Ruthless Revenge: Sweet Surrender

CHAPTER TEN

‘RETAIL THERAPY!’ Donato groaned. ‘I knew it was a mistake to let you choose our activity for the day.’

Yet it was a token protest. After spending a whole night with Ella, waking with her in his arms for the first time, it would take more than a little shopping to spoil his mood.

Last night, after their day of climbing and abseiling, there’d been an intensity to her passion he couldn’t get enough of. Given their history of instant attraction and explosive loving, that was saying something.

The sooner she moved in with him the better.

Donato ignored the voice reminding him he’d never shared his home with any woman.

This was different. Ella wasn’t a clinging vine, grasping for the material things he could provide.

Hard to believe that she was Sanderson’s daughter. The more he knew her, the less like her father she was.

‘If you haven’t got the stamina for it, Donato, go back to the hotel.’ She flashed him a look of pure challenge.

‘Stamina?’ He stared down into those stunning eyes with mock indignation. ‘I defy you to find a man with more stamina.’

For a moment Ella’s eyes looked more pewter than blue, just like when she lost herself in his arms. Instantly his heart beat faster.

‘We’ll see how you fare after a few hours hunting for lost treasure.’ Then she turned to bend over an ancient moth-eaten chair, dismissing him.

Donato smiled. Perversely, he loved the fact Ella made a point of not kowtowing to him. For years, since his phenomenal burst of commercial success, people had fallen over themselves to agree with him. No one dismissed him.

He liked that Ella treated him like an ordinary man. Neither a commercially astute businessman whose every pronouncement was gold, nor a sinister outsider to polite society who could never be completely trusted because of his murky past.

And he liked knowing that no matter how pointedly she stood up to him, he just had to touch her and she went up in flames.

‘Treasure? Hunting through junk, don’t you mean?’

She shrugged. ‘If you can’t cope I’ll see you later.’

But Donato wasn’t going anywhere. He was fascinated, watching Ella’s assessing eye as she prowled the antiques centre. He’d developed an interest in antiques himself, drawn by the idea of a bygone world of grace and beauty that was everything his early life hadn’t been.

Ella moved through the place, her sharp eyes spotting the same mantel clock he did. It belonged not in a dusty bric-a-brac emporium, but in a collector’s home. Then she paused by a tiny damaged table. He hadn’t noticed it. Now he realised how finely it was made. With restoration it would be beautiful.

Ella had a good eye. It intrigued him to think they shared an interest in beautiful old things.

But what kept him at her side, helping her shift a lumpy chair to get to an old trunk, was more than an interest in antiques. She almost hummed with happiness as she explored. Her enthusiasm drew him.

She was appealing when she challenged him, standing so haughtily, refusing to cave in despite her father’s pushing. But when she was happy... Donato was surprised at the cliché that sprang to mind. But it was true. When Ella was happy she glowed.

He wanted to bask in that radiance. Her lips curved in an excited smile as she ran her hands over the trunk. Donato wanted to be part of what made her happy. He wanted to make her smile.

How long since he’d wanted to do that for anyone?

It was a relief to see her like this. Yesterday, with a few casual words, she’d unleashed a wave of bitter remembrance. More than that, she’d evoked guilt.

You don’t own me.

You haven’t bought me.

Even now his blood iced at the words. At the implication he was stripping away her control of her own life by agreeing to this sham engagement.

Did she really feel disempowered?

Acid swirled in his belly and rose, filling his mouth.

His fight wasn’t with Ella. It was with her father. He’d imagined Sanderson’s daughter would be as shallow and selfish as him, eager to triumph in the role of high-profile fiancée to a rich entrepreneur. Instead he’d found a woman whose idea of a good time was hunting for old wares.

You haven’t bought me.

Donato’s jaw clamped so hard pain radiated through his skull.

He knew, exactly, what it meant to buy someone. To own someone.

