The Second Coming: Rogue Academy, Book One

by Aarons, Carrie

  So it’s with a horrified shriek that I encounter Jude Davies, standing just inside the doors to the first of the football buildings I need to clean up.

  “What in the bloody hell!” My hand flies to my chest, my heart beating double time. I’m almost an hour late, making it just about eight forty-five p.m., and the sun set over campus two hours ago. It’s pitch-black outside, and in here, save for the odd corridor light that’s been left on for my arrival.

  “Did I scare you?” His smile is too smug and rehearsed for this to be a chance meeting.

  “What are you doing here?” I demand, more than wound up about his surprise appearance.

  It was bad enough he’d shown up in the sew house last week, a fact that neither Louisa nor Patricia had let go over the weekend. They practically jumped on me this morning again to ask about why he sought me out. I feigned ignorance and lied, said that Jude Davies had wanted nothing more than different stitching on his home kit.

  I doubt they bought it, but I’d slipped my headphones in and gone to work, cutting the conversation short.

  “Need to ask a favor, love.” His lean, muscular form pushes off the wall where he’d been holding it up.

  Bugger, he looks sexy. How was a guy allowed to look this dishy? Golden skin, biceps, and calves that could hold up a crumbling building … he looks like some real-life version of the Hercules character in that Disney movie.

  “Don’t you pay people to do those?” I furrow my brow, annoyed that he’s making me even later.

  I don’t care, much, that he’s an international football star; he’s making me miss my shift.

  “Aw, love, don’t I basically pay you?” Jude tilts that perfectly symmetrical head, pouting lips that have probably crooked up at more women than I can count on all my fingers and toes.

  Now he’s making me feel like some impoverished servant. “Yeah, we’re done here.”

  Starting past him, I physically jump when his fingers graze my elbow. “Wait, I’m sorry that was prattish. I don’t pay you, the owners do.”

  “You’re about two seconds from me kicking you in the goolies,” I warn him.

  My day has been trying, and regardless of what pull he has at my place of work, I’m too exhausted to care.

  “Do you want to go to London with me?” He smiles.

  “You want me to … what? I’m sorry, I must have misunderstood.” Blimey, had he just asked me to go to London with him?

  Was this reality?

  “I need a … handler of sorts.”

  Alarm bells start screeching in my brain, and I back away, holding my hands up. “Um, no … I’m not that kind of woman.”

  Jude tilts his gorgeous head to the side, confusion marring those green pools, and assesses me. A second later, it’s as if a light bulb goes off in his brain.

  “You think I’m asking to hire you as a prostitute?” He delivers this sentence deadpan.

  I shift uncomfortably, because yes, that is what I think. In fact, I think this superstar athlete has seen more than his fair share of prostitutes, and he’s only twenty. The amount of indulgence he’s accustomed to is probably more vast than I can even imagine.

  When I don’t answer, Jude holds his hands up, too. “I’m not … Aria, I’m not asking you to sleep with me for money. Or to handle anything below my waist … as much as that sounds like a brilliant idea. No, I don’t need to pay for sex, if you hadn’t noticed. What I do need is someone who will keep me out of any wonky business. Someone who will see a possible threat to my image and remove me from it.”

  “And you think I would be able to do that? Why? We barely know each other.”

  He shrugs, the cleft in his chin wobbling. “You told me to get out of the sew house the other day. Aside from Coach Gerard and Niles Harrington, no one says boo to me these days. Most birds fall at my feet, or on their knees. Most men want my autograph or to buy me a pint. But no one looks at me like I’m a bothersome fly on their arm that they want to swat. Well, except for you.”

  It’s then that I realize Jude Davies is more pompous of a prick than I thought he was. Imagine having everyone around you kiss your arse from the time you were a school child? It’s like he grew up in Buckingham Palace and has no idea how to act civilly outside the confines of it.

  “I … can’t leave Clavering. Some of us have a day job. And responsibilities. Of which, I need to get back to.” Grabbing my trolley of supplies, I try to move past him.

