Bad Girl: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Lisa Lace

  I feel like an anxious schoolgirl, but Lucas is lounging back in his seat without a single drop of doubt. He lowers his window and rests his elbow on the door. The breeze from outside catches his already tousled hair. He looks like he’s posing for an ad for some expensive men’s cologne.

  “You look nervous,” Lucas says. He unbuckles his seat belt and slides across the leather toward me, resting his hands on his knees. “If you’re having doubts, I can take you home.”

  Some of the tension eases from my shoulders. Looking into Lucas’s eyes, I know he has no ulterior motive in terms of the label. Right now, we could be any two people who met at a party. Any couple whose eyes had ever met across a crowded room.

  “No,” I say, letting my body relax. “I’m not.”

  He smiles. What a smile. “Good.”

  I take out my cell phone. “I need to let my father know I won’t be back tonight.” I shoot Dad a message, typing out a quick lie about how I’m staying at Jane’s.

  “He worries?” Lucas guesses.

  “Constantly.”

  “I would too if I had a daughter as stunning as you.”

  It’s a little cheesy, and the compliments are becoming a bit repetitive, yet I still feel my body shudder deliciously every time.

  “What made you change your mind about tonight?” Lucas asks me. “I was ready to gracefully back down and let you go.”

  I look wistfully out the window at Hollywood rolling by and lift up my hands in a shrug. “I didn’t want it to end. Jane and I have struggled for so long, barely making ends meet and getting nowhere. A night like tonight might be a once in a lifetime opportunity. I’m not ready for it to end.”

  Lucas takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “I promise you this won’t be a once in a lifetime occasion for you, Ivy. That’s impossible. You’re too captivating to ever fade into the background.”

  Such words from Lucas’s mouth are honey to my ears. I don’t know if he’s feeding me a line, and I don’t care. I want to live in the fantasy for a while and let all the harsh realities of life disappear out the limousine window.

  “You were quite captivating tonight, too,” I say. “Did you really put together the whole night yourself?”

  “I had help, of course, but yes, this was my vision.”

  “It was beautiful.”

  “I’m glad you had a good time.” He pauses then points. “This is us.”

  I look past him out the window just as two tall, ornate metal gates slowly swing open. Ahead of us is an endless driveway framed by carefully manicured lawn. The air is redolent with the scent of flowers and freshly mown grass. When the limo drives through the gates, I gape around at the gardens first—broad and immaculate—then at the house. No, mansion.

  It’s huge and stately like something out of a movie about English aristocracy. I half expect to see women in long dresses and men in morning coats to come strolling past the marble columns and down the steps from the front door. I can’t believe any one person could live in a place like this. My entire apartment would fit in the garage.

  “This is all yours?”

  Lucas laughs at my expression. “It was a twenty-first birthday gift from my father.”

  “On my twenty-first birthday, I got a bottle of Prosecco.”

  “My father has always had the unfortunate habit of trying to buy people’s affection. No, not affection. Loyalty.”

  The limo comes to a stop in front of the steps. I bite down on my lip and fluff up my hair to try and make myself look a bit more presentable after a long night.

  “Do you have servants?”

  Lucas laughs. “Are you joking?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t have servants. It’s just me. And my housekeeper, Anita, who comes in the mornings.”

  “It must get lonely.”

  Lucas’s expression is unreadable when he catches my eye. He nods. “It does.”

  “I’m sure you could fill this house with people if you wanted, though. Especially women.”

  We step out of the car, and once again Lucas places his hand on the small of my back to guide me. I love the way his hand feels resting there. I feel like anywhere he leads me would be wonderful.

  “I don’t use my home for business. And I don’t really have friends with the hours I work. As for women…I only ever meet women in the industry, and I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

  “But I’m here.”

  Lucas glances across at me and nods. “Yes.”

  There is a tingle of excitement in my stomach. I believe Lucas when he says he doesn’t bring every woman here. I feel like I’ve been invited into the inner circle. I wonder what I’ll find there.

  Lucas pulls out a set of keys from his pocket and opens the door. We step straight into a foyer with hardwood floors. A wide staircase in front of us leads to a hallway that overlooks the entryway. The area is empty apart from one unusual sculpture made from metal and driftwood.

  “What’s this?”

  “That was made by a young man in the Philippines. He was homeless and used to make small sculptures from the materials he found washed ashore and at trash heaps. Now he’s a famous artist. Every time I look at it, I think of his perseverance, and it keeps me going.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Lucas nods toward a door on our left. “Come on. I’ll show you into the living room.”

  He leads me into a large, open room. It’s nothing like what I was expecting. I thought I’d find expensive leather sofas and minimalist glass-and-chrome furnishings. Instead, the room looks like it was decorated by committee—maybe an artist, an old woman, and a high school nerd.

  He has no sofa, only two brown suede armchairs whose arms and base are cut out and filled with books. The walnut coffee table has an organic shape and is inlaid with turquoise glass running through it like a river, ending in a pool at one end. One side of the room has floor-to-ceiling shelves bursting with vinyl. In the middle of the wall unit is a cut-out where a turntable stands, protected behind a sliding glass panel. Next to one armchair is a floor lamp with the body of a dog and a lampshade for a head. It looks especially comical amongst all the literature and music.

