My toes touched a warm leg.

I caught my breath, pulling my foot back mid-stretch and cracking my eyes open. Before my shoulders could freeze up with tension, though, it came flooding back to me.

I was in Gideon’s bed.

A shudder of excitement -- this was my life? -- passed through me before I drew a deep breath to settle myself again.

Gideon had once seemed like a superstar idol I might bump into on the street one day, but now we were sharing a bed.

And his image was perfectly made up online, in all his Instagram photos, but he was far more beautiful in natural little moments such as these. The white sheets were tangled just under his shoulder blades, but his upper back and shoulders were strong and smooth. His eyes closed, lips parted for breath, hair in his eyes, he looked contented.

Best of all, in his sleep, sometimes he smiled.

What was I doing sleeping with the CEO of the whole damn agency? People had to know by now -- had to have talked. Surely someone had noticed us leaving one after another, or that I was absent from my room last night.

All it took was one model spotting something, and the rumors would fly.

I shook myself out of it after a moment, sitting up slowly and pushing my own hair back out of my eyes. It was a strange feeling to be waking after the first morning light touched our curtains, not at four-thirty with the panic that I’d slept in somehow.

“Mmmph.” Gideon’s sleepy noise was muffled by his arm as he yawned into his elbow, then turned to gaze at me through sleep-heavy eyes.

The passionate sex last night was still on my mind, but I offered a smile instead of a good morning kiss. We didn’t seem to be at that stage yet -- or ever, I quickly reminded myself. From what I’d heard, Gideon was no more a fan of relationships than I was.

“How’d you sleep?” I asked.

He yawned again, sitting up straight and rubbing his face. “Great.” His voice was rough with sleep. “You?”

“Like a log.”

He chuckled, his voice catching before he cleared his throat. He slipped out of bed, still naked.

This time, I turned my gaze away for a moment. “Still want to go out to London today?”

“Do you?”

I really did. I was sure that now that I was getting work, someone would fly me out to London again, but this was my first time here. I wanted to see a bit of the city. “If you wouldn’t mind,” I answered.

Gideon nodded. “Done. You better get changed. Meet me at the tube station entrance in half an hour.”

Only half an hour to get down to my room and get changed and ready? I was up like a shot, patting down the bed for my clothes. Oh yeah, and I had to return the jeans I was wiggling into…

“Okay,” I answered, raising my hand in a quick wave. Once I had shoes and socks on, I strode out of Gideon’s room and took the staircase down a couple floors to my own floor.

Nobody caught me in the hallway, mercifully. As I slipped into my room, I grinned to myself.

It was a postage stamp compared to Gideon’s suite, but at least we hadn’t had to double up and share rooms. That would have sucked, especially with the hookups some of the guys took home every night.

I picked quickly through my bag to choose one of my own outfits -- just simple skinny chinos, a collared shirt and matching tie, and a cowl neck sweater to layer under my winter jacket. March wasn’t the warmest month in either New York City or London.

After dropping off the last of my clothes and accepting my praise and congratulations for representing the brand at the after-party the previous night, I strode briskly out of the hotel lobby.

The tube station was just next door, so it took me just a couple minutes to make my way into the mezzanine and spot Gideon.

He always looked so professional. He usually dressed in elegant and expensive suits. This time, he’d dressed down a suit jacket with dark jeans. He looked more like your average hot, young, rich guy.

I grinned and raised a hand. “Hey. Ready to go?”

“I’m ready. Here, take this.” He passed me an Oyster card, and I nodded my thanks. I followed his lead to step through the stiles, then followed him down the tiled hallway toward London’s version of the subway.

It wasn’t totally unfamiliar to me, but there were a few interesting differences: the names of the lines, for one, and how clean the stations looked in comparison to my usual city haunts.

On the other hand, the fabric seats of the train, once we stepped onto it, made me wrinkle my nose and choose to stay standing. “How long is the trip?”

Gideon looked amused, like he’d noticed my moment of reluctance to touch the germ magnets that were this train’s seats. “Ten minutes.”

I had been certain he would act like a pickpocket magnet, what with the way he looked like the most important guy in the room wherever he was. Here, though, he was much more casual, gripping the same pole just under my hand.

Our wrists brushed whenever the train lurched.

I shivered, closing my hand around the Oyster card in my pocket until the plastic edges dug into my fingers. Act like friends, I reminded myself in order to resist the urge to deliberately step a little closer.

Gideon’s gaze wandered over the carriage, so I looked away to scan the maps. That was a nice touch -- maps over the seats showing the lines, even if I had no fucking idea where they were in relation to anything else on the map.

It only took a few minutes of squinting before I matched up the stations we were passing with those on the map.

“Not a bad system here,” I commented, breaking the silence between me and Gideon.

He kept his voice soft as he answered, “It’s rather popular with millions of people.” His eyes twinkled. “Most of whom speak quietly on the tube.”

I blushed. Yeah, so I was a little American, but I couldn’t help that. I shifted my stance, catching a couple guys near the end of the carriage watching me.

Did people recognize me? Or Gideon?

I stood a little straighter, following him out when our stop was announced.