A Love Song for Lucifer: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Leading Ladies)

by Willa Lively

  Lucien is now full belly laughing. “He joined you on stage? This story is giving me more joy than any Christmas I’ve ever had.”

  I smile big, remembering Ted. He had no idea how to talk to children or teach, but it didn’t matter. He was my hero.

  “Yeah, it was wild. I would love to thank Ted one day,” I sigh nostalgically. “But that day I performed, I saw the effect that music has. All of a sudden people were kind of nervous around me, as if I had some magical power they couldn’t understand. And, well, that was much better than being bullied. I see it still after I play a set at a bar. People assume I am really cool and intimidating, little do they know I still have that little nervous girl inside me.”

  “Yeah, after seeing you perform I can understand that people are in awe of you. In fact, if I was at your school and in the crowd during that performance, it would have saved me a lot of time.”

  “How so?”

  “You could have just broken my heart then, instead of 15 years later.”

  I’m glad he can’t see my smile now.

  “Oh, come on. You were definitely a cool guy. You probably wouldn’t have even gone to the talent show.”

  “Oh, I was definitely a cool guy, but for all the wrong reasons. People were friends with me because they figured I might invite them to a concert or give them a signed copy of a CD. Which, well, I often did because it got me friends. Probably why it’s hard for me to get away from transactional relationships even now.”

  With this, I move up to his level on the bench. I assume it’s safe from boners now, but I certainly don’t let my eyes wander down just in case.

  “Was that the deal with your last girlfriend?”

  “Oh, absolutely.” He says, locking eyes with me. “It literally started with a handshake.”

  “Oof,” I make a pained face.

  “Yeah, but that was just what I learned from my dad. How to make friends, how to have girlfriends, how to be a son. Actually,” he looks longingly out the sauna window. “That’s what made me love music. It was a way to escape all of that. A good song is a reminder of what is amazing about humans, even after you’ve been treated like shit by them all day. ”

  We sit in silence for a little, because I honestly don’t know what to say. I think about what kind of life that must have been. Sure, my parents have their flaws, but they are so full of love that they practically drown me in it. I mean, just look at my mom; she is dying for me to move back in with them at age 26, and I don’t even doubt she still will when I’m 50. Who can Lucien count on in this world?

  “Well,” I offer. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t want anything from you.”

  He breaks his gaze away from the window and looks at me head on. It’s intoxicating, being so fully exposed and so close.

  “That’s too bad, Mel.” He says with a wistful smile. “Because there is so much I want from you.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Lucien

  Apparently it only takes an hour to go from being naked and covered with sweat with Melody, to being fully clothed and surrounded by people over the age of 80. Hunger was the driving force, finally making us finish our sauna session and head to the cafe at the time we were told to arrive. But if Mel hadn’t suggested we leave, I might have stayed in there for days, withering away while talking to her in all our naked glory.

  Although I must admit, I’m not against the vibe these old folks have going in here. Judging by the pile of skis outside, it looks like they all came in from nearby and are warming up with copious amounts of spiced wine and some brown liquor that I’ve managed to keep my distance from despite being offered about ten shots already. Right now most people are eating, but music is blasting and there are at least two couples who simply can’t keep themselves from the dance floor. And by dance floor, I mean the little space between the tables. But all in all, these old people are going hard.

  I glance across to Mel who has a big smile on her face watching the older couple dancing nearest to us. Her face has a flush of red from the sauna and her hair is still a little wet, leaving little translucent windows of wet white fabric on her thermal. I remember that skin, exposed and glistening not long ago, and I wonder if that’s the last time I’ll ever see her like that. I really hope not.

  While I’m ogling her, apparently someone else in our midst has been plotting. Before I can intervene, she is being swept up to dance by a man who is very much not me.

  I glare at the man. Sure, he’s got about 50 years on me, but that just means he’s going to get all of Melody’s trust, deserving or not. The one thing I want more than anything, this dude has in a second. I stare resentfully at his kind eyes and adorably dated dance moves. How am I supposed to compete with that?

  My answer comes tumbling in from the cold. Two men and a woman hurry in the door with snow still on their jackets, clutching instrument cases, apparently bringing live music to the festivities. They really know how to party in the middle of nowhere.

  I scan the group over, wondering if they realize that I’ve just joined their band. Well, at least for one song. If this is the last night I ever get to spend with Melody like this, then I’m going to tell her how I feel in the only two languages I’m comfortable expressing myself, French and music. Sure, she’ll have no idea what I’m saying or even that it’s for her. But I’ll know.

  I also can’t get that night in Brooklyn out of my head, even if it’s a bit fuzzy. The way she looked at me when I sang for her is crystal clear and engrained in my memory forever. I want her to look at me like that again, her eyes dripping over every inch of me. I need her to be reminded that we have damn good chemistry and that I’m still that person. So I make my decision. It goes against every fiber of my being to make a move like this. I guess you don’t act quite yourself when you’re in a life crisis, which I’ve now confirmed is definitely the case.