  “I’ll pay you ten thousand pounds for the two days I’m there.” Jude shrugs.

  I freeze; my face inches from him.

  As if this kind of money is something he wipes his arse with. Rather spectacular arse it is, from what I’ve studied on the odd daydreaming moment when I’ve watched him out the window of the sew house at practice. Two round globes, sculpted and muscled enough to be visible under the tight football shorts …

  Focus, Aria.

  That kind of money, to me, to my family? It could change everything. Ten thousand pounds could cover another couple of months of bills … it could give us peace of mind. It could take the monkey off of my back, help me to breathe for just a minute without the paralyzing sense of dread crushing down on my lungs.

  “Shite …” I whisper to myself.

  Jude Davies has backed me into a corner. And he knows it. Just throw money at something he wants and it works itself out, that’s probably how he solves everything.

  It was too bad, for my sake, that unfortunately, it was true here. “You’re a smarmy bugger, you know that?”

  “See, this is why I want you to accompany me to London.”

  I’d have to set everything up for Dad for a few days, but ten thousand pounds is ten thousand pounds.

  “All right. When do we leave?”

  8

  Jude

  When I got the call from Harrington’s assistant that they needed me in London the week after next, I thought it was a joke.

  That reaction quickly morphed into smug glee, because he must really need me to play if he was having his assistant call not three weeks after he sent me back to the academy. And that emotion transformed into suspicion, because this may most certainly be a test.

  To see if I can behave myself. To see if they can catch me with something, splash it all over the tabloids, and have a reason to sell me to another team. I’m not paranoid, I’ve seen stuff like this happen before. Niles Harrington isn’t a dirty coach, but he was a ruthless tyrant when it came to the pursuit of winning the league. If I was enough of a liability, he wanted me gone now.

  Which is why I decide to improvise.

  If I am busy playing a game of cat and mouse with this Aria, then I’ll be more focused on that than cocking up my future. My pursuit to get her beneath me would outweigh any daft decisions I might make.

  When she’d hit me with the backtalk in the athletics facility, I knew I’d made the right decision. And am now lusting after her even more than I had been before. Bloody hell, she was gorgeous when she got feisty.

  We left yesterday, four days after I confronted her, to spend Friday and Saturday in London. Turns out, Niles wanted me back in town to ride the bench on Saturday afternoon’s match. It was either a test to keep my head about me when I wasn’t allowed on the pitch, or he really wants to show me what I’ll be missing if I don’t wise up.

  Either way, I don’t care. I can be a good ole chap, supporting my squad. The whole time, I’ll be watching the friends and family booth at the top, wondering what Aria thinks about the Rogue stadium, the place that will soon become my second home.

  She plugged her earphones in nearly the second we’d gotten in the SUV that would be taking us into London. I sat in the second row of three, in a bucket seat next to Barry as he went on and on about some new marketing campaign a sportswear company wanted me to be a part of. This meant I couldn’t study Aria the whole drive as I’d wished to, because it would be way too forward to turn my body and stare at her in the back seat the whole time.
/>   While I was persistent and cheeky, I wasn’t desperate.

  And I may not have been able to look her over, but it didn’t mean I couldn’t hear her music. A mix of The Beatle’s, Drake, Florence and the Machine, Coldplay, Adele, and Lauryn Hill filled the silence of the car. The spillover from her headphones was just loud enough for me to hear what song she was listening to, and her song selection only made me more intrigued where it comes to Aria Lloyd.

  Yes, I finally pulled her last name out of her when I had to make out the check for ten thousand pounds. Before we even left the Rogue Academy parking lot.

  At this moment, I was waiting for her in the living room of our hotel suite, in one of my favorite places to lodge in Earl’s Court. The hotel is upscale, a five-minute drive from the stadium, and a stone’s throw from some of my favorite pubs and nightclubs.

  Aria had almost pitched a fit when I told her we’d be staying in the same hotel room. Only when we’d gotten to the penthouse and she’d seen that I’d been teasing—the suite had three bedrooms—had she visibly relaxed. It made me wonder if she ever let her hair down, and how I could make her do so.

