Page 17 of Off Limits Mogul

I’m sure I’d love the feel of them on my legs?—

Don’t go there.

As his speeding bullet emerges from the parking lot, I focus on the City of Angels. The city is buzzing with energy. Everywhere I look, people are all decked out in their Friday night best as they head to their favorite drinking hole to kick off the weekend.

“London is something else at night, but nothing compares to LA. Not even New York.”

“I agree,” Rhys says.

I spoke the words out loud?

I turn to him and smile.

He smiles back before changing gear.

On their own volition, my eyes drop to his hand.

I have to stop doing that.

“My arrival must be cutting into your Friday night entertainment,” I say.

“Hardly,” he says. “After being away for three weeks, I decided to stay late at the office to play catch-up. Once I called it a day, I headed to a private gentlemen’s club to hang out and shoot the breeze before driving to pick you up.”

“Hence the suit?”

“Hence the suit.”

“The suit suits you.”

“Eloquent.” He smiles before returning his focus to the road.

“I know, right? After what seems like a thirty-hour flight, I can still come up with a clever play on words.”

He laughs.

Even though my brain is yelling at me to look in front, my eyes are glued to the navy pants that fit him perfectly. The crisp white shirt and the tie with a cool pattern complete the sleek look.

There’s something about a man in a white shirt.

And then there are the kickass silver cufflinks…

So. Freaking. Hot.

I’ve been stalking him online to keep track of his milestones, so this isn’t the first time I’ve seen him looking like a bona fide businessman. In person, the suit porn effect is overwhelming. I was unprepared. I’m practically blinded by his hotness. Everything about him emanates power.

I squirm against the seat, seeking relief. When that doesn’t work, I cross my legs and squeeze them tight.

I catch Rhys staring for a brief moment before his gaze shifts to the road ahead.

What a man.

I still remember the teenage boy who used to solemnly promise one day he’d be successful enough to own a serious collection of top-of-the-line athletic shoes. The polished man sitting next to me can afford anything he wants.

Rhys combs a hand through his thick silky brown hair.

The years have been good to him.

His angular jaw is so decisively masculine. The 5 o’clock shadow is outrageously sexy. I like it on him. The long eyelashes framing his glacier-blue eyes still make me weak in the knees.