Seducing His Enemy's Daughter

Yet with Ella, for the first time, he almost wished he were a different man. Except that would mean denying his past and he would never do that.

She linked her fingers with his and tugged. Donato was surprised at how good that felt. ‘Come on. I want your opinion on this. It reminds me of something you have in that mansion of yours.’

* * *

Despite his teasing grumbles, Donato was good company. Better company than Ella had expected.

This was the second day they’d spent together doing something other than fall into bed. Not that they’d ever needed a bed. Heat danced through Ella’s veins. It had taken two visits to Donato’s house to make it as far as his bedroom. Even then they hadn’t made it to the mattress.

When he’d suggested a weekend together she’d thought they’d be naked. Instead she’d found something even more distracting.

A man who switched off his phone to spend time in the wilderness, introducing her to some of the extreme sports he enjoyed.

A man with patience and humour, who took time to ensure she enjoyed herself.

Donato didn’t care about keeping up appearances like her father. All morning he’d helped her fossick amongst collectables and downright junk. He hadn’t blinked when he’d got dust on those exquisite casual clothes or she’d asked him to heave furniture out of the way.

Ella wondered what he’d make of her choice for the afternoon. She led him through the gate of the National Trust property and into the garden.

‘More antiques?’ He looked around with interest.

‘You haven’t been here?’

‘I’m from Melbourne, remember.’

Ella felt a fillip of pleasure at introducing him to one of her favourite places.

‘It’s a heritage house and garden.’ Said like that it sounded boring and she’d thought hard about bringing Donato here.

But the Everglades was special. When she’d first visited she’d been young enough to wonder if there were fairies in the wide sweep of bluebells that clustered here in spring. Later she’d been enchanted by the peace and beauty of the rambling gardens. After the fraught atmosphere at home, this had seemed like Paradise.

‘You’ll enjoy the house. I know you like art deco.’

‘I sense a theme. It seems a favourite of yours too.’ Ella heard his smile but didn’t look up. Already she spent too much time under Donato’s spell.

Ella shrugged. ‘My mother’s aunt lived in a nineteen-thirties house. I loved it.’ Actually, she’d loved the peace and sense of acceptance, so different from her own home. Eventually that had translated into an appreciation of the house and its style.

Her great-aunt had brought Ella on trips here. She hadn’t worried that her niece preferred to celebrate her birthday quietly instead of at a catered party for a hundred. Ella’s father had thought her mad. Aunt Bea had encouraged her.

‘She was important to you.’

Ella swung round. ‘How did you know?’

‘You sounded wistful.’ His fingers brushed her cheek in a gesture that felt alarmingly tender. Ella was used to passion or provocation. Tenderness was usually reserved for the bedroom.

But this weekend there’d been more. His expression made her throat tighten.

‘She was important,’ Ella said eventually. ‘My mother died when I was young and Aunt Bea was...special.’ Ella had felt closer to the old lady than to her father. It didn’t matter if Ella had puppy fat or a boring penchant for books. Or that she didn’t sparkle in company. Aunt Bea had loved her, and through her Ella had learned to respect herself. ‘She brought me here.’

‘In that case I’m glad you chose to share it with me.’ He threaded his fingers through hers in a gesture that seemed as intimate as the sex they’d shared this morning. Her tight throat constricted further.

Ella reminded herself that Donato was clever and perceptive. It was obvious the place was important to her.

Yet not even logic shattered the sensation of closeness, of understanding.

As if she understood Donato! He still wouldn’t stop her father’s nonsense about a wedding.

‘Come on, there’s a lot to see.’ Ella stepped forward, under the spreading boughs of the ornamental trees. But she didn’t shake off Donato’s grip. There was something comfortable about simply holding hands, something...appealing.

They explored the garden theatre, the landscaped terraces and the lookout across the cliffs to the wilderness beyond. It was as they meandered back, past the house and a section where plants were being propagated, that she noticed Donato’s abstraction.