Chapter Two

Violet

I did not just ogle Lucas Carter’s hard-on.

Yes, I did. My face is still burning even though my unforgivable slip happened about three minutes ago. And much as I want to believe he didn’t notice, I saw the satisfied smirk on his face just before he left the room.

A mortified groan shudders through me as I wash the surprisingly clean workbench in the kitchen. There’s no chance I can sneak out of here before he returns, but it doesn’t stop me fantasizing about it.

Why couldn’t he have been a total wanker? It was way too hard being all detached and professional when he was helping to clear up the rubbish. Even though I try and hold his smirk against him, it’s not working.

That’s my own fault for eyeing his goods. He probably thinks I’m just playing hard to get.

He’s a player in every sense of the word, and I need to remember that.

By the time he strolls back into the room, I’ve managed to compose myself. No more sneaky peeks at his equipment. Luckily, his shorts hide everything there, and he’s also pulled on a white short-sleeved shirt, which would be helpful if he’d taken the time to button the damn thing up. As it is, he’s just hotter than ever.

He folds his arms on the back of the sofa I’m working on and leans over it, which is distracting when I’m trying to clean the white leather.

“Hey, Violet.” Why does he keep using my name? It sends a tingle down my spine and I so don’t need that. “Do you want a coffee? Or cup of tea?”

I could do with a stiff whiskey. “No, thank you.” I concentrate on the task at hand and refuse to give in to my weak desire to glance up at him.

“Have you been working at the cleaning agency for long?”

Why does he want to know that? It can’t be because he wants to lodge a complaint. I’ve been super polite. Anyway, he’s not behaving like he has a problem with the service. I give in, roll back on my knees, and catch his warm Mediterranean blue gaze. God, I loved his blue eyes when I was fifteen.

“For the last three years.” I hope that satisfies his curiosity. I’m not sure if he’s aware that Mum’s cousin is his agent, and I don’t want to accidentally say something I shouldn’t. On the other hand, I’m not going to lie, since it wouldn’t take him a minute to find out the truth.

“Full time?” The distracting flash of dimples that accompanies his inquisition should be illegal. If not for the way my ratbag ex, Geoff, totally played me by cheating with my best friend Monica, I’d be in serious danger of falling for Lucas’s sweet talk.

He’s only asking me about my work! Well, yep. And this just goes to show how much of a hermit I’ve been when it comes to chatting with guys during the last year.

While the logical thing to do is to tell him I don’t have time to gossip, there’s no way that will sound anything but rude, and I can’t let Mum and Bec down like that.

Yes, sure, that’s the only reason why I’m going to answer him.

“No, I’m just casual. I help out when needed.”

His forehead creases, which has the effect of making him sexier than ever. “Is this the first time you’ve been here?”

“Yes.” I decide it’s time to get the conversation on a more professional footing. “And I’m very sorry, but I’m afraid the contracted hours won’t cover a full clean this week.”

His lips twitch, as though he’s trying not to laugh which isn’t exactly the response I was angling for.

Wasn’t it?

“Sure,” he says, and to give him credit, he sounds sincere. “Just do whatever you can, no worries. I’m guessing the hours will have to be renegotiated once I’ve moved in?”

Yes, but definitely not by me. “That’s something you’d need to discuss with the partners.”

“Right then.” He straightens up. “Where’s the vacuum?”

Is he serious? “We’ve already had this conversation. Why don’t you go and,” I wave my arm in the vague direction of the kitchen, “have your breakfast or something?”

“Tell you what. Why don’t you leave the rest of this until tomorrow, and I’ll take you out for brunch now as an apology for the extra work?”

I clench the cleaning cloth and try not to hyperventilate. Did Lucas Carter just ask me out?

Yes, he did. Oh, my freaking God.

“That’s really not necessary.”

“I know. But I want to.”

His friendly smile reaches deep inside and turns my stomach warm and liquid, a phenomenon that hasn’t blighted my existence in over a year. Do. Not. Fall. For. It.

Great advice. I’m only annoyed that I have to remind myself of it.

