Ella took a step closer, entranced despite her fury.
Then from behind came the thud of the heavy front doors closing her in. The hairs on her nape stood up and a frisson of anxiety resonated through her.
Ridiculous. She was here because she needed to have this out with him, face to face.
‘This way.’ Donato was beside her, leading the way towards a sitting room that featured views across a terrace and in-ground pool to the Pacific Ocean beyond.
Ella didn’t budge. ‘This won’t take long.’ She planted her feet.
He swung around, eyebrows silently rising. ‘You look very combative.’
‘You’re not surprised.’
He shrugged and walked back to where she stood in the centre of the circular foyer. ‘I know you’re a volatile woman.’
Ella snorted. Volatile? She was the stable one of the family. The one who never had tantrums. The one who quietly got on with whatever needed to be done. Before she left home it had been she, not her father or older sister, who made sure the housekeeper and gardener received their instructions and their pay.
‘I’m not volatile. I’m justifiably annoyed. There’s a difference.’ She breathed deep, feeling indignation well. ‘Or will you decide my reaction is due to the fact I’m female?’ That had always been one of her father’s favourite put-downs.
Donato raised his hands as if in surrender. Yet the spark in those dark blue eyes told her he was enjoying himself too much to give in.
‘I’m a lot of things, Ella. But not sexist.’
He was far closer than she liked. Too close. Her stomach gave a betraying wobble.
She swallowed hard as the aroma of rich coffee and warm male skin enveloped her. It was as if her body was absorbed in a different conversation than the one coming out of her mouth. A conversation that was about heat and desire and that phantom ache down deep in her womb.
She didn’t know how to combat it. Creating distance between them was the obvious option but she wouldn’t let him see even a hint of fear. She’d learned young that revealing weakness only made things worse.
‘I want to know what’s going on.’
‘Well, since you opted to come here rather than to Bennelong Point, I’ve arranged for us to share lunch on the terrace.’
Had she ever met anyone so coolly sure of himself? So infuriating? He cast even her father into the shade with his supreme self-confidence.
Yet, despite her annoyance, Ella didn’t get the same feeling from Donato as she did from her father, who so blatantly exulted in triumphing over others. Donato was manipulating her yet she didn’t feel bullied. More...challenged.
Which showed how dangerous was this undercurrent of attraction humming in her veins. It tempted her to put a pretty gloss on Donato’s outrageous demands.
Ella crossed her arms, glaring. ‘I didn’t come here for lunch.’
‘You need to look after yourself. You didn’t stop for breakfast, did you?’ Donato took a step closer and suddenly the spacious two-storey room shrank around them. Ella breathed deeper, needing oxygen. ‘You were still in bed when I rang.’ The glint in his dark eyes reminded her of his teasing as she lay naked in bed, and heat drilled down through her belly.
Ella stiffened, ignoring the telltale flush rising in her throat and cheeks.
‘I want the truth. You don’t need to marry Reg Sanderson’s daughter. The idea of marriage to cement closer business ties doesn’t wash. You’re the one my father needs, not the other way around. Why are you playing along with the idea?’
For a millisecond Donato’s eyes widened, giving her a glimpse of surprise in a flash of indigo that rivalled the ocean’s brilliance. Then his eyelids lowered and his gaze became unreadable.
Ella’s breathing quickened. There was something there. Something she’d said, something he didn’t expect her to know. But what? She racked her brain but she’d only stated the obvious. She could find no significance there.
Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling she’d inadvertently hit on something important.
‘Things aren’t always as clear-cut as they seem.’ Donato paused. ‘Your father’s proposal has definite advantages.’
Ella jammed her hands on her hips. ‘What advantages? Name one.’
In answer Donato’s eyes skated down, past the warm blush in her throat, over her loose-fitting top, lightweight trousers and flat sandals.
She’d dressed for comfort rather than sophistication. Her floaty aqua and silver top was a favourite. Now, under Donato’s trawling stare, Ella had a qualm that it had somehow suddenly become transparent. Surely his gaze grazed her skin, following every curve the material should have hidden. As if he already knew her intimately.