Tempted by Her Convenient Husband

by Charlotte Hawkes

  God, how she missed such a simple gesture.

  ‘Well, if my company had to go, better it’s in Woods’s hands than in Father’s.’

  ‘Or Andrew Rockman’s,’ she told him quietly.

  ‘Christ, is that who else was interested?’

  She nodded slowly.

  ‘Then yeah.’ He sounded resigned. ‘Definitely better with Lukas Woods. But you shouldn’t have married him. He might be a decent bloke to another bloke, but he isn’t who I would want my baby sister marrying. Why did you do it, Oats?’

  ‘Because it was either him or Louis Rockman. Can we discuss that later?’ She tried to smooth things over. ‘I just want to focus on you right now.’

  ‘Forget it, Oti.’ Edward blew out a breath and her heart ached that he was thinking of her even as he must be seeing his own chance—however slim—at some degree of recovery slipping away.

  She reached forward, catching herself as she was about to put her hand over his—he wouldn’t even feel her—and moving it to his cheek instead.

  ‘Too late, Edward.’ Her voice was soft. ‘I already married him. The deed is done. So unless you want a bully like Father to be the only one to win, then you might as well accept it.’

  ‘No, Oti.’

  ‘You have to.’ Frustration, and an old sense of guilt, bubbled up inside her, leaving her helpless to control her outburst. ‘You wouldn’t be in this state if it hadn’t been for me.’

  He blew out a sharp breath. ‘For pity’s sake, you weren’t driving. I was. You weren’t even in the car with me.’

  ‘But if you hadn’t been racing to collect me...’ She splayed her hands. ‘If I hadn’t called you, panicking, because he was at that party...’

  ‘Stop it, Oats. It wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘It was my fault.’ Oti let her head drop, her throat tight and clogged. ‘If I’d never called you...’

  ‘So what happens if I have a lower motor neuron intact?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘What?’ She jerked her head up, confused.

  ‘Tell me about the procedure,’ Edward ground out.

  He was making an effort again. Pulling himself together despite everything. And she needed to do the same.

  Oti smiled a watery smile. This was precisely why it didn’t matter what she’d had to promise to Lukas, or her father.

  Edward was worth it.

  ‘Then the peripheral nerve transfer procedure can work to reroute expendable donors to non-functional nerves.’

  For the next hour or so they talked through options and procedures. And it felt promising that Edward was listening to her, and they weren’t fighting any more.

  All that was left to do now was to call her father and get the funds he’d agreed to give her. She would do it as soon as she left Edward.

  Her father must have received the money by now. The deal had stipulated that it be transferred to him from Lukas the moment they walked out of that cathedral as husband and wife. And—the Roc Holdings takeover aside—Lukas had a reputation for being utterly scrupulous where business was concerned.

  She hoped with every fibre of her being that her father would honour the deal. Because if Lukas was softening towards her at all—and maybe it was just fancifulness on her part to think that was the case—then he wasn’t going to feel that way if she had to go to him to try to inveigle more money out of him.

  It would make her seem, certainly in Lukas’s eyes, as greedy and grasping as her father himself.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘CARE TO TELL me where you’ve been?’

  Oti jumped as she closed the door to her suite. Slowly, she turned to look at Lukas as he stood—he felt as though he’d been lurking—by the connecting doors.

  The expression in her stunning blue eyes was like a hand reaching inside his chest and clutching that thing which passed for a heart. Then twisting.

  ‘What is it, Octavia?’

  He heard the words before it even registered that he’d been going to say them, and he didn’t like it that her eyes widened, as if the concern in his tone surprised her. As though she didn’t expect kindness from him.

  He fought back a wave of what felt astonishingly like...remorse.

  ‘I was just...’ She shook her head, clearly rattled. ‘I phoned my father.’

  ‘Oh...?’ he prompted when she fell abruptly silent.

  She didn’t answer. Lukas wasn’t even certain that she’d heard him.

  ‘Octavia?’

  She jerked her head up, her gaze colliding with his again. And then...something changed. The air around her shifted. She shook her head back so that her glorious curtain of hair danced over her shoulders, and with almost controlled deliberation she sashayed into the bedroom and past where he stood, wholly unconcerned.

  ‘To answer your original question, I’ve been out,’ she replied casually.

  A feral growl rumbled up through his body. ‘I can see that,’ he said. ‘Out where?’

  ‘Who are you? My father?’

  She almost laughed as she dropped her bag on the chair, began to unwind the long scarf from around her neck and removed her earrings, whilst he watched transfixed and feeling downright murderous.

  ‘No, Octavia.’ He let the doors go with a sweep of his arms, then stalked into the room. ‘I’m your husband. Or do you need a reminder about that?’

  And then he felt shocked at how jealous he was. As though he didn’t know whether he was more annoyed at her or disgusted with himself. Perhaps because he hadn’t been able to chase images of her wearing nothing but some scraps of snow-white lace, that he’d ached to tear off with his teeth, for God’s sake—out of his head.

