Team Lucas (The Saints Team #1) (2 page)

“Boss, while I appreciate the chance to ogle a gorgeous, famous sports star, I’m tired of the fight with idiots who can’t get out of their own way to help themselves, and who will water my cactus?”

“It pays ten times your daily rate. You could make more in these four weeks than you will in six months with your regular clients,” he lured me in. “His father also offers a bonus system if you keep his son on track.”

“I was just thinking it was time to get off the couch and get back to work,” I told him.

Chapter 3

“I prefer blonds and bigger tits,” Lucas Ainswright said in a posh British accent as he opened the front door of his multi-million mansion on Laguna Beach to find me and his manager, James, on the doorstep.

“Ah, the agency was out of those.” I smirked at him. “I prefer blonds too but it seems the only egotistical, addicted assholes available this week were all brunets.”

Off to a fine start, the love was flowing between us.

“I’m not an addict.” He scowled at me and stepped aside to let us in. I could feel James bristling beside me. Walking through the door was like going through a scanner; I felt Lucas’s eyes run up and down me. At five-foot-five, I was well proportioned but that meant just enough breast to make a handful and I had runner legs and slim hips. I had my shoulder length brown hair tied back in a single braid—sooooooo not his type.

“This is your new um, minder, Mia Carter,” his manager introduced me.

“Charmed I’m sure,” Lucas said.

“So, how are you, Luke?” James asked. He seemed to be shrinking in Lucas’s company or maybe Lucas’s six-foot-three stature just dominated the scene.

“I was great until about five minutes ago. Come through,” he said leading the way through a house that would take your breath away. “Drink?” he asked. “Water, juice, tea, coffee?”

“Nice of you to offer.” I smiled at his attempt at civility.

“You’re making it if you want something.” He nodded towards the kitchen.

And the civility disappeared before my eyes.

“Nothing for me, thanks,” James said.

“I’m good too, thanks. I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” I said brightly, just to annoy him.

I caught his look but was distracted by Lucas’s place—it was seriously amazing. Probably nothing like the English estate he grew up on back in his homeland with hot and cold running servants, but it was all white marble, glass and panoramic views. Striking floor to ceiling windows showed off the stunning ocean views from every angle. The front garden trailed to the sand which led to an excellent surf break and looking left or right, there was nothing but beach for miles. We followed Lucas into the lounge room which was clinically white as well.

“Feels like rehab,” I joked.

He glared at me. Bad joke, whatever, I thought. I’m clearly going to be lucky to last a day anyway, may as well give it my best material now.

Lucas pointed to the white leather couch; James and I sat on one end, while Lucas, ‘Luke’ to his manager, lowered his perfect butt onto the couch opposite. He wore his jeans and a pale gray T-shirt very well. Even his feet were nice and feet usually weren’t that nice.

“Been in the country long?” I asked.

“Yep, went to boarding school here,” he answered.

“Well congrats on getting the captaincy,” I said. My knowledge of his sport was pretty good—an occupational hazard—even though I was raised on other football codes, but my knowledge of Lucas was seriously lacking.

“Thanks,” he said.

Clearly he’s got away on his looks and talent because his conversation skills were lacking big time.

“So same drill as always?” he asked James, then turned to me. “You’ll ride my ass to stop me doing everything that’s fun and take a sample a day or every second day?”

I nodded. I guessed that pretty much summed it up. I wanted to add “and you’ll pay me a shitload to do it,” but bit my tongue.

“Mia has experience in this area and she can help you if you need to talk,” James said. I snapped to look at James. Lord knows what my boss had told him—I’m a sports physio student not a freaking psychiatrist. I believe in hard love, so yeah, I can tell Lucas to pull his head in.

“I won’t be needing any chats, thanks. What are you, eighteen?” Lucas glared at me.

“Twenty-one and I’m in my final year of a physical therapy degree,” I said, trying to gain some ground.

He made a sort of snorting sound and then launched into a description of his house.

“It has three levels. My best friend Jase and his fiancée, Sarah, live on the third level, I have level one and two, and you have the guest wing. There’s eight bedrooms, five baths, gourmet kitchen, media room, wine cellar, all the usual shit,” he said.

