Page 29 of Off Limits Mogul

I try to find my bearings as I allow my gaze to travel around the large bedroom decorated with so much flair.

I can’t help but shake my head at my own idiocy.

I get up and walk to the large windows.

Dawn is long gone. The sun is shining in the sky.

LA is awake.

I let my sensitive eyes adjust to the light. The brightness is both a gift and a curse, as it enhances the throb in my head from the lack of sufficient sleep. As I soak in the warm rays, in the hopes of jolting my body into action, a thought pops into my head.

He can’t be mad at me if I cook him breakfast.

He used to love my pancakes.

Before his stormy exit last night, Rhys told me not to bother with the dishes, but I couldn’t help it. After stuffing the dishwasher and cleaning a spic and span kitchen, I know the lay of the land.

With a new mission to focus on, I step into my day.

I exit the bedroom and glance at his door, which is located across from mine. Our living arrangement is too close for comfort, but beggars can’t be choosers. Ironic, considering mybad behavior. Rhys’s door is closed, so I can’t tell if he’s up or not.

At least I won’t bump into him.

I tiptoe as quiet as a mouse to the spa-like bathroom, hoping the wood floor doesn’t creek under my steps. Once I’m behind the closed door, I exhale in relief. I pull the t-shirt Rhys gave me to make up for not having any pjs over my head and drop it to the floor. I look at it and shake my head, pushing away the thought that my naked body was touching something that touched his.

Sigh.

I brush my teeth and take care of business first. Once I’m done, I enter the massive white tile shower. I allow the water to wash away my sins. Five minutes later, the soothing streams from the rainfall showerhead have perked me up. Wrapped in a fluffy white towel, I head to the door. I open it, and peek right then left.

The coast is clear.

I emerge from the bathroom and rush to my bedroom undetected.

So far, so good.

Since the hotel lost my luggage, I only have one set of underwear. I washed it last night, but it’s still damp. I jump into the clothes I wore last night, commando.

Sigh.

I walk to the mirror and comb my fingers through my strands. The advantage of having short hair is I have nothing to fuss over.

Done.

I tiptoe down the stairs. When I reach the kitchen, I freeze.

Sweet baby Jesus.

I experience a full-body clench at the sight of a shirtlessand sweaty Rhys. His back is to me with his headphones around his ears. His body moves to the beat of a song I can’t hear while his hips swing from left to right in a deliberate sway.

I approve.

I’m quite partial to the little dance move and rejoice when he does it again by mock clapping.

He picks up the tempo when he does this cool hip hop move.

I join in by gyrating my hips, circling a hand over my head, pretending I’m riding Ginuwine’s pony.

‘Magic Mike’will never die, and from the looks of it, Rhys is auditioning for a part.