  He’d actually convinced himself that he’d succeeded. All day at work he’d pretended to himself that he’d pushed her from his head, only to return home this evening to find the place distinctly Octavia-free and his driver gone.

  It had felt inexplicably empty.

  And now she’d practically floated back in, with a glow that he recognised from the women he’d slept with in the past. Only...he hadn’t slept with her, which meant only one thing.

  And a kind of primal rage seethed through his veins, even as he told himself that he didn’t care.

  That he shouldn’t care.

  But ever since their damned kiss at the altar he’d felt as edgy as an adolescent. Unfocused in an important business meeting today, and unable to distract himself with even the more herculean of physical exercise.

  ‘I know you’re my husband,’ she said calmly, snapping him back to reality. ‘We were married less than twenty-four hours ago—I’m hardly likely to forget.’

  ‘So where were you?’ he growled, not even recognising himself.

  What was it about her that had him turning himself inside out?

  She lowered her hands to her lap so damned calmly that it scraped at him all the more. Then she cocked her head towards him.

  ‘Why do you care?’

  Lukas didn’t answer. Words would have been impossible. He wasn’t just angry; he was furious. Emotions that were unfamiliar, and certainly unappreciated, surged through him. He didn’t even know what he was doing.

  Fake marriage or not, out of respect he had decided not to indulge in extramarital affairs. He’d at least expected her to show the same courtesy.

  They’d only just had the ceremony, and it was about the optics of the situation.

  Yeah, right...the optics.

  Thrusting aside the unwelcome voice, Lukas forced himself to move to a chair, throwing himself down with his usual insouciance and stretching his arms out behind his head. No need for his deceitful new bride to know just how pent-up he was.

  But then he watched as her eyes followed the line of his chest, as though drawn there against her will. That tiny intake of breath. The flicker of her tongue over
her lips. It appalled and thrilled him in equal measure.

  That attraction between them was still there. That was something. He could use that to his advantage.

  Is that all it is? a voice taunted inside his head.

  Lukas chose to ignore it.

  ‘Perhaps I failed to be clear before, but I am very protective of what is mine. And since, as you so conveniently pointed out a few moments ago, we only married yesterday.’

  ‘Is that so?’ She surprised him. ‘I didn’t think we would be playing by those rules.’

  ‘Well, we are.’

  ‘Both of us?’ she demanded. ‘Or just me?’

  For a long moment Lukas stared at her. And slowly he began to realise what was going on, the truth of it making him want to jump up and punch the air in triumph.

  Inexplicably.

  ‘Is that what this is about?’ He grinned. And she blinked at him as though she wasn’t sure how or why the tables had turned. ‘Tit for tat? You think I’ll cat around, so you’re getting your kicks in first?’

  ‘I think you’ll cat around?’ she echoed scornfully, doing a half-decent job of pretending that she was aghast, in Lukas’s opinion. ‘I don’t think it, Lukas. I know it. Look at your reputation.’

  ‘And so you intend to do the same?’ He wasn’t sure how he managed to stay in his seat.

  Especially when she shrugged so easily.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘This will not continue now that we are married,’ he told her. Serenely.

  Taking it as a victory that she stiffened perceptibly.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Another flash of a smile that felt too sharp on his own mouth. He didn’t understand what he was doing, or why he felt so...outside himself. But it didn’t seem to matter. The words were coming out, anyway.

  ‘Whoever you met this afternoon, you will not meet him again. Do you understand?’

  ‘I know your reputation,’ she continued too evenly, as she casually plucked a tiny piece of non-existent lint from those deliciously backside-hugging jersey trousers.

  It was a habit of hers he’d noticed right from that first night, five months ago. Though he couldn’t have said why he’d been so paying so much attention.

  ‘The whole world knows it, of course.’ She was still speaking, frowning at him. ‘And it isn’t what a new bride would like to hear.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Lukas demanded, that full mouth of hers...doing things to him.

  He told himself it was the whisky still running through his veins from the limo drive home, though he suspected that was not actually the source of his perturbation. He’d probably sweated that out after the first couple of hours of beasting himself.

  Across from him, Oti lifted her shoulders as elegantly as she possibly could.

  ‘You like to live life to its fullest. You drink and gamble and carouse.’

  ‘Carouse?’

  Her eyes narrowed at him. ‘Now you wish to take issue with my choice of words?’

  Despite everything, amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘Forgive me, Lady Octavia.’

  She glowered at him, and he liked that rather more than he ought to.

  ‘My point is,’ she emphasised irritably, ‘that you are infamous for having a string of lovers. So I would ask whether you intend for your endless string of affairs and flings to continue?’

  It was puzzling how little the idea appealed to him suddenly.

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘It does when you’re dictating who I may and may not meet now that we are married. Sauce for the goose and all that.’

  ‘There will be no sauce,’ he ground out, barely able to focus. His head was being turned inside out. ‘No taking my driver to meet other men. No affairs.’

  ‘And you?’ she pressed. ‘Not that I care about the affairs per se, of course. More that I don’t wish to be made to look a fool any more than it appears you do.’

