by Annie West
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 li
fe. 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.’
‘So your mother was city bred too?’
‘That’s more than one question.’ He sounded relaxed but, pressed against him, Ella felt the infinitesimal tightening of his muscles. ‘It’s my turn.’
‘Okay.’ She braced herself for a probing question about her father’s business or ethics. That was what he’d want to know. That was why he’d demanded honesty.
‘Tell me about your job.’
‘Sorry?’ She turned her head but the curve of his shoulder and encircling arm stopped her seeing his face.
‘I want to know what work you do. It’s no use pretending you’re like your sister, living off Daddy’s money and drifting from one amusement to another.’
‘I never implied I did!’
‘I asked upfront how important your father’s money was to you—whether it supported you—and you didn’t correct me.’
Ella remembered that conversation the night they’d met. She’d been out of her depth, fighting not to show it. She’d been furious and combative. Later she’d revealed as little as possible about her life. It was her only defence against the feeling Donato was taking over her world.
‘I’m a nurse.’
‘Ah.’ His slow exhalation of breath stirred her hair. ‘Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?’
Here it comes. She’d heard it all from her father. Everything from the dowdy uniform to the unglamorous nature of the job and the low pay.
‘I have no idea. But I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’ Ella tried to pull away, but Donato’s seemingly lazy hold kept her hard against him.
‘Now, Ella, there’s no need to get annoyed.’ His lips brushed her hair. ‘I hadn’t guessed but it makes sense.’
‘Do tell.’ She gritted her teeth. In her family circle, nurses didn’t exist. Careers were high profile or highly paid, preferably both. Emptying bedpans or cleaning wounds was just too nose-wrinklingly real.
‘You’re so assured. Nothing fazes you.’ He stroked a finger along one bare arm, drawing her skin into feathery lines of goose bumps. ‘You get angry and you’re deeply passionate, but I can’t imagine you panicking.’
‘Assured?’ Ella stared at the bright birds in the tree as if she’d never seen them before. She was competent and confident in her work but she didn’t feel assured with Donato. He kept her off balance.
A chuckle rose in his deep chest and vibrated through her. ‘Absolutely. You put me in my place from the first. But you weren’t patronising in that socially superior way. You weren’t a snob. You just said it like it was.’
‘I’m practical.’ Her father had used that word like an insult.
‘Just like every nurse I’ve met.’
‘You’ve met a few?’ She thought of that old scar on his cheek and the others on his ribs.
‘Enough. You’ve got that same air of straight talking, but with all the aplomb of a duchess.’ It didn’t sound like criticism. It sounded like a compliment. Ella felt a little fizz of pleasure.
‘Have you ever met a duchess?’
‘I have, as it happens. She was more pleasant and down-to-earth than some of the snobby society types I’ve met.’
‘I can imagine.’ Her father was one such snob. He’d forgive you anything so long as you were rich or socially superior.
‘So, what sort of nursing?’ Donato sounded genuinely interested.
‘Community care. I visit people in their homes, often the elderly or patients just released from hospital.’
‘In their homes? Do you work in pairs?’
‘I’m part of a team but I do my home visits solo.’
Donato’s arms tightened. ‘That’s dangerous. You don’t know what you could walk into.’
‘We’re fully trained. We have safety protocols in place. Anyway, most of my clients are frail.’
‘It’s not just your clients. Anyone could be there.’
‘I can look after myself, Donato.’ She turned in his arms and pressed a finger to his mouth before he could contradict her. ‘But I appreciate your concern.’
In all her years of nursing none of her family or friends had expressed concern for her safety. That must explain the strange melting sensation in her chest as she met his stare. She’d never had a protector. There’d been no one since her mother or Aunt Bea who worried about her. Fuzz and Rob saw her as capable and efficient, able to look after herself. And their father...he’d never cared enough to worry.
Crazy that the man logic told her not to trust was the one man who worried about her.
Crazier still that she liked it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘WELL, YOU COULD have knocked me down with a feather. Really!’ Samantha Raybourne’s laugh tinkled melodiously, turning heads in the packed theatre lounge. ‘I’d never thought of you marrying, Ella. Much less snaffling the most eligible man in the country.’
Ella’s smile froze. Why had she told Donato she wanted to see this play? She should have known opening night would attract people like the dreadful Samantha, who’d once made her life hell. She hated that she’d put herself in this position, an unwilling partner in a public charade. But the constraints had been too great, despite her misgivings.
‘What Sam means is congratulations.’ Samantha’s partner spoke. As compère of a reality television show he was adept at reading tension and knew when to intervene. ‘We hope you’ll both be very happy.’