by Annie West
But it wasn’t food on his mind, or even conversation. The low pitch of his voice was pure seduction. Ella pressed her thighs together, pretending she didn’t feel that tiny pulse of awareness awakening between them.
‘No, thank you.’
There was a pause. ‘Has anyone ever told you you’re stubborn?’
‘Yes.’
‘You know you want to. You’re denying yourself as well as me.’
‘Don’t presume to know my mind, Donato.’
He sighed. ‘Don’t make me force you, Ella.’
She tucked the sheet more securely under her arms and sat straighter. ‘You can’t force me.’
‘What if I told you your father’s financial viability is totally dependent on my support? And that support is dependent on the wedding he’s organising for us.’
‘You’re lying. You don’t want to marry me. We discussed it last night.’
What sort of bizarre game was he playing?
‘You discussed it, Ella, but you wouldn’t listen to my response.’ He paused and the silence thickened around her. ‘Ask your father if you don’t believe me. He’ll confirm it. The wedding goes ahead or there’s no deal. And if there’s no deal...’
CHAPTER SIX
DONATO WAS WAITING for her, standing in the doorway of a white, two-storey art deco gem of a mansion that made Ella’s mouth water with envy. In the forecourt sat a gleaming convertible in dark red. Not a modern supercar but a vintage model with running boards that made her think of champagne picnics and romantic escapes to the country.
She choked down annoyance. It was easier to loathe the man before she realised they shared the same tastes.
But this wasn’t his home. Donato lived in Melbourne. Maybe he was a guest here. He probably lived in a soulless box of a house and had a chauffeur drive him in a stretch limo.
The thought soothed her. She didn’t like the notion they had anything in common. Anything other than that disconcerting stir of attraction. And the suspicion she’d got last night that he wasn’t a fan of her father. Clearly that was pure imagination, since he proposed to link himself with Reg Sanderson’s family.
Ella stopped her little car, telling herself it was the house that quickened her pulse. Not the man.
With huge streamlined windows and a curved end like the prow of a ship, the old house was stunning. The glimpse of dark blue ocean glittering beyond it enhanced its beauty, as did the lush garden that hid it from the security gates. Gates that opened as soon as she’d nosed her car off the street.
Had Donato been watching for her, or his security staff? She’d seen no one on the long drive from the street to the clifftop house.
Now there he was under the huge circular portico, his expression unreadable. Against the bright beaten copper of the doors he looked severe. She told herself it was because he wore black trousers and shirt, the sleeves rolled casually up his arms. Yet the contrast between the man and the bright metal behind him reminded her again of that fallen-angel image.
There was nothing casual about his wide stance. Or the way he watched her. Through the windscreen Ella felt the sizzle of his dark eyes. Her skin tingled, her blood a rush of adrenalin as she stared back.
The scary thing about Donato Salazar was the way he saw beyond the surface to the woman she was inside. To the woman she’d never dared let herself be.
Ella had never felt so naked as with him. It was as if he saw through a lifetime’s defences. He challenged her in a way no man ever had. Donato called to a reckless side she’d never let loose.
For a moment fear pinned her to her seat. Then she thrust open her door and got out, to be instantly enveloped by the summer heat.
Over the car roof their gazes collided and meshed. Ella’s pulse racketed and her insides clenched in a way that wasn’t about fear but anticipation.
How could she want a man who’d calmly decreed she had to marry him or watch her father ruined?
Setting her shoulders, Ella slammed the door and stalked across the terrace.
He didn’t move towards her, just stood: tall, brooding and enigmatic. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, making him look nonchalant. That only spiked her annoyance.
Even worse, he looked every bit as stunning as he had last night. The muted lighting at the party hadn’t exaggerated the wide set of his shoulders or the lean strength of his body. Her gaze skittered over corded forearms, dusted with dark hair, and heavy thigh muscles. For a shaky moment she wondered how it would feel to be held against that hard masculine frame.
Fear skidded down her spine. She didn’t do lust. Not like this. And not with a man like Donato Salazar.
He smiled as she approached and the pale scar on one side of his face disappeared into the groove running up his cheek. Just like that white heat shimmered through her feminine core. She blinked, stumbling a little on an uneven flagstone, and reminded herself she was too furious to feel attraction.
Nevertheless, she wished she’d taken time to hunt out a pair of heels so she didn’t have to tilt her chin to look at him.
‘Ella, you’re looking particularly vibrant today.’
‘Vibrant?’ She shook her head. ‘The word is angry.’
‘It suits you.’ His smile didn’t falter. If anything he looked satisfied. But despite the smile there was something guarded about his expression. His eyes held secrets.
Not surprising, given the games he played. She’d give an awful lot to know what they were.
What made him tick? What was he after? For the life of her she couldn’t believe a man like Donato Salazar really wanted to marry one of Reg Sanderson’s daughters. Especially her, the prosaic, sensible, not-a-glamorous-bone-in-her-body one.
She stiffened. This wasn’t about her. It was about saving Fuzz and Rob.
‘We need to talk.’
‘Of course. Come through.’ He stepped back and gestured for her to enter.
