Page 33 of Off Limits Mogul

I was hoping the jetlag would keep her in bed much longer. I didn’t expect she’d be standing in my kitchen, staring at melike she wanted to eat me. There were so many emotions veiling her eyes. Each one of them tugging at my balls.

Was that lust?

Last night’s harshness and edge were replaced with fragility and vulnerability. I can handle that much better.

Keira insisted on preparing a breakfast of champions. Like I’m going to refuse pancakes and bacon. After picking up my car, we’re on the road. While I was doing my laps, I suggested she figure out the items she needs the most and pinpoint a few shops. We’re headed to the first address.

“You used the products I bought you,” I say.

The scent of the lavender permeates throughout the car. I remembered it’s her favorite scent, so I made sure to buy her a basket of bath products. I got her the expensive ones imported from Verona, Italy.

“Did I use too much?”

“Not at all. You smell… nice.”

She flashes me a wide grin. “That was great foresight on your part, Mr. Hartford.”

“It would be a shame for you to smell like me.”

“That could be misconstrued as a double entendre,” she says.

X-rated thoughts dance through my head.

Indeed, it could.

I hold her gaze a little longer than I should as I change gear.

I return my focus to the road.

“On a serious note, after rudimentary accommodations, a string of dingy bathrooms, and toilets that are nothing more than a hole in the ground, I feel as pampered as a queen at your place.”

My head rears back. “Holes in the ground?”

“Yup.”

“Even for women?”

“Yup. In Nepal, you don’t always get separate bathrooms for men and women, and since men can’t aim for shit, let’s just say I learned to hold it whenever I could.”

I laugh my head off.

The GPS announces we’re approaching the first address on her list, so I scan the streets for parking. It doesn’t take long for me to find a spot. We get out of the car and stroll side-by-side, glancing at the shops along the way. I’m not sure I’ve ever been in this neighborhood. It’s like playing tourist for the day.

We arrive in front of a chic boutique.

Keira points an eager finger. “We’re here.”

“French Applique´.” I furrow my brows. “What the hell?”

When she said she needed underwear, I figured I was going to end up in an awkward situation, but I thought I could handle it.

I’m ill-prepared for this.

If the salacious underwear on the mannequins in the window is any indication, I’m in real trouble.

You’re testing my resolve, God.

“At the monastery, we were expected to wear modest clothing and underwear, aka, boring, basic cotton. I’m so looking forward to buying super sexy combos.”