  On the drive up, I’d wondered a lot about Aria Lloyd. Who did she need to take care of in Clavering? Was it a boyfriend? Not that that would stop me. Why wasn’t she at university? She was clearly bright. Why take two jobs at the academy? Had she ever thought about singing professionally?

  It scared me a touch that I even wanted to know so many things about her, when all this had started as a fishing expedition to get in her knickers.

  The door to her room opens, and out she walks in a simple grey coat and black jeans, tennis shoes laced onto her feet. Any other bird I might have brought along would be dressed to the nines in red-bottom heels, leather pants, and a cleavage-baring sweater. No mind the cold for today’s game, they would have gone for straight sex appeal and I would have salivated over it.

  But something deep within me stirs as I see this innocent, fresh-faced girl step into our shared space. She’s practical, unassuming, and has no idea how beautiful she is. Aria is only here for the money I’m paying her, and not because she fancies me in any sense.

  “Ready to go?” she asks. “By the way, what are my duties for today?”

  I never really laid out what I needed her to do.

  “Well, you’ll be in the box and I’ll be in the seats behind the Rogue bench, so … not much during the game. If I look up at you, maybe give your ole chap a thumbs-up for good behavior.”

  Aria rolls those shimmering gold-green eyes. “You’re paying me ten thousand pounds to give you a thumbs-up?”

  I shrug. “I’ve spent money on more ridiculous things.”

  “It’s sad that I actually believe you. Or maybe it’s more maddening that you have that kind of money to throw away. Have you ever heard of donating it to charity?” She huffs, picking up an apple from the bowl on the counter in the small kitchen of the suite.

  I feel it when my face gets stony. “I donate a good chunk of my salary to various charities I feel passionate about. I may look like a pompous wanker, and even act like it, but don’t act like you know where my money goes.”

  She’s visibly taken aback as if she’s just seeing the core of my being for the first time. Her head dips a little, her eyes softening. “I apologize. You’re right, I don’t know much, if anything, about you, truly.”

  Rolling my shoulders back and slipping that nonchalant charm back into place, I throw her a wink. “No worries, doll. Let’s go.”

  9

  Jude

  “You look … smart.” Aria’s hazel orbs betray her polite words. She can’t tear her gaze off my suit and that was my plan.

  I’d promised to stay out of trouble when it came to the media. I never promised not to cause trouble with her. And when I told her we were going out for some celebratory drinks, even if I hadn’t played in today’s victory, it wasn’t as if she could say no. I’m paying her to be here, to do basically anything I ask. Besides sleep with me, of course, because she’d already drawn the line that she wasn’t a slag for hire.

  And the way she looks right now … Aria has trouble written all over her.

  A simple long sleeve black dress that falls to her mid-calf hugs her body like a glove. It’s the first time I’ve seen her out of those baggy clothes she wears while working on campus, and bloody hell was it worth the wait. Aria has the classic figure of a Coca-Cola bottle; round, supple tits stacked on top of a tiny waist which curves out into bodacious hips and a perky arse. I could run my hands down the line of her body and ride my fingers along the peaks and valleys. The dress is one that could have been pulled off the rack at any of those discount stores for teenage girls’ clothing, but on her it’s sinful.

  “Didn’t realize you’d have anything like that in your closet.” My eyes rake over that body, two hot coals in search of somewhere to singe her.

  Aria’s chin drops to her chest, her gaze fixated on the hotel room floor, and I can tell that I’ve embarrassed her. Only, I’m not sure why. She’s a bombshell, and I’m sure the local boys in Clavering have been nipping at her heels for ages.

  “It’s very old. Had to be dusted off. It’s not … designer or anything.” She still won’t look up, curtains of golden hair swinging in front of her face.

  Walking to her, my black custom-leather shoes tapping on the shiny hardwood, I invade her space. Instantly, Aria’s shoulder rise with tension and I can see the barriers flying up behind her eyes.

  A gentleman would have backed off, but I think we all know I’m not one of those. Sticking two fingers under her chin and pulling up, I make her look me in the eyes.