The words, so casual, so meaningless to most, were honed knives. They sliced into the darkness that was his past and his very essence. He felt the ice-hot slash, not to his face or his ribs this time, but to his heart. It heaved as the blackness of the past rose up.

‘Donato.’ A hand touched his and he looked down. Ella’s eyes met his. Stunned, he felt again that spark of connection he’d told himself he’d imagined. This time it was a welcome sizzle of heat, cracking the ice in his veins. ‘Come and look at this.’

Did she know? Had she seen the murky shadows engulf him?

Donato straightened. Of course she hadn’t. No one did. They were his to bear alone.

‘What have you found now? Jewellery?’ He forced a smile to his face and watched her blink. That was better. He preferred Ella distracted rather than questioning. ‘It has to be something glittery to make a woman so excited.’

‘Don’t pretend to be a sexist beast. We both know you’re not.’

‘Not sexist?’

Their gazes locked and, extraordinarily, Donato felt as if her assessing gaze saw too much. ‘Not either.’

Which showed how little Ella knew about him.

Because of his prison record most women viewed him with trepidation, even if mingled with a good dollop of excitement. They fantasised about the bad boy, especially one who had wealth to smooth his way. If they knew the full details of his past they’d shun him. That had never mattered. He didn’t care about the approval of pampered society women.

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.

He paused, surveying a bed of freshly turned soil and tiny plants. To Ella’s inexperienced eye the scene wasn’t as interesting as the rest of the grounds.

‘Are you a gardener?’ Why hadn’t she thought of that? She’d been explaining what she knew of the garden design. Maybe he knew more than her, given his choice to live in a home with beautiful grounds rather than an easy-care apartment. ‘You should have stopped me. It didn’t occur to me—’

‘I’m no expert,’ he said, eyes still fixed on the garden bed. ‘It just reminded me of something.’

‘Really?’ Ella moved closer. ‘What does it remind you of?’

‘Smell that? Fresh turned soil and compost.’

Ella inhaled. ‘It’s...earthy.’

‘Good, rich soil. Someone has put in a lot of effort here.’

‘What does it remind you of?’

He bent to pluck a couple of tiny weeds out of the carefully tended bed. ‘When I was a kid we had a big vegetable garden. It smelled like this. Of earth and growing things.’

He straightened and turned, moving briskly away. Ella hastened after him. ‘You enjoyed gardening?’ It was the first glimpse he’d given of his past except for the few bare answers to her probing about his prison sentence.

Donato shrugged. ‘It was a chore, that’s all.’

Yet he’d taken time to pull out the weeds amongst the tiny seedlings. ‘You didn’t like it?’

Again that lift of broad shoulders. ‘It had to be done. It supplied a lot of our food.’

‘Whose garden was it? Your mother’s or your father’s?’ Ella knew nothing about his family and suddenly the need to know more about him was overwhelming.

‘You’re curious all of a sudden.’

‘Why not? You’ve got nothing to hide, have you?’

Donato stopped beneath the shade of an overhanging tree. ‘Everyone has something to hide.’ In the relative gloom he looked bigger than ever, his broad chest and shoulders imposing. But it was his voice that sent a ripple of warning through her. There was steel in that tone, telling her she’d trespassed too far.

This from the man who’d upended her calm, orderly life! So much for believing they’d begun to build something new this weekend.

‘You’re scared to tell me even that?’ She shook her head. ‘Is it so secret?’

He folded his arms. It made him look more impressively masculine and annoyingly attractive.

‘Says the woman who refuses to mention she works in case I find out too much about her.’ At her stare he nodded. ‘Of course I know. You’re never available during the week before six at night. I may be busy with my own business but I notice these things.’

Heat rushed up Ella’s throat and into her cheeks. He was right. She’d avoided talking about herself, except at the most superficial level—food, music, books, sex. Nothing about her family or career. Nothing emotionally intimate. Until today when she’d told him about Aunt Bea. It had seemed such a huge concession—revealing even that tiny snippet.