She strode past him into a wide circular foyer. Her staccato steps petered out as her gaze caught on the perfect curving lines of the staircase to the upper floor. Delicate wrought iron formed a balustrade featuring wood nymphs and fauns dancing up the steps. Pure art deco whimsy.
Ella took a step closer, entranced despite her fury.
Then from behind came the thud of the heavy front doors closing her in. The hairs on her nape stood up and a frisson of anxiety resonated through her.
Ridiculous. She was here because she needed to have this out with him, face to face.
‘This way.’ Donato was beside her, leading the way towards a sitting room that featured views across a terrace and in-ground pool to the Pacific Ocean beyond.
Ella didn’t budge. ‘This won’t take long.’ She planted her feet.
He swung around, eyebrows silently rising. ‘You look very combative.’
‘You’re not surprised.’
He shrugged and walked back to where she stood in the centre of the circular foyer. ‘I know you’re a volatile woman.’
Ella snorted. Volatile? She was the stable one of the family. The one who never had tantrums. The one who quietly got on with whatever needed to be done. Before she left home it had been she, not her father or older sister, who made sure the housekeeper and gardener received their instructions and their pay.
‘I’m not volatile. I’m justifiably annoyed. There’s a difference.’ She breathed deep, feeling indignation well. ‘Or will you decide my reaction is due to the fact I’m female?’ That had always been one of her father’s favourite put-downs.
Donato raised his hands as if in surrender. Yet the spark in those dark blue eyes told her he was enjoying himself too much to give in.
‘I’m a lot of things, Ella. But not sexist.’
He was far closer than she liked. Too close. Her stomach
gave a betraying wobble.
She swallowed hard as the aroma of rich coffee and warm male skin enveloped her. It was as if her body was absorbed in a different conversation than the one coming out of her mouth. A conversation that was about heat and desire and that phantom ache down deep in her womb.
She didn’t know how to combat it. Creating distance between them was the obvious option but she wouldn’t let him see even a hint of fear. She’d learned young that revealing weakness only made things worse.
‘I want to know what’s going on.’
‘Well, since you opted to come here rather than to Bennelong Point, I’ve arranged for us to share lunch on the terrace.’
Had she ever met anyone so coolly sure of himself? So infuriating? He cast even her father into the shade with his supreme self-confidence.
Yet, despite her annoyance, Ella didn’t get the same feeling from Donato as she did from her father, who so blatantly exulted in triumphing over others. Donato was manipulating her yet she didn’t feel bullied. More...challenged.
Which showed how dangerous was this undercurrent of attraction humming in her veins. It tempted her to put a pretty gloss on Donato’s outrageous demands.
Ella crossed her arms, glaring. ‘I didn’t come here for lunch.’
‘You need to look after yourself. You didn’t stop for breakfast, did you?’ Donato took a step closer and suddenly the spacious two-storey room shrank around them. Ella breathed deeper, needing oxygen. ‘You were still in bed when I rang.’ The glint in his dark eyes reminded her of his teasing as she lay naked in bed, and heat drilled down through her belly.
Ella stiffened, ignoring the telltale flush rising in her throat and cheeks.
‘I want the truth. You don’t need to marry Reg Sanderson’s daughter. The idea of marriage to cement closer business ties doesn’t wash. You’re the one my father needs, not the other way around. Why are you playing along with the idea?’
For a millisecond Donato’s eyes widened, giving her a glimpse of surprise in a flash of indigo that rivalled the ocean’s brilliance. Then his eyelids lowered and his gaze became unreadable.
Ella’s breathing quickened. There was something there. Something she’d said, something he didn’t expect her to know. But what? She racked her brain but she’d only stated the obvious. She could find no significance there.
Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling she’d inadvertently hit on something important.
‘Things aren’t always as clear-cut as they seem.’ Donato paused. ‘Your father’s proposal has definite advantages.’
Ella jammed her hands on her hips. ‘What advantages? Name one.’
In answer Donato’s eyes skated down, past the warm blush in her throat, over her loose-fitting top, lightweight trousers and flat sandals.
She’d dressed for comfort rather than sophistication. Her floaty aqua and silver top was a favourite. Now, under Donato’s trawling stare, Ella had a qualm that it had somehow suddenly become transparent. Surely his gaze grazed her skin, following every curve the material should have hidden. As if he already knew her intimately.
Already. The word was a promise she couldn’t dislodge from her brain.
Ella’s body came alive, just as it had last night. She’d told herself that had been an illusion created by tiredness and stress. But she didn’t feel tired now. She felt wired, waves of energy ripping through her, awakening every nerve ending.
She jutted her jaw. ‘You don’t have to marry me to get sex.’
‘Why, Ella—’ his eyes gleamed with a banked heat and his mouth curved in a slow smile that turned her insides to mush ‘—that’s quite an offer. I’m charmed and delighted.’
For one insane moment she almost smiled back, till her brain processed his words.
‘I’m offering nothing.’ Her head snapped back, her pulse thrumming at the look in his eyes. ‘I’m just stating the obvious. Even if you wanted to go to bed with me, marriage isn’t necessary.’ Unfortunately her explanation came out in an unsteady rush as he leaned closer.