  Instead of a fancy bar or liquor cabinet, he has an old-fashioned bar cart on wheels. I don’t see a television, but there are other gadgets dotted around, including an electric guitar on a display stand and a tall, freestanding digital grandfather clock—imagine a bedside clock stretched to be seven feet tall. In pride of place against the back wall is an Xbox on an unusual wooden cabinet.

  He has art on the walls. One is a sound wave sculpted in metal and mounted on wood, framed in black. Another is some abstract paint explosion in bright red and white. Every time I look around, I spot something new to examine. It’s a visual feast in here.

  I find myself smiling. “Wow. It’s not what I expected at all.”

  Lucas turns to me, looking pleased. “Really? How so?”

  “Look at all this stuff! An Xbox? I never would have pegged you for a gamer.”

  “Who wouldn’t want to spend hours playing a first-person shooter while some thirteen-year-old online says he banged your mom?”

  “I take it all back. I’m missing out.” I cross the room and pick up his guitar. “And this! You play?”

  “A little.”

  I put it back down and shake my head in disbelief. Now that I’m here, all my nervousness is gone. I’m like a kid in a candy store, excited to explore all of Lucas’s little quirks. He was right—there’s definitely heaps of personality here.

  I drop to my knees to look at some of the books inside the chair. “Louis Theroux, George Michael, Paul McCartney, President Carter…you sure like your biographies. Have you read all of these?”

  “I have. What can I say? I like peeking behind the curtain. All of these people with all these unbelievable lives. They’re stories worth reading. I find fact is often more unbelievable than fiction.”

  Like a girl from Skid Row ri
fling through the books of a Hollywood millionaire in his mansion.

  Lucas offers a hand to help me up from the floor. “Are you done exploring?”

  I blush then laugh. “For now. I’m just…pleasantly surprised.”

  “You make it sound like you were expecting prostitutes and lampshades made out of human skin.”

  “More like sickening displays of wealth and obvious evidence of some fancy interior designer.”

  Lucas’s face fixes in an expression of mock offense. “Are you saying this place doesn’t look like it was carefully and meticulously designed?”

  “You have a bulldog lamp and a Van Gogh original in the same room. An overgrown alarm clock? What is that thing?”

  He laughs. “It’s modern décor, that’s what. I got bored on a flight and bought it from one of those in-flight magazines.”

  “It’s something.”

  “And I guess your place demonstrates divine taste?”

  “Only if you call thrift shop furniture and black mold divine.”

  He smiles and walks toward his wall of records. “How about some music? And a glass of wine, if you haven’t had too much to drink.”

  “A glass of wine sounds great about now.”

  Lucas sets some soft background music playing, then disappears briefly before returning with an ice-cold bottle of white wine and two glasses. He pours one for me and sets it on the coffee table.

  I take a sip. It’s sweet and crisp. With the first mouthful, delicious warmth rushes through my body, just enough to make me relax even more. I take a seat on one of those unusual armchairs. Lucas sits in the other and pulls it across the room so it’s close to mine.

  “I’m glad I decided to come,” I confess. “It’s like your biographies—a glimpse behind the curtain.”

  “I try to keep a certain distance between myself and the people I work with. It’s a cutthroat industry, and it’s better to seem tough-skinned and a little cold. Being nice does you no favors.”

  “It’s a shame. This Lucas seems like someone I’d have a lot more in common with.”

  Lucas gestures around. “You’re behind the curtain now, Ivy. You can ask me anything.”

  “Do you enjoy what you do?”

  He pauses thoughtfully and brushes his fingertips slowly against my forearm. It makes my hairs stand on end in a good way.

  “Yes and no,” he answers at last. “It can be a soulless industry, but I love the thrill of the chase. Finding somebody with real talent the world has overlooked and putting that person at the center of it all then watching them thrive…it’s an incredible feeling.”

  “Uh-huh. You have a savior complex.”

  Lucas chuckles. “Maybe.”

  I look around the room once more. I’m still in awe of the luxury of the place. “Did you grow up in places like this?”

  “I did.”

  “It must have been amazing.”

  “The grass is always greener,” he replies. “People looking in think they see perfection, but it’s not always the case. I had everything I could ask for when it came to cash and fast cars and all that stuff, but I spent an awful lot of time rattling around in big houses on my own. My father was never home.”

  “What about your mom?”

  Lucas’s shoulders drop slightly. “She walked out a long time ago. Can’t say I blame her.”

  “Do you still see her?”

  He shakes his head. “She got a fortune from my dad in the divorce. Last I heard, she was in Monaco. I haven’t had so much as a postcard since she left.”

  I feel a sudden sympathy for Lucas. There really is a real human being beneath the cold exterior, and our lives may even be more similar than they appear on first glance.

  “My mom walked out on us, too.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t be. She left when Dad lost the label and all the money that came with it. She didn’t stick around when times got hard, and like you, I never heard from my mother again.”

  “You know, sometimes I think I follow so closely in my father’s footsteps just to stick it to her.” He chuckles. “God, she hated him.”