  I move quickly, grabbing three shots for the newcomers. I lay them out in front of them and then point to one man’s guitar case. They get the idea and nod that I can take the guitar before happily sitting down with their shots.

  I find a stool and get comfortable with the instrument, strumming it to myself to tune it while the music from the speakers is still playing. I try not to think about the fact that Melody hasn’t seemingly even noticed my absence.

  I know exactly what I’m going to play. It’s the song that came to my mind when I first saw her singing in Brooklyn. When I was pulled into her vortex, never successfully making it back out.

  It’s an old song but it means a lot to me. You see, while Melody was fan-girling over heavy metal at age eleven, I’m not ashamed to admit I could be found shedding a tear over sad French romances at the same age. I practice the first chords of a song from one of these romances.

  Our host sees me and gives me a little clap of excitement. She hurries over behind the bar and turns off the music. Eyes shift around in confusion until they see me, and the curious faces turn to observe me. The only one I am paying attention to though has a wild pink mane of hair and is now looking right at me. Well, now or never.

  I swallow hard. I rarely play unless I am heavily intoxicated or alone, and right now I’m neither.

  I strum the guitar. The room is small enough that the sound travels without a microphone. I can already feel the satisfaction of this decision before I even start. The emotion of being in this close proximity with Melody has been… a lot. This is a release that I can actually have, to make up for the other types of release that I can’t with her.

  I remove my gaze from Melody’s so I can concentrate. I sing in the low and straightforward voice that the song calls for. The name of it is ‘Le tourbillon de vie’, which translates to ‘The whirlwind of life’. It’s about a man who is immediately taken by a woman when he hears her singing. They spend a night together but are separated simply by their lives, or the ‘whirlwind of life’. They meet again and fall into the same passion, yet once again, life takes them away from each other. Finally,
they connect one last time and don’t let go, and instead tumble happily through the rest of their lives together.

  I sing without any kind of performance, only highlighting the music. But I make sure that I meet Melody’s eyes for the last verse. I’m happy to find that I have her rapt attention. Her hand is in the older man’s hand and her arm lies on his shoulder, but her mind is with me. The intensity of her stare is palpable. Her bright eyes face me and her lips are slightly parted. I would do anything to kiss those lips right now.

  Instead, I look right at her while I sing the lines that only I know the meaning of. It’s intoxicating being able to look her in the eye and tell her a story that sounds a lot like ours, to suggest we might go through our lives together, interlaced.

  I finish the song while holding her gaze and offer her a slight nod before lowering the guitar. The room claps for me, but I barely notice. The face on Melody’s face is giving me the feedback I am much more interested in. I pace towards her and hold my hand out.

  “May I have this dance?”

  The man backs away and gives her space. A serious look hangs on her face as she looks to my hand and then at my face.

  “There’s no music?” She says in a way that sounds more like a resignation than a question.

  “It will come,” I say as I step closer and wrap my hand around her waist. She lifts her hands to mine and we step side to side. My heart races having her body pressed up against mine. Finally.

  “That wasn’t fair using French on me like that. You know how I reacted last time,” she finally says, looking up at me with her face adorably twisted in disapproval. “What did the song mean?”

  “It’s a story. One I relate to,” I say vaguely.

  “Mm, so I take it you won’t tell me this story?”

  “Don’t worry, all you need to know is that it’s a happy ending,” I say with a mischievous smile.

  I hear a strum from a guitar, and a soft melancholic voice descends over the room. Apparently, the French aren’t the only ones with a taste for tragedy in their art. I can’t understand this song, but it does not sound happy. But it is beautiful.

  I pull her in closer and I relish the feel of her curves against my abdomen. I hear her breath catch, making my blood run even hotter. There is no denying the spark between us as our bodies touch. It’s something I was starting to believe that I was making up. But now that I have her in my arms again, nothing feels more true.

  “The song was about what happens when two people refuse to let life get in the way of something real between them,” I whisper into her ear.

  “Hm,” she says softly back. “Sounds unrealistic.”

  “You sure?” I ask as I look down at her face, which is now studying my own. And she doesn’t have to say anything to me to give me my answer. Her face is filled with more confusion than me trying to order in Finnish.

  I rub my thumb on the small of her back, assuring her she doesn’t need to answer that question, assuring her I’ll be right here while she figures it out.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Melody

  We close the door to the cabin behind us in a hurry. Even just the short walk back here was painful. The temperature feels like it dropped lower, if that’s even possible. The fire has only embers remaining, and Lucien hurries to throw more wood in.

  I take off my jacket, wrap myself in a big blanket, and plop myself down next to the wood-burning stove, watching the logs catch fire.

  Lucien blows on his hands to warm himself up. I watch his body flex against his henley as he tightens his muscles in reaction to the cold. I think about how much easier it would be if he just wrapped himself around me like he did when we were dancing. How much heat we could generate together, rather than apart. Get your mind out of the gutter, I internally scold myself.