‘Such a tempting idea,’ he murmured. ‘I’m glad you suggested it.’
‘Stop it, Donato. You know I’m not suggesting anything.’ But now she couldn’t banish the idea of them, together.
‘You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?’ His voice dropped an octave to a warm rumble she felt deep inside. ‘I am too, Ella. I find the idea intoxicating.’
He lifted his hand to cup her cheek and sensation juddered through her. Ella shot back a step, her breath snagging. Instead of releasing her, Donato followed, his broad callused palm hot on her skin.
She felt crowded, surrounded.
Excited.
Silence thickened. The saw of her breathing seemed loud, as did the quickened patter of her pulse. But it was the sensations detonating through her body that panicked Ella.
Donato had sabotaged all her erogenous zones, attuning them to his touch. Her lips tingled as his gaze dropped to her mouth. Her nipples budded against the sensible bra she wore, as if mocking her determination not to dress up for Donato. Her silky top stirred as she hauled in deeper breaths, the touch of fabric a barely there caress. And between her legs...
Ella swallowed hard, drowning in the slumberous heat of those searing eyes.
‘Let me go, Donato.’ Her voice was as shaky as she felt. Not with fear, but because her body came alive so instantly, so completely, at his touch.
With every atom of her being she was aware of his big frame mere inches from her own. It was as if he projected a force-field that sent shock waves across her skin and deeper, heating her core.
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve waited too long.’ His palm slid down her cheek to caress her jaw then thrust back into her hair. Ella’s neck arched and she bit down a sigh at the luxurious feel of his fingers against her scalp. Tiny little shivers coursed down her back and shoulders.
‘Rubbish.’ Her voice was far too soft. She cleared her throat and tried to summon the energy to move away. Her knees had grown wobbly. ‘We haven’t known each other a day.’
Remarkable to think it was less than twenty-four hours since they met.
Donato bent his head even closer and Ella’s breath hitched. He held her captive with that remarkable dark blue gaze. ‘It’s still been too long. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.’ The words were pure seduction, low and tantalising.
Ella told herself it was just a line he tossed out, but even then she couldn’t dredge up the power to move. Stunned, she teetered on the brink of losing herself. She swallowed, her mouth drying at what she read in his stare.
‘Don’t take me for a fool, Donato.’ Despite her indignation her tongue slowed on his name, savouring it. She looked up into that austere, scarred, compelling face and wished, for once in her life, that she really was the beauty in the family. The sort to turn even this man’s head. ‘You came to the party expecting my sister, not me.’
‘And how pleased I was that she couldn’t make it.’ The words were a caress.
‘No!’ She jerked back, finally breaking from his hold. ‘Don’t pretend you were bowled over by my looks or my glittering personality. It won’t work.’ Ella had learned long ago, growing up in her sister’s shadow, that she wasn’t the sort to turn male heads. Pain twisted, razor-sharp, in her chest.
‘You don’t believe me, sweet Ella?’
Damn the man. Even that easy endearment sent her heart tumbling. Was she really that needy? So ready to be seduced by a show of attention?
Yet even as she lashed up indignation she knew she was fooling herself. Despite her protests that sense of connection between them was as real as it was inexplicable. It had slammed through her the moment she’d turned to find Donato’s eyes on her at the party. It had sung in her veins as she’d sparred with him under her father’s hor
rified gaze. It had turned her on as she lay naked in bed, wishing he was there with her instead of taunting her with that sultry deep voice over the phone.
‘Don’t toy with me, Donato.’ She pressed her lips together.
‘You don’t trust me, do you?’
Her chin hiked up. ‘Not an inch.’
‘Maybe this will convince you.’ He grabbed her hand and, before she could yank it free, placed it on his chest.
Instantly she stilled. The hard staccato beat of his heart pounded beneath her palm. It wasn’t the steady pulse of a man in control. It was the rapid pulse of a man on the brink. Her eyes widened.
Runnels of fire traced across Ella’s skin as she met eyes the colour of twilight. His gaze bored into her, challenging yet, incredibly it seemed, honest.
‘I want you, Ella.’ His gaze pinioned her. ‘And you want me.’
Before she could form a reply his big hand lifted to the upper slope of her breast, palm down. ‘See? We match.’
It was true. Her heartbeat careered just as fast as his. And all she could think about was how it would feel if he slid his hand just a little lower, to cup her breast.
A hot chill raced through her and desire spiked. Her breath grew ragged.
As if reading her mind, Donato slipped his hand down to cover her breast. Ella bit her lip to shut in a gasp of delight. But she couldn’t stop herself from pressing nearer, eyes closing as his hand moulded her soft flesh. Something like relief welled.
He moved and her eyes snapped open. Gripping her arm, he stepped in against her, powering her back until her spine collided with something solid.
They stood toe to toe, hip to thigh, torso to torso and she shivered at how good that felt. Even the scent of him in her nostrils was delicious. The sheer potency of his big body was a promise and, she realised belatedly, a threat.
‘No!’ She lifted her hands to his shoulders and pushed. He didn’t budge. He was as immovable as the Harbour Bridge. ‘I don’t care what deal you and my father have sewn up. You can’t force me. Let me go!’
