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In her profession she’d seen lips curved in smiles of joy or relief, drawn tight or stretched in pain or grief. She’d never seen one like this, hinting at both sensuality and cruelty, the grooves around it all about control.
Danger. It was in the air around him, the way it thickened, alive with his presence, enveloping her, drawing her.
That beautiful hard mouth moved, articulating words Ella couldn’t catch as her brain blurred. Then it curved in a smile and everything sped up, her pulse, her thoughts, her breathing.
‘I’m sorry, I missed that.’
‘I said it’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms Sanderson.’ Once more those lips curved up, but Ella knew with absolute certainty it wasn’t pleasure Donato Salazar felt.
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?
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?
Never in her life had she been described that way. But never had she set out to be deliberately rude either.
It was a night of firsts. Her father needing her. Her visceral response to this tall, dark, enigmatic stranger.
If there were going to be many more surprises maybe she should grab a drink to steady her nerves.
‘You must be proud of such an intelligent, forthright daughter.’
Ella froze in the act of scanning the landscaped terraces for a waiter.
‘Proud? Yes, yes, of course I am.’ Her father needed to improve his acting skills. He was usually an expert liar but Ella had never seen him so ill at ease. So desperate.
‘And pretty too.’
Ella swung her head round to meet that probing gaze.
This had gone far enough. She’d done her best, rifling her sister’s abandoned wardrobe to find something suitable. She wouldn’t face a crowd of glittering socialites in work clothes and rubber-soled lace-up shoes. But she had no illusions. Fuzz was the one who turned heads. Never Ella.
‘There’s no need to butter me up. And I prefer not to be talked about as if I’m not here.’
‘Ella!’ Her father looked like he might have a stroke. His colour was too high and his pale eyes bulged before narrowing to needle-sharp fury. He really did need to change his lifestyle if he was going to make it into old age. As if he’d listen to her!
‘My apologies, Ella.’ That low velvety voice made her shiver. ‘No insult was intended.’
‘It’s not you who should apologise, Donato.’ Her father closed in, his grip biting her arm. ‘I think—’
‘I think,’ Donato interrupted smoothly, ‘it’s time you left the pair of us to get better acquainted.’
For an instant her father stared. Usually he was smooth as oil, charming and quick with a comeback. Seeing him so patently at a loss was a new experience. Once it would have delighted Ella. Now a chill clamped her spine.
Who was this man with the power to frighten him so?
‘Of course, of course.’ Her father pasted on a toothy smile. ‘You two need to get better acquainted. I’ll let you do just that.’ With one last warning pinch of her arm he released her and sauntered off as if he hadn’t a care.
Ella watched him go. Ridiculously, she wanted to call him back. As if she hadn’t spent most of her life avoiding him. As if he were the sort of father to protect her.
For the absolute conviction stiffening her sinews warned she really did need protection.
Abruptly she swung around, her gaze lifting until—there it was again—that jangle across her senses, that taut feeling of suspense as her gaze locked with Donato Salazar’s.
His mouth tipped up in a smile that tugged at her heart, dragging it hard against her ribs, making it thrash like a landed fish. Her breath quickened as everything in her that was female responded to his ultra-male charisma.
Yet his eyes showed no softening. That stare probed her very being and found her wanting.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_8e94503d-a7c3-5e5e-a836-96b78e7a1ed2)
DONATO LOOKED DOWN into those clear eyes and felt the impact like the ripple of a stone plunging into deep, still water.
They weren’t ordinary eyes. Oh, no, not Ms Ella Sanderson’s. He’d yet to discover anything ordinary about her. He’d come here expecting her father’s daughter and instead found...
What, exactly?
He didn’t know yet but he intended to find out.
He disliked being caught out.
Years ago, in prison, being caught off guard could have cost his life. It had almost cost him an eye. He’d made it his life’s work to be in control, the one pulling the strings, never again reacting to forces he couldn’t handle.
It had been a long time since anyone took him by surprise. He didn’t like it.
Even though he liked what he saw. Too much.
Those eyes, for a start. Mercurial. Some indefinable shade between blue and grey that turned to silvery hoar frost when he riled her. He’d felt her disapproval like the jab from a shard of ice, straight to his belly.
Yet his overwhelming response was to wonder how her eyes would look when rapture overtook her. With him buried deep inside, feeling her shudder around him.
Was it any wonder he felt annoyed? She’d hijacked his thoughts, momentarily interfering with his plans.
She wasn’t what he’d expected, or wanted. No man wanted that sudden sensation that he was no longer master of his destiny. That perfidious fate still had a few nasty surprises in store.
Fate be damned. Donato had stopped being its victim years ago.
‘Alone at last,’ he murmured, watching her mouth tighten.
So, she didn’t like this thing sparking and snarling between them either. But as well as her caution and disapproval he sensed puzzlement. As if she didn’t recognise the syrupy thickening of the atmosphere for what it was—carnal attraction.