  I gaze at him softly. “I think you’re right about what you said earlier.”

  “About what?”

  “You’re not your father. I can see that now.”

  Lucas leans toward me until our faces are only inches apart. His eyes are hungry. His fingers have stopped brushing against my arm, and instead, his palm is now running across my skin.

  He kisses me. “I’m glad you changed your mind, Ivy.”

  “I am, too.”

  I move toward him, my lips brushing his. The warmth of his breath intoxicates me, and the smell of his cologne arouses me. I want to tease him, to tantalize him, but he doesn’t wait for that. He presses his lips to mine and leans toward me until his weight is pushing me down. Only a fleeting thought tells me to stop him. When it dissipates, I tip my head back, exposing my neck to him, exposing myself to him and letting him know I’m his. I want his body on mine. I want his hands to roam. I want him to dominate me the way he dominates the music industry.

  I pull his shirt free from his pants and he leans back and undoes the top few buttons. Ripping it up over his head, he doesn’t hesitate to fall back to me to resume where his lips left off. I moan when he sucks the sensitive pockets of my neck. I feed my legs around him, my dress falling up my thighs, the delicate material being crushed between us.

  His hands move across my chest as his fingers caress the hills of my swollen breasts. He kisses me there, working the neckline of my dress down over my shoulders, exposing me to him. He takes a heavy breath before sucking one of my nipples into his mouth. His tongue twirls around the hardened nub, and it pushes waves of arousal through me. I close my eyes, allowing him to touch me as he desires. His teeth nibble the delicate sides of my breasts. His fingers roll my nipples. He crushes his weight down on me and grinds his groin into mine. Everything he does pushes my desire for him to a need.

  I feel my breathing grow labored, and I work to pull air into my lungs as he slides his hand between us. I feel him pushing it down over the material of my dress. His fingers graze between my legs and caress me through my underwear. I open my legs for him, and he takes advantage, sliding his hand inside my pantyhose, underneath my underwear and into the folds of my pussy, wet and wanting. I feel a moan mix with each breath I take. His fingers dance perfectly around my most intimate areas, spiking my arousal to the brink of euphoria. He strokes me across my clitoris then pushes inside me, working in and out until I am out of breath. He pulls out and strokes me again, repeating the steps until I am ready to explode.

  “Yes,” I whisper, my eyes closed and my breathing forcing my chest to rise and fall. Just before I feel the pleasure of my orgasm wash over me, he stops, and raises himself off me. My eyes fly open to see him hovering over me, his breathing just as ragged as mine was. He pulls what is left of his clothing from his beautiful body, so tanned and muscular. I study him as he stares at me, hesitating only a moment before lowering his pants and boxers to the floor. When he stands back for a moment, I can’t help but notice his cock. He is very well-endowed, hard, and ready to play.

  He scoops me up off the couch, my dress dangling from my body, and he carries me through the house until we enter the bedroom of a very rich and successful music producer. The walls drip with dark colors. The seductive reds and various shades of black and gray scream bachelor pad. It is a very simple room but very rich with color. I can’t help wonder how many times he has carried women into his room for this very act.

  He lays me down on the edge of his huge bed and removes my dress, while my attention quickly zooms back in on him. I move to the middle of the bed, and he crawls to me until he imprisons me with his body, his arms on each side of my head, his legs lying on mine, pressing me into the mattress. He lowers his head to mine, his tongue toying with the idea of sliding into my mouth.

  He looks down at my body, a
sly grin forming on his lips. “You are gorgeous, Ivy.”

  I bite my lip.

  “Tell me what you want,” he growls.

  He wants me to talk dirty? I have never been able to do that. I feel my face warm with embarrassment, and I quickly pick my head up to kiss him. As soon as my lips connect with his, I wrap my arms around his neck and push my tongue into his mouth. I push him over and roll up onto him, kissing him deeper and moving my hips across his.

  He grabs my hips, pulling me up and readjusting me for one final movement before I feel him open me up and slide inside me. I open my legs and straddle him as he pushes himself into me, slowly, watching me, his lips slightly parted, his breathing shallow.

  “Ivy,” he breathes. I look at him and move back and forth. His eyes glaze over as I fuck him slowly. I press my hands into his sculpted chest, my eyes glued to his face. He watches me intently as my arousal slowly fills me and presses into every hidden space. I feel him jerk, and he grabs my hips to stop me from moving. He closes his eyes as his hands slide to my breasts. He cups them, feeling my nipples graze along his palms. When he opens his eyes to look at me again, he pulls me down to him, kissing me softly. His arms wrap around my waist, and he slowly rolls me to my back trying to keep himself deep inside me.

  When he is successful, he moves his ass back and forth, his cock sliding in and out of me, fueling me, stimulating every part of me and bringing my orgasm back to the top. It surrounds me and consumes me. His lips on my neck, the grunts coming from his throat, his body pressing into me, his cock filling me, the smell of him fucking me—it all overwhelms me, and I feel my body pushing to the edge until I fall over it and I come, stiffening my muscles and wrapping my legs around him to pull him deeper into me.