Lucas was seriously out of touch if he thought that was the usual shit. My whole apartment would fit in his foyer.

“There’s room for four cars undercover so you can park yours next to your wing. Just don’t go near my garage. No point giving you the tour, as you won’t be on my side of the house.”

I almost stood and saluted but he beat me to it, standing and rummaging in his pockets. He pulled out a set of keys and said, “This way.”

James and I followed Lucas across the hallway and out a side door, where he unlocked a shared door to another wing of the house.

Lucas slid the door open and indicated for me to enter. “This is your accommodation—it has a separate entrance on the other side or you can use this joint entrance in the hall. No parties and if I’m having a party, stay the fuck away.”

James looked at me apologetically as we wandered through the guest wing of the house.

The ‘pad’ was fantastic—all white again; my goth client would die in here with the lack of black. There was a large living room and the same floor to ceiling panoramic beach view that I saw from Lucas’s side of the house. The kitchen was modern and huge, in case I wanted to heat up a tin of something; the two bedrooms were pristine and the main room featured a plush white queen bed. I had to stop myself from running and jumping on it. The pad had the dreamiest bathroom I’ve ever seen. I could live in that bathroom alone.

Then I heard the words coming out of my mouth but I’m sure I wasn’t saying them.

“No-one told me I’d be required to stay here.” Who am I? What the hell!

Lucas looked to James and raised his hands in surprise.

“We prefer it—living here allows you to do random testing at any hour. It’s in your contract,” James said in a quiet voice.

“Ah, the contract I haven’t seen.” I’d get my boss for that later. “Anything else in there you want to flag now?” I looked from James to Lucas.

“Well you’re not required to service me if that’s what you’re worried about.” Lucas smirked, and his pale blue eyes looked me up and down.

I wheeled round to face him front on and stood with my hands on my hips. “You’re not used to talking to women as equals, are you?” I asked, “because you’re rude and disrespectful.”

He looked surprised and for a moment I saw a flash of what might have been shame—was this a pre-Lucas, before he became an international soccer star and the world courted him? Just as quickly the look left his face and the scowl returned. But I kept going. “I didn’t even know who you were until yesterday, so get over yourself.”

He laughed. “What, do you live under a rock?”

He’d seen my apartment obviously.

I put out my hand for the keys and he handed them over. Our skin didn’t touch—he dropped them in my palm as though we were avoiding boy and girl germs.

“Thank you,” I said because I was well brought up and it was instinctive. I was still the laughing stock of my jogging group after a flasher asked me did I want a bit of him and I said ‘no thank you’.

“Two weeks to beat,” Lucas said, blocking the doorway.

“Beat what?” I asked, checking out his silhouette; the man had style.

“That’s the longest anyone has lasted.” He scowled.

“What’s the shortest? I might break that record?”

He made that grunting noise again and turned to lead the way back out of the pad. We followed; James obstructed my view of Lucas’s cute ass which was probably a good thing. I’d love to jab a needle into that. Lucas walked through to the front door and opened it for us.

“From tomorrow then,” he said.

At the front door, James turned to his contracted star and the men shook hands. “Well I’ll talk with you soon, Luke, call me if any dramas and don’t forget the magazine shoot in the morning, at nine.”

“Sure, thanks James. Bye Minder,” Lucas said.

“Mia,” I reminded him.

“Mia the minder. Marvelous,” he said in his posh accent and with that he closed the door.

Chapter 4

My best friend Alice screamed down the phone line like a teenager at a
One Direction
concert.

“Lucas Ainswright, you are kidding me? And you’re living there, under his roof... living with Lucas Ainswright.”

“So you know who he is?” I asked.

“Hell yeah. Oh Mia, this is good, so good. You might get invited to his parties and you can take me and I can meet the World Cup team and the Saints and I might become a wife or a girlfriend—a WAG—and OMG.”

That was the good thing about Alice, she had vision.

“Ali…” I called her by her nickname, “he made it pretty clear to me today that if he was having a party to stay clear. My role is to swab his mouth or collect his pee.”

“You lucky thing,” she sighed.

“Really?” I sometimes wondered if Alice was on drugs. “I know he’s gorgeous but...”

