We say our goodbyes, and by the time I hang the phone up, I’m squirming beneath the weight of this man’s stare. He’s stripped out of his outdoor gear to reveal a faded denim shirt pushed to his elbows. Those jeans he wears the hell out of are far too easy to appreciate up close. Lucas Rhodes has reached his forties, but is the epitome of a man who could easily pass for much younger than that. It’s only the dusting of gray at his temples, the salt and pepper beard, matched with a sexy white streak that has always curled through the front of his disheveled hair that belies his age.