  She leaned back on the bed then, her arms extended behind her. Lukas suspected she had no idea how that put her breasts on display in that figure-hugging top. Less idea still of quite how her gentle unpretentiousness was affecting him.

  He’d never much cared for sweet women before, preferring those who knew what they were getting themselves into with him. He desired women, sure, and he prided himself on being a thorough, generous lover. But he’d never been so preoccupied with fantasies about peeling their clothes off, slowly and delicately. Taking such time and care.

  It was all that had consumed his thoughts ever since she’d hauled that insane wedding dress around his house last night.

  Ever since he’d opened that door and seen her standing there in those scraps of lace like some kind of real-life erotic pin-up.

  ‘Are you offering yourself as an alternative?’ His voice was little more than a rasp as he deliberately avoided her question.

  He barely recognised himself. Or the primal creature that howled inside him, making him take one step, and then another, getting all too close to where she sat. To the bed on which she sat.

  And he found that he felt altogether too much like an untried, overeager adolescent.

  ‘If you want me to yourself, my lady, then you need only say so.’

  She laughed, a sensual sound that seemed to wind itself around his groin like a fist. A very soft but firm Octavia-style fist.

  What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t even want to want her. She was everything he despised. From her lifestyle to her morals. And whilst that might be okay for a single night of mutual satisfaction with a woman he would never have to see again, it wasn’t a good idea to complicate things in this clear-cut arrangement of theirs. Why blur the lines with a woman he would have to see day in, day out for the foreseeable future?

  And still he kept advancing.

  ‘I realise you may find this difficult to understand, given the sheer volume of women who follow you around just hoping you’ll notice them for a night, but you are not at all my type, Lukas. I am not the slightest bit attracted to you.’

  Victory smashed through him. It made him want to punch his hand into the air.

  Because here, at last, he finally knew she was lying.

  He knew women, and he knew how his new bride had looked at him. Yesterday, on their wedding day and the first time they had met. She might not like him much, and she might like his reputation even less, but she was attracted to him. She couldn’t help herself any more than he could. It was apparent in every line of that lush body of hers.

  ‘I know you want me,’ he rumbled, revelling in this sensation that was moving through him. ‘I can read it in the way you respond to me. Every time. You can’t help yourself.’

  ‘I don’t do any such thing,’ she argued, but her voice was faltering. Insubstantial.

  A revelation.

  ‘Would you care to put that to the test?’ he asked gruffly, the ache stirring inside him all the more.

  There was a beat of hesitation before she answered. ‘What kind of test?’

  A thousand thoughts raced through his head. Each one dirtier than the last. He reined them in quickly.

  ‘A kiss,’ he told her simply.

  ‘A kiss?’ Her eyes raked over him searchingly. It might as well have been her fingertips.

  He shivered.

  ‘Yes,’ he confirmed. ‘If you respond, you’ll admit the attraction. If you don’t respond... Well, that won’t happen.’

  ‘Such humility,’ she needled. But her eyebrows knitted together, as if she was trying to see the catch. ‘That’s it?’

  ‘That’s it,’ he confirmed, willing her to accept.

  When was the last time he’d wanted anything so much?

  Oti pursed her lips, her brow pulling tighter as she tried to decide whether she could deceive him.

 
He didn’t know why he held his breath, willing her to bite. And then she lifted her head and jerked her chin to him defiantly.

  ‘Sure, why not? One kiss to prove you wrong.’

  It was almost comical, the way she sat up, folded her hands into their usual place on her lap and closed her eyes as she tilted her head to the side.

  Before he could think better of it, Lukas scooped her up and lifted her off the bed.

  ‘Wait—where are we going?’

  Wordlessly, he carried her out of her bedroom and to the sitting area, before sinking onto one of the couches with Octavia sprawled in his lap.

  She struggled to right herself. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Setting your mind at ease,’ he lied. ‘I figured you would prefer to do this...test kiss in here, rather than on a bed. I don’t know if I can trust you not to get too carried away.’

  No need to tell her that he barely trusted himself not to get too carried away.

  ‘Right,’ she muttered huskily, not even realising that he hadn’t tried to deny it.

  He rather liked that. Just as liked the heat of her backside against the solid length of his sex. Making it more of a gratifying ache than a painful one.

  ‘Now what?’ she quipped. But the tremor in her voice gave her away, betraying her desire, just as he’d hoped.

  Encouraging her to loop her arms around his neck, Lukas dipped his head to her, inhaling that fresh scent he remembered from the cathedral. It smelled more of tropical hair shampoo than any heavy, cloying perfume—only making her seem that much more innocent.

  ‘Now what?’ Her voice seemed to flutter around her, and he couldn’t hold himself back any longer.

  Bending his head, he didn’t wait, he didn’t warn. He just took.

  * * *

  Everything in Oti jolted, like grabbing hold of one of the electrified fences that had once been set up around their camp in Sudan.

  Only far, far more pleasant.

  Lukas was just as charged, just as stirring. And there had to be something seriously amiss with her because she revelled in every second of it.