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?