“Can I come over when you move in?” she interrupted me.

“Of course. We can sit on the couch and star spot as the celebs and players rock up his driveway.”

“This is the most exciting thing to happen ever,” Alice said again. “Even more exciting than when we performed that Britney Spears melody and won the shopping trip to Hong Kong.”

“Nuh,” I disagreed, “that trip beats Lucas Ainswright hands down.”

*****

I had narrowed my packing down to one suitcase of clothes, one smaller bag of shoes and my beauty kit. I could always come home for more; it’s not like I was moving interstate, just leaving my cozy—okay one-room-for-everything—student accommodation.

I dressed in my sports gear—running shorts, singlet and runners with my hair tied up—and as soon as I was unpacked at my new ‘digs’, which would take all of fifteen minutes, I was going to go for a run along the beach out the front and check out the area. It’s not every day you get paid to live in a beachside pad and get to run by the ocean. I was even prepared to put up with the obnoxious Lucas Ainswright for the privilege. Going back to my student accommodation after this was going to suck big time.

I drove down the very expensive, upmarket street to my new digs, was permitted entry into the gated community and turned my silver VW Golf into the driveway of Lucas’s three story mansion. I parked in the undercover spot nearest to my guest wing and noticed Lucas’s white Lamborghini was not in the garage. A navy blue 4WD was in the spot next to where the Lamborghini sat last visit. Hmm, was he a two car guy because I didn’t remember seeing the 4WD yesterday, or was it his girlfriend’s car? I shrugged; who cared. Then I remembered his manager mentioned Lucas had a photoshoot this morning… I’d love to be a fly on the wall in that studio.

I turned off the ignition, and exiting, pulled my two bags out of the trunk of my VW. Yeah it was about a twentieth of the price of the Lamborghini but even if I had half a million dollars to spend on a car I wouldn’t buy a Lamborghini. I would buy... my dream was interrupted by Lucas’s front door opening. The man who stepped out was a giant—fair hair, blue eyes, and if Lucas was six-foot-three, then this man was six-foot-five, and way too cute for his own safety.

“Let me help you.” He headed towards my car and with those long legs, arrived in about four steps. “You must be the... minder?” he said with an accent which I guessed was German. He looked very Aryan.

I smiled and put my bags down.

“I’m Mia.” I put special emphasis on my name... Mia, not minder. Good grief.

“Mia you are,” he agreed, as though christening me. He reached out his hand and we shook. My hand was lost in his.

“And you are?” I asked. Of course if I had studied the team I would have recognized him.

“Niklas, but everyone calls me Nik. I’m one of the Saints, with Lucas.”

“Saint Nicholas, I think I remember him from my Catholic school upbringing. Wasn’t he the patron saint of good soccer players?”

Nik laughed. “No, that was Saint Luke.”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” I teased Nik.

Alice would die if she was here. Nik was rugged and she had a thing for tall men. At six-foot-five, he was a gold medal Olympian in the tall stakes.

He released my hand.

“That’s a good German car, Mia,” he said admiring my VW.

“I love it,” I agreed, smiling fondly at my car.

“Allow me.” Nik picked up all three bags and could have carried me as well but refrained. He stopped and saw my massage table in the car trunk.

“You do massage?” he asked, his eyes wide with promise.

“I’m in my last year of studying sports physiotherapy,” I said.

“That is very handy,” he said, “very handy. Do you want that inside too?” He nodded to the table.

“Yes, but I can come back for it.”

He put down one of my bags, easily tucked the table under one arm and carried the other three bags in one hand. The man was a fabulous porter; his powerful legs were made for motion and his arms had lifted a weight or two in their time. Clearly there were going to be many perks in this job—Nik was one, but Lucas Ainswright wasn’t.

He stood at the front door waiting with the luggage and I raced into action to let him in. I turned the key in the lock. I didn’t think to ask if there was an alarm but nothing went off.

“Thank you, Nik, that’s very kind.” I held the door open for him.

“It is no trouble at all. Where is Luke? Why is he not here to help?”

“I wasn’t expecting him. But he told you I was moving in?” I asked, surprised.