“Not going to happen.” I shuffle across the floor on my knees and examine the priceless rug with determined concentration. It doesn’t stop me being hyperaware of Lucas’s gaze burning into my back.

“What about dinner tonight, then?”

I swing around, and he’s grinning at me as though this is all a great game to him. It probably is. It definitely is, but somehow that knowledge doesn’t stop the hot glow inside my chest.

Remember who he is, Vi. Like I’d ever forget.

“I’m sorry. That goes against company policy.”

“Your boss sounds fun.”

“Watch it. She’s my mum.”

“You help out your mum?” He sounds interested, but I’m suddenly not sure I should’ve told him that. Not that he couldn’t find out easily enough, and it’s not like it’s a big secret or anything. It’s just this contract is so important to Mum. I don’t want to stuff it up.

“I fit it in between my other jobs and college work.”

“What’re you studying?”

Wait, this conversation is veering into the kinds of thing you share on a date. Trouble is, I think I started it with the whole working for my mum comment.

Who knew Lucas Carter would be so easy to talk to? And asking stuff about me instead of it being all about him?

Not every guy is like Geoff. And I really need to stop imagining there’s more to this than there is, which is Lucas passing the time flirting with his cleaning girl.

That brings me back down to earth superfast.

“Interior Design.” I give him a polite smile and back the hell off. Although I know it’s time I started to get back out there on the dating scene, practicing my rusty flirtation techniques with a football superstar is the worst idea ever.

The door swings open, which is a bit of a shock as I didn’t think anyone else was here. I only just stop myself from gaping when the supermodel, Yolanda, strolls in, wearing an ankle length robe that looks like it’s made from gossamer.

They really are dating, then? I’d thought it was all a smokescreen for when they were between partners. Not that I follow what Lucas Carter gets up to, but it’s hard to avoid, since he’s in every magazine and gossip column you can think of.

And he just asked me out. Twice.

Scumbag.

“Hey.” She strolls across the room, looking like she’s on the catwalk, before she catches sight of me. Her famous smile doesn’t falter for a heartbeat. “Hello.”

I stand, not that it helps with the whole confidence thing, since both of them top six feet and I’m barely five-foot-three, but it’s better than gawking up at them from my knees.

“Hello.” I even manage a smile, despite having the murderous urge to punch Lucas on the nose. I guess she knows exactly what he’s like. Maybe they have one of those friends-with-benefits arrangements where they’re both perfectly fine with an open relationship when they’re together, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.

Get over yourself, Violet. Lucas was just casually flirting because, next to kicking a ball around a pitch, that’s what he does best. It’s my own fault for thinking—even for a nanosecond—that he might’ve actually wanted to spend quality time with me. Guys like him don’t believe in fidelity. It’s a good job I wasn’t even remotely tempted to take him up on his offer to go to brunch.

Or dinner.

“This is my mate, Yolanda,” Lucas says, as though she isn’t the face of Izabelle, and on billboards in every major city across Europe. “Yolanda, this is Violet Henderson, who’s clearing up the shit those arseholes left last night.”

“God, they’re feral,” she says. “I was going to call my agent to get someone to come round and clean up this morning. You beat me to it.” She turns to me. “Lovely to meet you, Violet. Don’t be put off by the mess. Lucas is pretty much house trained on the whole.”

“Of course, he is.” The comment slips out before I can stop it, and although the words themselves aren’t derogatory, I have the terrible certainty my tone conveys exactly what I think of him.

Before I can backtrack and try and salvage this contract, she laughs. “Yeah, okay, well, I had to try. Sorry, Lucas, your reputation wins out yet again.” She gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder before making her way to the kitchen, and I avoid all eye contact and go to retrieve the vacuum. The sooner I’ve got this room sorted out, the better.

“That’s harsh.” Not that he sounds offended, and I can’t help glancing at him. He shoots me a heart-stopping smile that I manage to ignore. “My rep isn’t me.”

“Jesus, Lucas.” Yolanda leans over the workbench, and I grip the vacuum. Here it comes. “You don’t have anything. No coffee, not even a teabag. I’m dying here.”

Right. Not what I was expecting. I dart a glance between them. He introduced her as his mate, and not in the David Attenborough sense, either. Are they really just friends?

