my lips—Boston is hours upon hours away by car, especially under the blanket of an unforgiving storm.

Liam doesn't slow his pace, doesn't even turn to look at me. "It's necessary," he says curtly, and there's something in his voice that tells me not to press further. His long strides are determined, carrying him with a purpose I find both infuriating and oddly compelling.

I can't stop him; that much is clear. Liam Nolan does what Liam Nolan wants, consequences be damned.

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