Seducing His Enemy's Daughter

That was confirmed when she met his eyes, dark denim-blue beneath sleek black eyebrows that winged upwards. His look was assessing and...annoyed?

‘It’s good to meet you too, Mr Salazar.’

‘Mister, Ms, there’s no need to be so formal.’ Her father spoke and Ella had never been so grateful for his presence. He seemed almost benign by comparison with the man beside him. ‘Call her Ella, Donato. We don’t stand on ceremony here.’

The tall man nodded and she told herself the perfect fall of his smooth, dark hair did not shine with the blue-black gloss of a raven’s wing. Just as that wasn’t the hint of a cleft in his chin. Or a flare of understanding in those deep-set, remarkable eyes holding hers.

The idea of being read and understood by one of her father’s associates was too extraordinary to consider. She’d never fitted into Reg Sanderson’s world. She’d been the cuckoo in the nest, unfathomable and uninteresting.

‘Ella.’ Donato Salazar’s voice was deep, with a resonance that trawled through her insides, leaving her strangely empty. ‘And you must call me Donato.’

Perhaps it was the gleam in his eyes, the satisfied twitch of those lips, or the fact she’d finally got over his shocking first impact on her, but suddenly Ella was herself again.

‘That’s kind of you... Donato.’ Something in his eyes flickered and Ella felt a throb of satisfaction. He was human after all. For one stunned moment he’d seemed larger than life.

‘I understand you’re from Melbourne. Are you staying in Sydney long?’

‘That depends—’ a look flashed between him and her father ‘—on a number of things. For the moment I have no definite plans to return.’

Ella nodded easily, as if those plans didn’t include marriage to Reg Sanderson’s daughter.

That was not going to happen.

‘Let’s hope the weather stays fine for your visit. Sydney is a city to be enjoyed in the sunshine.’ As if she spent her days lolling on her father’s motor cruiser, quaffing champagne or indulging in long lunches.

Ella pressed a hand to her empty stomach. Fuzz had left mere hours before this party to honour the man their father wanted her to marry and Reg had summoned Ella straight from work. Typically, while there was plenty of alcohol flowing, food had yet to make an appearance.

‘Ah, the weather.’ Donato’s tone was unreadable, his eyes serious, yet she detected a flicker of superior amusement at one corner of his mouth. ‘A polite and predictable conversation starter. Will you tell me how much better it is here than in wet, windy Melbourne?’

‘It hadn’t occurred to me.’ Ella feigned surprise to hide her annoyance. She’d had her fill of being a source of amusement for her father’s sophisticated friends. Years as the ugly duckling made her prickly when patronised. ‘Are Melbournians really so touchy about their weather? I thought they were more robust.’ She ignored her father’s glowering frown. ‘But do, please, feel free to choose another conversation starter, polite for preference.’

Something glinted in Donato’s appraising eyes and Ella drew herself up.

‘Really, Ella—’ her father began.

‘No, no. The weather it is, Ella.’ Donato said her name slowly as if tasting it. Absurdly, since his accent was as Australian as her own, she caught a hint of exotic foreignness, an unexpected sliver of something unfamiliar and alluring in her simple little name.

The hairs at her nape and along her arms stood to attention.

She firmed her lips at such a flight of fancy. If hearing him say her name with that appealing lilt made her giddy, how would she cope when she finally saved enough for her long-awaited holiday to South America?

‘Tell me—’ he leaned in and Ella caught an enticing hint of coffee and warm male skin ‘—since you’re interested in the weather. Do you think we can expect a summer storm later? Lightning and thunder, perhaps?’

Ella looked from her father, his expression icy with warning, to the clear sky, then back to Donato Salazar with his glinting, unreadable eyes. He knew how her father was sweating on this meeting and he didn’t give a damn. Ella was torn between admiration and anger.

‘Anything is possible, given the right atmospheric conditions.’

He nodded. ‘I find the prospect surprisingly...invigorating.’ He didn’t move but suddenly he seemed to loom closer, towering over her despite her borrowed heels. The air around her seemed to snap and tighten. Or was that her nerves?