Page 1 of Once Upon A Player
Chapter One
Violet
Who has a party on a Thursday night?
I pull off my work jacket and drape it over a clean section of the nearest sofa as I survey the disgusting mess before me. It’ll take me hours just to clean this room before I can even start on the rest of the place. And if every room is in the same state, I’ll be here all bloodyweekend.
Which would be fine if I didn’t have an assignment to finish before Monday. But if I hadn’t agreed to do this cleaning job for my mum, she would’ve tried to drag herself out of bed and do it herself. And she’s already feeling sick enough without having to face this hot mess.
Not that I know who’s responsible. Just that they live in a freaking huge penthouse full of marble surfaces and have really bad taste in furniture. The interior design student in me longs to rearrange it all, but that’s not what I’m here for.
Fuming about it isn’t going to help. I take a deep breath and start on the rug.
It takes over an hour just to clean that one rug, but when I finally stand back to scrutinize my work, relief washes through me. It was a fiddly pain in the arse, but I think I nailed it.
I scoop up several bottles and march toward the kitchen, which is just beyond the dining area, and dump them in the sink. And then, like one of those dreams that suddenly turns into a sinister nightmare, the double doors slowly open.
Well,shit. It’s been so quiet, I assumed everyone had gone out after trashing the place.
Put your professional face on, Violet.
Whoever lives here is a Class A slob, someone so rich they don’t care what kind of mess they leave behind, but the last thing I want is this new client to guess my thoughts.
I don’t know who I expect to see, but my whole world tips sideways as Lucas Carter, star striker of Harrington United, and the hottest Premier League football player in the history of everything, ambles into the room wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs.Why didn’t Mum warm me who the client was?
He pauses as he takes in the view of Hampstead Heath through the windows, and I’m having a hard time dragging my bewitched gaze from his sculpted profile.
Not that I haven’t seen him half naked before. Although he hasn’t played for months due to a knee injury, he’s always on the TV and in magazines, advertising cars and cologne, and invariably, he has his shirt off at theveryleast.
It doesn’t compare to the seeing the real thing. His thighs are a work of art and a miracle to behold.
Oh my God. I’m totally drooling.
I’m not fifteen anymore.
It’s been years since my bedroom walls were plastered with posters of him and I had a schoolgirl crush. I’m so overplayersit’s not funny. But I still can’t stop admiring his rippling muscles or the tattoos that wrap around his left bicep, and the glint of his earring in the morning sun is ridiculously erotic.
Should I say something?My mind’s a complete blank. In any case, there’s no way he doesn’t know I’m standing here, and he’s fine about ignoringme. I’m already behind in this job, and I’m not going to waste more time ogling a guy who clearly thinks he’s God’s gift.
It still takes more nerve than I care to admit to leave the relative safety of the kitchen and force my feet to move across the dining area.
Lucas swings around, and the shock on his face has me coming to an abrupt halt. Maybe he wasn’t ignoring me, after all? Not that it matters. Except for an annoying reason, it does.
“Whoa,” he says, his voice all deep and sexy, and treacherous tremors of awareness skate along my spine.
Just because he’s hot and my body’s having a weak moment doesn’t mean I’m attracted to him.
“Goodmorning,” he adds.
It’s a perfectly reasonable thing to say, so I don’t know why it sounds so sinfully suggestive.Get a bleeding grip, Violet.Lucas Carter is a renowned flirt. Just because I haven’t been on the receiving end of a flirt in over a year, since the horrible breakup with my ex, is no excuse to dissolve into a hormonal mess all over this expensive carpet because he happens to smile at me.
Please stop smiling at me.
“Good morning.” I give him a brief, glacial smile.I hope he can’t hear the way my heart’s thundering.
He strolls across the room, and I can’t tear my mesmerized gaze from his magnificent pecs.Oh. Bloody. Hell.Stop gawping at him. My back is against the counter that overlooks the dining area, and Lucas has now reached the steps. Only the sleek glass-topped dining table is between us.
He’s not stalking me like I’m his prey.