As Lucas sighs and joins her in the kitchen, I feel kind of bad about my uncharitable thoughts toward him just now. Not that it really makes any difference. There was never a chance in hell that I was going to accept his offer to go out with him.

…

Lucas

An hour later, Yolanda and I are sitting outside a coffee house in one of the back streets of Hampstead Village. The road is narrow and pedestrianized, with cracked paving slabs, and baskets of flowers hang above the shop windows.

Not my usual scene at all, but it’s kind of peaceful.

Yolanda sits opposite me, wearing her trademark enormous black sunglasses and massive sunhat, which manage to completely hide her face. She takes a sip of her espresso before letting out a long sigh. “Better.”

A couple of girls stroll along the road and do a double take when they see me. From pure reflex I give them a smile, which makes them clutch each other’s arms and giggle. It’s a relief when they don’t stop by our table and ask to take a few selfies, and I shift position so I’m angled toward the coffee house instead of the ambling pedestrians and adjust my cap for some anonymity.

“I can’t believe Violet Henderson is the only girl who’s ever said no to you.”

“First one in seven years.” I throw Yolanda a mocking grin because it is kind of funny. I’m under no delusion as to why girls want to go out with me. It’s all about being seen and going to the right places, but hey, I’m down for that. It’s all part of the deal, and it’s not like I don’t get plenty of action in return.

“Oh my God.” Even though I can’t see her eyes, I know she’s rolling them dramatically. “So now she’s become a challenge, is that it?”

“No.” Even though she declined my third offer to take her out, this time for a coffee with Yolanda and me, in favor of vacuuming the room like her life depended on it, I still get the vibe her refusals are more of a front than anything else.

She deflected, and I want to find out why.

“Maybe she just isn’t interested. Did that cross your mind?”

“I need a new angle.”

“You need a new hobby.”

“No.” A brainwave hits. Violet told me it went against company policy to accept a date with me, and I thought she was joking. Maybe she wasn’t? Especially with the family connection. “What I need is an interior designer to work on my apartment.”

“I’m not seeing the connection.”

“She’s studying interior design. I could hire her services.”

“Desperado.” Yolanda smirks before draining her espresso. “Bet you ten quid she turns down the commission.”

“You’re supposed to be my mate.”

“I’m saving you from being a prat.” She glances at her watch. “Anyway, I have to dash. Got that shoot for the new Izabelle perfume this afternoon.”

“Catch you later.” We kiss each other’s cheek, and she strolls along the road, not that I can sit here for much longer.

Four years ago, my teammate Jax and I set up the Rainbow Star Foundation to help grant wishes to sick kids and raise money for children’s charities. Our high profiles ensure many celebrities are happy to pitch in, and while it’s no secret we’re heavily involved in the foundation, not many people are aware we’re the ones behind it. I can’t work in a lab to fight deadly disease the way my mum did, but at least I can help fund the research.

In an hour, Jax and I are visiting Toby, one of the first kids our foundation helped. He was only eight and battling leukemia, and his biggest wish was to meet Jax and me. He’s a great kid, and we kept in contact over the years and always drop in to wish him happy birthday.

And this afternoon I have another physio appointment.

I straighten my leg and my knee twinges, but I was lucky. The reconstruction surgery five months ago went without any complications, and in another six weeks, barring no unforeseen glitch, I’ll be back on the bench.

Not United’s bench, though. A month ago, one of the biggest clubs in Spain made an offer for me. Negotiations are still being thrashed out between my agent and the clubs, and until I sign on the dotted line, I’ve been sworn to secrecy.

I’ve been with United since I was seventeen, and I love the club, but it’s time to stretch myself and move on. As long as my knee doesn’t let me down.

The prognosis is good, everything’s textbook, but until I’m officially given the all clear, there are no certainties. I suck in a deep breath and ignore the slither of panic coiling in my gut.

Focus on the positives.

Coming from an academically brilliant family like mine, discovering something that I excelled at was a lifesaver. This career won’t last forever, and I’m fine with that, but I don’t want it cut prematurely short due to injury.

Because what the hell would I have left?