Seducing His Enemy's Daughter

Ella thought of Donato’s hand at her back as she’d walked out here on legs that threatened to give way, how he’d given her time to come back to herself after their tumultuous lovemaking.

Donato Salazar, ruthless tycoon, the man who held her father in the palm of his hand, had been kind.

And not because he wanted something. She’d already given him what he wanted back in the foyer, with her legs around his waist and her hands clutching him close.

He was far more than the dangerous predator she’d first imagined.

Ella remembered something she’d read on the Net last night. About how there’d been virtually no turnover in his personal staff, about the loyalty he inspired. She’d assumed he paid well. Now she wondered if it was more complex, more to do with the man himself.

Ella stared, mesmerised by the hint of tension in Donato’s shoulders.

Was it true? Were there really doors still barred to him?

She couldn’t believe he let the opinions of others matter. There was something so sure about him, so adamantine.

‘You’re saying you want to marry into my family to gain respectability?’ She frowned. Her father had been part of elite Sydney society for years but his position had slipped. There were some who disapproved of him and his flashy ways.

‘Is that so unbelievable?’

‘Frankly? Yes.’

He said nothing. Impatience rose.

‘So you’re not going to tell me what’s going on?’

Eyes the colour of twilight held hers. Their colour seemed to darken as she watched. It must be a trick of the light. But there was no mistaking the subtle change in his expression. It grew shuttered.

Moments ago she’d flirted with the idea Donato wasn’t nearly as scary as imagination had painted him. That illusion vanished now. He looked as unsentimental as the worst corporate raider.

Except there was more. Ella felt again the heat of his possession. That current of electricity. That connection. She couldn’t believe, after a lifetime dealing with her self-serving, merciless father, that she’d respond this way to a man who was just the same. Her sixth sense told her there was a lot more to Donato.

Briskly she rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to smooth her prickling flesh.

‘Why don’t you tell me the truth? Why insist on this farce of a marriage?’ Her voice rose as disappointment vied with frustration. Had she really hoped things had changed because they’d been intimate?

Heat streaked Ella’s cheeks and she turned, staring across the lush garden to the sea beyond. She wasn’t used to these games. She wasn’t used to casual sex and its aftermath. Donato had provoked her and she’d let anger and desire lead her out of her depth.

She should be home now, washing clothes for work next week. Or scouting the sales and second-hand furniture stores for another lost treasure to restore.

Donato leaned forward and involuntarily her gaze slewed to his. Something kicked in her chest as the air thickened.

It’s too late. The damage is done. You can’t turn back the clock. He fascinates you and you still want him.

Ella reached for her wine glass then let her hand drop. It wasn’t alcohol she needed. Her head was fuzzy enough without it.

‘The truth is rarely simple, cari?o. And not always desirable.’

Was it the unexpected lilting endearment that caught at Ella’s throat? Or the expression on Donato’s face? That fleeting hint of emotion stilled Ella’s heart. She stared, wondering if she’d imagined it. But there’d been no mistaking the stark pain she’d glimpsed. It stunned her.

‘You want the truth?’ He shook his head, muttering something that might be Spanish. It had those fluid cadences. Then he sat forward, his elbows on his knees as he filled her personal space. ‘The truth is—I want this wedding your father is planning.’

She should have been insulted. Despite their sexual attraction, he didn’t want marriage for the sake of marrying her. He’d been just as willing to marry Fuzz. Instead Ella was intrigued. There was something there. Something she couldn’t put her finger on, that would explain everything if only she understood.

He wanted the wedding.

Not her, but the wedding.

Ella frowned, testing the notion that Donato would marry a stranger, a total stranger, just to secure a place in society. It didn’t make sense.

‘Stop scowling, Ella. You’ll give yourself a headache.’

‘You don’t think the idea of being forced into marriage is enough to make my head hurt?’ She couldn’t believe he’d do it. It was too preposterous.