She’d understood from the first that Donato was dangerous. Instinct had warned not to let him close. When she’d been unable to resist him physically, she’d worked to isolate him from the rest of her life. He didn’t even know where she lived.

But he’d been no more forthcoming. She refused to feel guilty.

‘I hardly think talking about your childhood chores constitutes an invasion of privacy.’ She crossed her arms, imitating his challenging stance. All it got her was a heavy-lidded glance at her plumped-up breasts that sent traceries of fire through her belly.

Ella’s instantaneous response to Donato was so predictable and so profound it unnerved her. She was torn between wanting more and wanting nothing to do with him. Because above all she wanted to discover what made him tick.

With a huff of self-disgust Ella spun away. The game he played was too deep. She’d begun to believe they shared something more profound than incendiary sex. Clearly she’d fooled herself.

‘Wait!’ A hand on her arm halted her.

Ella looked at his fingers loosely circling her flesh. Even that was enough to send a zing of anticipation through her. Her body had never got the message that Donato wasn’t to be trusted.

‘I’ll make a deal with you.’ His hand slid up her arm in a caress. She swallowed. She wouldn’t let him seduce her again. ‘I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine. Truthfully.’

‘I don’t lie.’ She drew herself up.

‘But there are things you’d rather not discuss.’

He was going to ask about her father and his business. It had to be that because that was Donato’s real focus, the reason he’d taken an interest in her.

Hurt blossomed. But Ella was a big girl. She could cope. She could juggle the need to protect her family and her attraction to Donato.

Still holding her arm, he moved to lean back against the trunk of a massive tree. Before she could protest he pulled her against him, his arms wrapped around her waist from behind, her bottom tucked between his legs.

‘No, don’t move.’ His voice was a soft burr, feathering her ear. ‘Just relax.’

Being held felt so good, the solidity of Donato’s body at her back, his arms holding her. Ella gave up and let her head sink against his collarbone. She stared out at the greenery screening them from the rest of the garden.

‘The garden didn’t belong to my mother,’ Donato said. ‘She knew as little about growing things as I did. It was Jack’s.’

‘Your father’s?’

Donato didn’t move. His heart beat steadily behind her. Yet something stirred—a change in his breathing? A feeling of wariness?

‘I didn’t know my father. Jack became my mother’s partner when I was six.’

‘Your stepfather then.’

Donato slid his fingers through hers and stroked the palm of her hand. ‘No. He never thought of himself as my stepfather.’

Ella frowned. There was something so...guarded about the way he spoke.

Of course there was! He was the most self-contained person she knew. Yet something niggled. She’d expected more warmth in his voice over a childhood reminiscence. But then, most of her childhood memories were less than happy. Had it been like that for Donato too?

‘He was abusive?’

‘Jack was decent in his own way. He just wasn’t interested in kids. All he cared about was my mother.’ Now there was a shift in his voice, a depth of feeling he didn’t bother to hide. ‘He put me to work as soon as we moved in with him—set me to weeding while he began extending the vegetable patch since it had to feed three instead of one.’

A muffled laugh rumbled up from behind her. She felt as well as heard it.

‘What’s so funny?’ Being dependent on the food you grew was no laughing matter.

‘I was determined to do a good job, impress him so he wouldn’t kick us out. By the time he’d turned back to check on me I’d ripped out half his precious seedlings and he treated me to some curses even I hadn’t heard before.’

Ella watched a pair of crimson rosellas land in the tree before them, quietly chattering. But her thoughts were on Donato at six, convinced he had to work hard so as not to be kicked out. A child surprised to hear swearing that was new. What sort of life had he led?

Her hands tightened on his. ‘Is that all he did?’

‘He made me replant everything I’d pulled out. Then he gave us both a lesson in plant recognition. Neither of us knew a tomato plant from a potato or a bean.’