Mogul Read Online Books by Katy Evans

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)

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Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Katy Evans

Book Information:

A brand new contemporary romance from New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author Katy Evans.
He's my most delicious secret. The hot Suit I had a one-night stand with one evening. I didn't know anything about him, not even his name.
Only that we shared a taxi, and he was staying at the hotel where I worked. We met in room 1103. Where he commanded not only my body but my soul. The next day he was gone and I only had a memory of him.
I could still taste his kisses, feel his demanding touch. I searched for him for months. Daydreaming about him. Wondering if I'd ever find him.
Until the day I find myself staring face to face with his jeweled black eyes again. He says lets keep it casual, and my heart knows that falling for this workaholic in a three-thousand-dollar suit is off the table. Because he has a secret. One that's a deal breaker for me.
My Suit has a name. Ian Ford. And this is our story.
*This book is connected to Tycoon, but it can also be read as standalone.
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Katy Evans Books

ROOM 1103


“Four Seasons concierge, this is Sara speaking.”

“Sara, this is the gentleman from room 1103.”

“Oh, yes. How can I help you, sir?”

“I’d like your panties in a little wad in my pocket and you thrashing in my bed.”

Blush. “Right away, sir.”

“Sara, did you manage to get those tickets for Hamilton?”

“Yes, I sent them over,” I tell my coworker Viktor as I lower my head to keep him from seeing how flushed I got after the phone call. Keeping my loose hair falling in a curtain over the sides of my face, I log out of my computer and grab my cell phone. “I need to take something to one of our guests and am stopping at the ladies’. Be right back,” I tell him.

I step out from behind the concierge desk in the lobby, already starting to perspire from what I’m about to do. I head to the restrooms and hurry into a stall, lock myself in, and take off my panties. I wad them up in a tiny ball.

“Damn!” I have no pockets to stash them in.

I grit my teeth and slide them back on, then I head outside and wait until the elevator bank is empty so that I can ride upstairs alone.

At the last minute, a guest joins me in the elevator. “Good evening,” she says.

“Good evening, ma’am,” I say.

Sara, what are you doing?!

I can’t believe I’m riding the elevator up to his room. Every floor my heart pounds harder and harder. And when the woman steps out, I can barely suppress my excitement. My whole body trembles with adrenaline and desire as the elevator doors close, and I slip my hands beneath my skirt and take off my panties again. I wad them in my palm and stare anxiously as the floor numbers keep creeping upward.

If I’m honest with myself, I will admit that my body hasn’t felt normal since I met him. It hasn’t felt at peace. Oh no, it’s felt sort of shivery, a little too warm, and a little too amped up with female sex hormones.

I arrive at his floor, step out, and walk toward room 1103. I knock twice and then wait, glancing around in paranoia of getting caught.

The door opens—and tall, dark, and decadent stands on the other side—and I’m absolutely breathless.

The kind of breathless you get when you’re at the top of a rollercoaster about to dive down—when no matter how much you want to breathe, you can’t. Not really. Only to let out a scream—if you can find your voice at all. It’s an odd, uncomfortable feeling, but there’s something about this guy that has been pushing all my buttons.

The button that says: I haven’t had sex in a while.

The button that says: I like unavailable men even though I don’t want to.

The button that says: I think men in suits are hot.

The button that says: When I meet a guy that makes me feel fireworks, I’m not going to be a pussy about it and run away. No! I’m going to light up a match and see how high the flames can go.

And so here I am, staring at a hotel guest, unaware of his name—not that it’s important. The room is booked under a Californian corporation. They regularly send executives here, but this is the first time that I’ve seen this particular executive.

The first time I’m lighting that “match.”

For some reason, it’s easy. It’s so easy that I can’t believe how quickly I blew off work when he called and asked for me, and how fucking eager I am to drop my panties in his pocket.

I smile up at him as I brush past his shoulder and let myself into his room. He grabs my wrist to halt me, tugging me around to face him. The surprised breath that surfaces gets caught in my throat. He looks down at me, slowly shutting the door with his other hand.

The guy looks gorgeous in a suit. He looks just as gorgeous without the suit jacket, in only slacks and a white shirt. So what? A lot of men look great in suits.

But this one makes my heart pound so hard that I can’t stop feeling it in my rib cage.

This guy is supernova. And his whole look screams workaholic. Now Hot Workaholic’s eyes land on the pulse at my throat, and he raises his arm and curls his hand around my neck, stroking my pulse point with his thumb.

“Are you turned on already, Sara?” he asks.

His face is a little arrogant, his expression reserved, revealing nothing. His shoulders are wide and proud, the kind of shoulders that can hoist you up all day. His lashes are prettier than a girl’s. Not that I’m jealous or anything.

There’s pure inky blackness in his eyes.

As black as his hair.

His features could not be more symmetrical or captivating.