  We’re at the portion of the night that I’ve been wary of. Okay, and looking forward to in the tiniest way and absolutely in secret. There’s nothing else in our world right now but the two of us, one bed, and this fire. And then there’s the other fire, the one between us. I wanted to pretend it didn’t exist, and perhaps I would have been able to if I never saw him ever again. But being this close to him all day has wrecked the defensive walls I’ve put up.

  I hate that I want him. Just being in this room with him alone is intoxicating. Wherever his body is in relation to mine provides a warm tug, as if all the cells in my body are throwing a big party for just being close to him. The way he held me when we danced turned my cells into a damn rave. Techno music was playing, lights were flashing, and my body was dancing.

  I’m sure it also had something to do with having just seen him serenade the room in French. That move was just unfair. He knew last time he did that it essentially melted my clothing off. It’s almost impossible to see him as the big bad businessman when he pulls out a whimsical French song. Nope, all I could look at was the lush contrast of his sharp jaw with his soft lips and dark stubble, moving his tongue to make foreign sounds that were as charming as they were seductive.

  He lowers himself down to the floor next to me, his face transfixed on the fire. I admire his strong profile and remember what it was like seeing it for the first time at the bar where we met. He drew me in because of his intensity, but kept me around because of his willingness to make himself vulnerable. Well, that and this inexplicable urge to get under his skin the same way he gets under mine. That hasn’t gone away.

  “You know,” I start. “The night I met you, I was energized by you. Even though you were such a jerk. I was so happy to get swept up in a night of… well, ridiculousness, with you, that I remember thinking, ‘Maybe this is the universe balancing things out for the shit day I’ve had’.”

  He turns his head toward me, the amber light of the fire dancing on one side of his face making him look like the most handsome devil in hell.

  “Couldn’t it still have been that?” He grabs my hand and holds it between his, warming it immediately.

  “What you did, even if you didn’t know me. It gutted me. When I saw you again here, of all places, all I could think of was how bad you made me feel,” I say, trying to hold back a tremble in my voice.

  “I only want to make you feel good,” he says slowly and with a tone that is darker than he’s used with me tonight. It hits me somewhere deep and primal, and I remember why I’ve been excited all night to be alone with him in the cabin. “I want to make you feel so fucking good you can’t think of anything else again when you see me.” The hunger written on his face makes my body ache for him.

  I want that. I want to feel good. And it would so much easier if I could deny that I want him to be the one to do it, but it’s just a big lie that has been exhausting to keep telling to myself all night. Every inch of my body craves him. When he finally pulled me into him to dance, that craving poured from the little place I had been hiding it.

  He’s just so close to me now, his soft lips and his intense stare engulf me.

  My body takes control before my mind can stop myself.

  I lean my face in to his, closing the short distance between us and press my mouth into his quickly, desperately.

  He brings his hand to my cheek, leading my lips into slow, deep kisses. The warmth of his lips against mine trickles through every nerve in my body, lighting me on fire.

  We’re kissing.

  We’re finally kissing.

  My heart races as the realization finally hits me. I’ve surrendered to him. And it is delicious. I inhale his scent and hot breath deeply, as if I can finally fully breath with him in my system.

  His big hands wrap under my thighs and he effortlessly lifts me up onto his lap so I am straddling him. My body sparks being this close to him, wrapped around him.

  “It’s been torture having you so close and not being able to hold you,” Lucien growls into my ear, sending goosebumps shooting down my skin.

  “Your stupid cologne,” I groan, “has been driving me crazy.”

  “Good to know,” h
e says with a smirk, before his face grows serious. He levels his eyes down to mine and whispers. “You drive me crazy.”

  I freeze, unsure what to say so instead look deep into those eyes filled with promises of what he wants to do with me.

  He leans forward, bringing me with him, and then gently lowers me to the ground, covering my body with his. He is so much bigger than me that, in this moment, it seems like he is the whole world. Endless miles of Lucien cover my body. He takes my mouth into his as he lowers his hips to mine and grinds achingly slow into me. My pleasure ignites with the sensation of his thick hardness rocking up against my core, even with our layers between us.

  I take a deep breath, savoring the release of so much pent-up frustration releasing from my body with the thrill of having his hands on me. I move my own hands down his shoulders and over the ropes of his muscled arms. I bring them back up and run them down his spine. His muscles pull and contract as he moves his body on top of mine. Finally, I trace the waistband of his sports pants, dancing my fingertips across his warm skin and push across his taught stomach and under his pants. He grabs my hand before I can get there and interlaces his fingers with mine.

  “Tonight is all about you,” he says, brushing my cheek with his own. His stubble puts every one of my nerves on high alert.

  He moves his body lower and lifts my shirt so my stomach is exposed. His lips kiss me gently on that bare, sensitive skin while his hand reaches to cup my breast. He easily finds the nipple through my bra and shirt and circles it with his thumb. I arch my back at the sensation that is already running hot through me. Lucien has occupied my mind for so long now and I’ve labeled the emotion pulsing through me as pure hate, even when it has often been lust and having him touch me this way is setting all of that free.