Ruthless Revenge: Sweet Surrender: Seducing His Enemy's Daughter / Surrendering to the Vengeful Italian / Soldier Under Siege. Annie West
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of being almost petite.
Was she insane?
‘You’re not a thug, Donato.’ There was too much intense thought behind his alert gaze for that to be true. And too much control—it was stamped on his features. Then there was the way he’d made love to her...
For the first time it seemed words eluded him. He stared as if he’d never seen her like before.
What? Had he really thought she’d have given herself to a man she feared?
‘You don’t say,’ he said at last. ‘And you’re an expert on thugs? Growing up in a north-shore mansion and attending a posh private school?’ His words were a silky taunt and she wondered at the anger she’d inadvertently stirred. Because she refused to think the worst of him? Had she questioned too closely?
‘You did check on me.’ Ella blinked, amazed at how betrayed she felt. She tasted disappointment, a bitter tang on her tongue.
Donato frowned. ‘I said I hadn’t. It doesn’t take an investigator to know your father wouldn’t send his darling daughter anywhere she’d mix with the wrong sort.’
Ella’s stomach swooped in relief. She hadn’t wanted to believe Donato had lied.
She huffed a mirthless laugh. She’d never been Reg’s ‘darling daughter’. If only Donato knew, her school had had its share of bullies. Maybe if she’d been pretty or pert or less studious they wouldn’t have targeted her.
‘I’ve met some thugs in my time.’ Her father being one. ‘They bully those who seem weaker. But really they’re cowards, scared of anyone stronger.’
‘Yet you don’t think of me as a bully?’
Ella drew a deep breath, then wished she hadn’t as she dragged in his spicy warm scent. It made her want to kiss that hard beautiful mouth. She dragged her hand free and stepped back, her chair grating across the flagstones.
‘No, I don’t.’ Donato was demanding, arrogant, clever and ruthless. But he’d been considerate, reassuring and almost...tender. He’d kept his word, refusing to have her investigated because he knew the idea revolted her. He’d been honest, up to a point.
‘Tell me about the man you attacked.’
Donato’s head reared back. ‘What makes you think I want to talk about that?’
She shrugged. ‘Why wouldn’t you? Don’t tell me you’re scared I’ll judge you?’
Instead of bridling at the taunt, Donato surveyed her with a thoroughness that brought all that reckless awareness straight to the surface in a blaze like wildfire.
Ignoring the flare of arousal, she stared straight back. She needed to understand him.
‘Why did you fight with him?’
He shrugged, his expression closed. ‘He deserved it. He hurt someone.’
Ella frowned. She hadn’t read about anyone else in the fight, just the teenage Donato and a forty-year-old man. Yet it had been the older man carted off to hospital after the police intervened.
‘So you were protecting someone?’ Her chest contracted at the idea of a teenager taking on a grown man to save someone else.
She’d never had a protector in her life, had always fought her own battles, but the idea held huge appeal. Perhaps because no one had ever stood up for her. It made his actions more understandable, more forgivable.
Ella counted one breath, two, three, before finally he shook his head.
‘It wasn’t that simple. Don’t imagine I’m some hero.’ His mouth twisted harshly. ‘I’m not.’
Her thoughts stalled at his tone, and at that flash of dark emotion. He looked...tortured. And she’d swear she heard desolation in his stark words. Then, even as the impression formed, his expression was wiped clear.
But that split second had been enough to set Ella’s thoughts whirling.
Did he blame himself for not protecting this other person? Clearly something still ate at him, despite the passage of time. Donato was in his mid-thirties, yet long-ago hurt was buried beneath all that surface sangfroid.
Whatever he felt in that carefully guarded soul, it ran deep and strong.
Instead of frightening her, the knowledge drew her. She wanted to smooth her hands over his set shoulders, press herself against him and learn all there was to know about Donato Salazar.
Fear jolted through her. Fear of how much she wanted to break down that wall of superior calm and find the man behind it.
You haven’t known him a day and already you want so much!
Alarm made her voice abrupt. ‘Is that the only time you’ve been violent?’
‘What is this, an interview?’
Ella notched her chin high. ‘You’re the one talking about marriage.’
‘I’ve never been violent towards a woman. It’s not something you have to worry about.’
‘Because you say so?’ She crossed her arms over her chest.
‘It’s not something I’d ever do.’ Indignation flashed in his eyes, but it was the proud set of his chin, the distaste in his flared nostrils and flat mouth that told her she’d struck a nerve. ‘I was brought up to respect women. You have nothing to fear from me.’
Scary how easy it was for her to believe him.
‘What about men?’
‘If you were a man we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’ His voice dropped to the deep, resonant pitch that made her want to do something crazy, like drag his head down to hers and kiss him till he told her all his secrets.
She made herself take a single step back from him. His jaw tightened.
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘Am I physically dangerous?’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘It was all a long time ago. I told you on the phone. I learned to think before I act. Prison is a great teacher.’
He lifted one finger to follow the line of that narrow scar bisecting his cheek. ‘I thought I was tough as a kid but I had a lot to learn.’
Ella’s heart lurched. Imagine going behind bars as a teenager and emerging a man. Imagine who he’d mixed with there. No wonder Donato had a hard, impenetrable edge.
That scar, though silvered now, scored perilously close to the corner of his eye. It was faint enough to give him a rakish hint of the buccaneer, but she’d dealt with knife wounds when she’d worked in Emergency. She knew what sliced flesh looked like.
‘Ella?’ His breath feathered her face, warm and coffee-scented. ‘You’re feeling sorry for me?’ His brows knitted as he leaned over her, astonishment clear in those brilliant eyes.
‘No, I...’
Her words dissolved as his lips brushed hers, soft and almost tentative.
That was all it took. One kiss. Not even a kiss but the merest whisper of a caress, and she ignited, falling against him as he tugged her in. He wrapped his arms around her, not hard, but to her disordered mind it seemed protectively, tenderly. That just fuelled her response, like petrol poured on open flames.
He pulled his head back to stare down at her, his gaze darkening to midnight.
‘I don’t need your pity.’ She felt the rumble of his voice through their bodies, where she pressed against him. ‘I was found guilty, remember?’
‘Who said anything about pity?’ Yet there was a knot in her throat at the idea of him as a kid, coming of age in prison because he’d tried to defend someone.
His