Ruthless Revenge: Sweet Surrender. Annie West

you and I are every bit as good together as we’d assumed.’

      His eyes didn’t leave her face but heat licked her in all sorts of hidden places. He lifted his glass in silent salute and drank. Ella was left wondering how the sight of that tanned throat working as he swallowed could create a squall of such hectic need in her.

      She shook her head.

      ‘Don’t play coy, Ella. You wondered right from the start how we’d be together.’

      Ella firmed her lips. ‘Don’t try to distract me, Donato. It won’t work.’

      The glint in his dark eyes and the quizzically raised eyebrow told her he disagreed. She put her glass down with a click and sat straighter.

      ‘You said this morning you still want this marriage.’ She couldn’t bring herself to say marry me. It was just too far-fetched. ‘Why? There’s nothing you’d gain by it.’

      His raised eyebrow shot even higher.

      Ella put up her hand. ‘We’ve already demonstrated you don’t need marriage for sex.’

      Would he make a quip about that? She’d laid herself open to it. But no, he merely sipped his wine.

      ‘How about an introduction to Sydney society?’ He tilted his head to one side as if sharing a confidence. She didn’t believe it.

      ‘You hardly need that.’

      ‘Don’t I?’ He leaned back further, lounging casually as if they discussed nothing more important than the ship passing far out to sea, or the rainbow lorikeets clustering in the ancient Port Jackson fig tree at the bottom of the garden.

      Ella wanted to grab him by the collar and shake him till he lost that complacent look. Or kiss him. She shoved the thought aside. She was already in enough strife.

      ‘Of course not. You’ve got the money and influence to open any door.’ Just look at this house. Whether he owned or rented it, it cost a bomb.

      ‘But you know I also have a criminal record. I served time in juvenile detention, then prison.’ Did she imagine his mouth thinned on the words? Though his expression remained unreadable, his face looked somehow more severe.

      ‘So?’

      ‘It hasn’t occurred to you that someone with my background might find doors still closed to him? That some people are uncomfortable mixing with an ex-con? A dangerous ex-con.’

      Dangerous. There was that word again.

      Yet would a truly dangerous man have treated her as he had?

      She’d disintegrated at his touch, thrown herself at him, behaved with a reckless carnality that even now took her breath away. Yet not once had he tried to force her, though it was obvious he wielded power as easily as she did a thermometer. Though he’d challenged her from the moment they’d met, she’d never relinquished the right to choose. If anything, he’d emphasised that, leaving it to her to bridge the gap between them.

      Nor had he made her feel cheap. He’d reminded her it had been a mutual seduction.

      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, cariño. 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