The doors rolled open, and standing in the corridor before us in full workout gear and with large headphones hanging from his neck was Simon. Even without an accompanying entourage or screaming fans, he was remarkable. Tan and blond and athletic with deep blue eyes and razor-sharp cheekbones. If Hayes was swagger, and Oliver was dandy, and Rory was the bad boy, then Simon Ludlow was definitely the David Beckham one.
“Hey.” He appeared to recognize me, extending a strapping arm to hold the doors as Trevor filed out with my bags. “You just getting in?”
“Yeah. Red-eye.”
“Ooo, brutal. Sorry.”
“Are you not in the studio today?” I asked.
“They don’t need me until eleven. I’m heading down to the gym.” This he directed at Trevor. “I’m meeting Joss there. It should be fine.”
Joss, Hayes had told me, was one of their trainers.
“Ring me if anything comes up,” Trevor said.
“Will do.”
Simon was only a couple of inches shorter than Hayes, but broader and clearly capable. It seemed bizarre to me that these guys would need bodyguards. As if a slew of thirteen-year-olds lying in wait could conceivably overwhelm them. But then I recalledthat morning at the Four Seasons and the terror I’d felt; perhaps it was possible.
He stood in the frame of the elevator doors for a moment longer, as if he were trying to remember something. “How’s your daughter?” he said, finally.
“She’s fine. Thanks.”
“Good.” He smiled. “Good. Right. Have fun in the Hamptons.”
“Have fun in Miami.”
“Oh”—his smile widened—“we will.”
I wasted no time showering and climbing into Hayes’s unmade bed. Left on the pillow, on hotel stationery, was a handwritten note:
Sorry I’m not there to greet you. Feel free to keep my bed warm. Back after 1.—H.
His penmanship was surprisingly neat. All that posh schooling. Perhaps it had been spanked into him. I smiled at the thought and curled up in the linens, reveling in the smell of his sheets, his pillow, his life.
It was the feel of him that awoke me. The inexplicable sense that the atoms of the room had rearranged themselves somehow. For a moment I was not sure where I was or how long I’d been sleeping, but finding him there, seated at the foot of the bed, watching me, filled me with such an intense happiness I was immediately fearful of it.
“Hi.” He smiled. “Nice nap?” His hair was standing on end, his youthful skin poreless in the soft blue light of the room. And I was once again overcome by his beauty.
I nodded. “You have a very nice bed.”
“It’s much nicer with you in it.”
“That’s what all the boys say.”
“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “And what about the girls?”
I laughed at that. “There haven’t been too many girls.”
“Pity. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“I think it’s too early for this conversation.”
“Too early in the day or too early in our relationship?”
“Both.”
He glanced down at his watch, one of the preferred TAG Heuers. Masculine, mature. “All right, that’s fair.”