  “No one said it had to be. You’re a knockout, Aria. Not that you want me telling you that, but you are. Just because you hide this body under clothing ten sizes too big doesn’t mean I haven’t noticed it.”

  Desire has her irises dilating, I can tell. I know when a woman wants me, even if she won’t admit it to herself.

  Aria straightens, backing away from me. “What is it that you need me to do tonight?”

  The grin that stretches my lips is wicked. “Watch my drinking. Weed out any slags who seem like they might cause a disastrous outcome for me. Alert me if any tabloid shite points their camera my way. Basically, keep me from going off the rails, but let me have a little bit of fun.”

  She clearly thinks she knows what my meaning of fun is because those hazel eyes roll to the ceiling. “Do we have a curfew?”

  “Oh, love, you’ve never gone out in London before, have you?” I tease.

  “Actually, no, I haven’t.” Her answer is straight-forward.

  Meanwhile, I almost choke on my tongue. “What? Have you been living under a rock?”

  Sadness flickers through her eyes. “Something like that.”

  My heart twinges at her answer, and I’m surprised to find the organ I’d assumed was rotting, possibly isn’t. And because of that, I don’t ask her to elaborate.

  Instead, I make for the elevator down to the garage, Aria silently following my lead, where a car takes us to one of the hottest spots in London at the moment.

  Jet Lounge is one of the sexiest, low-key bars or clubs around the city. It’s low lighting, velvet settees, craft cocktails, and tight-lipped policy draws celebrities and famous athletes alike. Which is exactly why I frequent it whenever I’m in town.

  Aria and I walk in, the bouncer giving us a nod as I walk past the incredibly long line snaking down the alleyway where the entrance to the lounge is located. I purposely don’t look back, grab her hand or graze my fingers over the small of her back. A moment of insanity possessed me back in the hotel suite living room, one where I cared about how she saw herself in my eyes.

  That’s not what this was about. I’m not looking for a bird to keep me; I am after one thing. Sinking my hard cock deep within her. And being pretty good at scoring, I know that eventually, with a brilliant game plan, I will win this game.

  A drink appear
s before me, on a tray held by a gorgeous brunette waitress. Licking my lips, I nod my thanks and take a sip of the gin and tonic she brought over especially for me. There is a spacious rounded settee awaiting my arrival, toward the back. Each time I come here, the owner is kind enough to reserve me the best booth. Ah, the advantages of having a golden boot.

  “Have a drink.” I wave my hand at Aria as I spread my long limbs out in the booth.

  “I’m fine, thank you.” Her eyes flick over everything.

  What must my life look like to her? “Oh, come on, no one wants to get pissed by themselves.”

  “I thought I was here to make sure you don’t get sloshed.”

  The raise of my eyebrow should give her all the answer she needs. “Sometimes I say things and want you to do the opposite.”

  Aria is seething, I can feel it, and she still won’t join me on the deep purple-colored velvet sofa. Her eyes leave their mission of burning the word wanker onto my forehead when sparks fly across the room. Dead serious, literal sparks. Some showy bugger ordered a flaming bottle of Dom Perignon, and I snort because this is so not the place.

  I’m halfway through my second drink five minutes later, and Aria is still pacing in the space in front of my booth.

  “You’ve really never been to London? Are you originally from Clavering?”

  “Lived there my whole life.” She confirms with a nod.

  “And how have you never made the hour trip to the city?”

  “Some of us are just country bumpkins, Mr. Davies. Though hard as that may be to believe.”

  I don’t buy her answer for one second, because there is no truth held in her dazzling eyes … even in the low light, I can make that out.

  “Mr. Davies, huh? I’m not an old man, Aria. Barely older than you, from what I read in your personnel file.”

  Her mouth falls open. “You read my employee file?”

  “Of course, I did, I wanted to hire you for a job. Couldn’t let any random nutter into my inner circle. Now I think you might be too strict of a handler. One who is so serious, she won’t even have a glass of wine with her charge.”