Seducing His Enemy's Daughter

Ella told herself that squiggle of response deep inside was because, at five feet ten, she wasn’t used to men dwarfing her. It had nothing to do with the idea of this dark, challenging, vibrant man being invigorated.

The image that word conjured made her catch her breath. Since when had her imagination been so flagrantly erotic?

She had an awful suspicion he read her thoughts. Heat seeped under her skin, spread across her chest and up her throat.

Maybe she’d been working with elderly patients too long. How long since she’d been close to a virile man in his prime? One whose gaze challenged her not to react to him, even as she felt that telltale melting at her core.

‘Tell me more,’ he murmured, his voice like dark, rich syrup. ‘What atmospheric conditions would lead to electricity in the air?’

He was toying with her.

He’d sensed her instantaneous, deeply feminine response to him—that tremor in her belly, that lush softening, and it amused him. His face was as close to bland as such a strong, remarkable face could be. Yet she knew. Something she couldn’t name connected them.

‘I have no idea,’ she snapped. ‘I’m no meteorologist.’

‘You disappoint me.’ His words were silky, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on her as if she were some curious specimen. ‘Most people I meet like to talk about things they know well.’

‘To show off their knowledge, you mean?’

He shrugged. The implication was clear. People tried to attract his attention. Her father was about to do it, clearing his throat ready to interrupt this conversation that wasn’t going as he’d planned.

‘You think I should try to impress you?’ Stupid question. This man could make or break her father and, by association, her siblings. She might not need to impress him but common sense dictated she shouldn’t antagonise him either.

Yet it was antagonism she felt, swirling in her blood. That and attraction. And something like fear. It was a dangerous combination.

‘I can tell you—’ she spoke as her father opened his mouth ‘—that our weather often comes from the south.’

‘From the direction of Melbourne, you mean?’ Donato’s eyes narrowed.

‘Precisely.’ She angled her chin higher, refusing to look away from that intent stare. ‘So if there’s an abrupt change in the atmosphere from the south, a big blustery wind, for instance. Or a sudden influx of hot air...’ She shrugged. ‘Who knows what bad weather might result?’

‘Ella—’ Her father’s voice promised retribution but was drowned by a sharp crack of laughter.

It reverberated around her, deep and appealing. Ella’s skin prickled and shivered as if in response to the elemental rumble of thunder.

Donato Salazar had a surprisingly attractive laugh for a man who looked like he could play the Prince of Darkness with no effort at all. The trouble was laughter, the humour in his eyes and that unlooked-for smile turned him into someone far more approachable.

Her fingers tingled. She wanted—so badly she wanted—to cup his face and discover how that sharply defined jaw, that rich olive skin felt beneath her hand.

Ella swung her hands behind her back, clasping them tight together like a schoolgirl.

She shivered. Her response to this man was anything but childish. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her mouth sagging till she realised and snapped it shut. And that melting sensation had spread. Between her legs felt soft like warm butter.

Horror filled her and she stumbled back, only stopping when his laughter cut off and his gaze meshed with hers.

There it was again. That certainty he knew what she felt. The realisation should have mortified her. Instead it felt almost...liberating.

Ella blinked. Her imagination was working overtime. Lack of food had made her woolly-headed.

She did not turn into a puddle of pure lust after five minutes’ acquaintance with any man.

She did not have some psychic connection with this stranger.

‘I apologise for my daughter.’ Her father skewered her with a glacial look. ‘She—’

‘There is no need to apologise.’ Still Donato didn’t shift his gaze from her. That steady look was unnerving. ‘Your daughter is charming.’

‘Charming?’ Reg spluttered before quickly gathering himself. ‘Of course, yes. She’s certainly unusual.’

Ella might have felt grim amusement at her father’s description of his cuckoo-in-the-nest daughter if she weren’t so flabbergasted.

Charming?