Suddenly, that was the last thing she wanted.
‘You did warn me,’ she agreed all too huskily. ‘But I never was very good at following instructions.’
Then, before he could set her aside, just as he had done a few nights earlier, she surged against him and pressed her lips to his.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HE HADN’T INTENDED to kiss her.
He’d intended merely to...intimidate her. To stop her from talking. From telling him how he’d felt about her all those months ago. And how he’d come to choose her as his future bride.
He had sworn to himself, those few nights ago, that he would never touch her again after his alarming lack of control.
In fact, Lukas had rapidly come to the conclusion that staying away from this particular woman would be in both of their interests.
But still it took all his resolve to break the kiss and set her aside. More gently this time than he had the other night.
‘You don’t have to do this, Oti,’ he rasped out, ignoring the fact that his body was clamouring for her. ‘The money is yours. No strings.’
‘And if I want to?’ she managed breathlessly. Almost making him surrender right there, on the spot.
He growled, forcing himself to cross the room. To put that space he’d thought about between them.
‘You don’t want to.’
And then he left the living room and stalked down the hallway to his suite. Stepping through the doors, he stared at his empty bedroom and wondered what the hell was going on that he still lusted after this woman with such intensity.
He didn’t hear the click of the door. He didn’t even realise she had stepped through the connecting archway between their bedrooms until she said his name, and he turned around.
And his body went into overdrive.
His sweet bride, his shy Oti, was standing against the door wearing nothing but a lace lingerie set—in cherry-red this time—and a pair of Do me heels. And it was killing him not to simply obey.
‘Go back in your room,’ he managed hoarsely.
‘I don’t think so.’ She laughed softly, and he wondered if she knew he heard the nervousness.
‘Octavia. I’m not going to tell you again.’
She took another step forward. ‘Thank goodness for that. Too much rejection could damage a woman’s ego.’
He wasn’t a green, inexperienced adolescent. He knew women—and their bodies—as well as he knew his own.
Better, perhaps.
He could read the short, shallow breaths which indicated her interest as easily as he could read the hard, pert nipples that virtually called out for him to touch. His eyes had alighted on those sleek, endless legs of hers. He hadn’t been able to stop imagining them wrapped around his waist—or, better yet, draped over his shoulders—since the other night.
The memory of those scraps of electric blue lace that barely concealed her modesty still haunted his dreams. Waking and sleeping.
But he could also read the uncertainty in her eyes.
‘This isn’t what you want. I can read it in your expression.’
And still she advanced into his room, his space, and he knew what was coming. He thought he was ready. Prepared. His hands prepared to snag her wrists, to hold her away, to control this spiralling situation.
‘This is exactly what I want, Lukas. I’m just terrified you’ll throw me out again.’
And he intended to resist her. He really did. But then she took a final step and he caught her scent—soft, fresh, vaguely floral, and that gentle musk that was all woman—and every thought tumbled from his head.