Team Lucas front cover_med res


Hump Day Hunk with Ally Adams


Lucas Ainswright

Flawed and beautiful… meet Lucas Ainswright. He’s the sexiest man alive, captain of a national soccer league team, World Cup player and a pain-in-the-ass, allegedly. Here’s what the girls who know Lucas say about Lucas:


Mia, Lucas’s minder and assistant:
“My boss, Lucas, hmm, well he’s tall and toned, has light brown hair and the palest of blue eyes. In his team’s navy and white training gear he looks as if he is heading to a photo shoot for Sportsbabe magazine. Okay, there’s no Sportsbabe magazine but if there was, Lucas would be on the cover. The tragedy of lusting for Lucas is that I know a lot of less attractive guys than Lucas who are so lovely that they are more attractive than Lucas, if you get what I mean? Lucas could stick his good looks and his attitude in his posh mansion. I am happy with him as eye candy only.”


Sarah, the fiancée of Lucas’s best friend Jason and herself a long-term friend of Lucas:
“Jase and I love Luke but we’ve been through a lot with him and we know he can be very hard on people. I’ve never known Luke to have an intense relationship… no one that he can get too attached to and risk losing. He can’t trust. One thing I do know about Luke is that if he feels like he is beginning to trust you, he’ll push you away.”


Elizabeth, the Saints’ coach’s wife:
“I don’t think I would be breaking any secrets to tell you what I know, keep it to yourself and don’t say I told you. Lucas was a twin, there was an accident…”



After Lucas:
If you’re brave enough to take on Lucas, then next, try the team’s Latin lover, the strikingly handsome Tomás Carrera in Team Tomás —out now. Coming in September, think tall, blonde and German—meet Team Niklas!


Lucas Ainswright, the sexiest man alive, captain of a national soccer league team, World Cup player and my pain-in-the-ass boss, was bellowing at me again through the thin walls of the guest wing attached to his beachside mansion.

“We’re leaving in five.” He thumped on the wall.

“I know, I know, I’ve got it,” I muttered. It’s not hard to be ready to go to his training session three days a week at four o’clock. In my twenty-one years I’ve managed to get to a lot of places on time, regularly.

I locked up my wing of the house, the beach ‘pad’ as I like to think of it, and waited by his white Lamborghini. I bet the well-endowed, leggy, blonde supermodel that I spotted leaving earlier this morning would look good next to this car; I bet she looked good inside it; I bet he looked good inside… whatever, where was I?

Lucas appeared—tall and toned, his light brown hair falling in his pale blue eyes.

“Ready early, Minder?” he said, giving me one of his patronising smiles.

“Didn’t want to keep you waiting, mucus, uh sorry. Lucas.” I smiled back. “Can I drive?”

“No,” he said, flatly.

I pouted. “Odds are that I will never, ever, in my whole life ever get to drive a Lamborghini. Ever.”

“That’s probably true,” he said, “and definitely not in the four weeks you’re working for me.” He unlocked the speed machine and offered me one of his special smirks. He stopped before getting in.


I looked up at him to see if he was having me on.

“Really? You’re going to let me drive?”

He looked like he was going to have second thoughts.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” I asked him.

“We could die,” he said.

He hesitated and then stood away from the driver’s door. “All right, you can drive, but take it easy.”

“Yes!” I internally screamed with delight so he wouldn’t change his mind, and ran around the front of the car to his side.

“Don’t drive it like me,” he warned. He opened the car door wider for me and I got in, accidently displaying a lot of leg in my workout gear. He knelt down beside me and moved the driver’s seat forward, leaning over me to adjust the steering wheel. His goddamn gorgeous face with the one day stubble was a lip pout away from me. I inhaled.

“Are you smelling me?” he asked and pulled out.

“No, I’m smelling the leather of the car. Your bad head just happens to be in the way,” I retorted.

I was inhaling his divine Armani scent, but in my imagination I had done more than smell Lucas in the nights I lay in the guest wing in my big, white, lonely bed. In most of those daydreams, though he wasn’t allowed to talk or scowl, he just had to perform as well as he did on the field but in the bedroom and on me. I would score him for tongue work, hand work and yellow card him when he wasn’t paying enough attention.



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