Ruthless Revenge: Sweet Surrender. Annie West

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СКАЧАТЬ shrugged, aiming for nonchalance despite her dismay. Surely her father hadn’t gone as far as organising a dress and hiring the country’s most exclusive designer! This was a nightmare. The sooner it ended the better.

       Except when it ends you and Donato will go your separate ways.

      Ella’s stomach pinched. The thought of Donato moving on to another lover brought bile to her mouth.

      She wanted what they had to last. She enjoyed being with him. No one else had ever made her feel like this.

      The revelation knocked her for six, making her sway.

      Instantly Donato’s arm tightened around her. He looked down, flashing her a reassuring smile before turning back to his conversation, and her stupid heart kicked up pace.

       She wanted to be with him.

      ‘I’m amazed you’ve got Aurelio to agree to design your gown.’ Samantha had taken her silence for assent. ‘His work is exquisite but he prefers to work with petite clients to show off his amazing designs.’ Again that sharp gaze, dismissing Ella’s body as unfashionably rounded.

      ‘Rake-thin women, you mean?’ Ella didn’t bother pretending to misunderstand. ‘I wouldn’t know. I’m not really familiar with his designs.’ She knew the name, of course, but that was all.

      ‘You’re not familiar...?’ The other woman delicately fanned herself. ‘But why would you when you’re not the type he normally dresses.’ Again that horrified survey of Ella’s height and hips.

      Ella told herself to be grateful for the woman’s cattiness. It distracted her from dismay over the revelation of her feelings for Donato.

      Yet Samantha’s words opened old wounds. She’d always made Ella feel like a galumphing elephant, reinforcing all her father’s negativity. She was too big, too serious and dull to be pretty or exciting.

      ‘But then, Donato’s a force to be reckoned with, isn’t he? What are artistic scruples compared with the chance to dress his bride, no matter what her size?’

      * * *

      Donato felt the shift of supple muscle under his arm as Ella straightened. More than straightened. A ruler could lie exactly along her taut spine as she gazed down at the woman before her.

      His skin tightened in a familiar flurry of anticipation as he felt energy radiate off Ella. From the first he’d enjoyed sparring with her.

      Only this time her focus wasn’t on him.

      He watched Samantha What’s-her-name wave a languid hand as she spoke in that awful arch tone about dresses and Ella’s size.

      Understanding hit and with it came fury. Red-hot fingers of rage dug into his chest, squeezing his lungs. His hand clamped so hard at Ella’s waist she swung round, looking up questioningly.

      Was it imagination or did her eyes look bruised? The idea disturbed him. Then as he watched something in her expression changed and her lips tilted up in a smile.

      Only he saw that it didn’t reach her eyes.

      ‘I don’t care what some dressmaker thinks of my body,’ Ella said, her gaze holding his so that his pulse grew heavy. ‘But Donato likes it.’ She leaned towards him, flagrantly ignoring the other woman. ‘Don’t you, Nato?’

      For a split second shock grabbed him, because she’d somehow chanced on the diminutive that only his mother had called him. Then a moment later came the stunned realisation that he liked the pet name on Ella’s lips. He wanted to hear it again.

      She blinked and he realised she was waiting for his response. Beyond her the hungry-looking woman with the blinding teeth and the bony collarbone watched avidly.

      ‘You need to ask, corazón?’ He let his hand slip down from the sweet incurve of Ella’s waist to linger, circling at her hip. ‘How could I look at another woman when I have you? You’re the sexiest woman I know.’

      ‘Even with my curves?’ Her tinkle of laughter was a fair imitation of the woman standing before them, but Donato knew Ella well enough to hear the tightness in her voice. She did a good job of hiding it but, he realised, the other woman’s words had struck home. He frowned, remembering so many times when Ella had tried to hide her body, as if uncomfortable with him seeing her naked.

      ‘Your body,’ he said deliberately, ‘is a work of art.’ He yanked her against him and her escaping breath puffed warm across his chin. ‘Any designer would adore dressing you. You look like a woman, not a scrawny sack of bones.’

      Dimly he was aware of a shocked hiss from the woman beside them, but his attention was on Ella’s widening eyes.

      Bending his head, he nipped the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. She went limp, her head tipping back. Donato tasted summer fruit as he licked the spot then nuzzled his way up to her ear.

      Ella gasped and clutched his shoulders and he scooped her closer, one hand at her hip, the other on the warm, smooth skin between her shoulder blades. Another kiss and she arched in silent invitation.

      He needed to pull back. He’d made his point. They were in a public place.

      But he didn’t give a damn about creating a scene. Not with Ella in his arms. Not when he wanted to erase the hint of pain he’d read in her eyes. And forget the slash of guilt that he, with his insistence on this farce of an engagement, had made her a target for that witch’s claws. But he couldn’t renege now. Not so close to bringing Sanderson to ruin.

      Did guilt heighten his desire? Donato wanted to lose himself in Ella. She was a drug in his blood, a pleasure he’d grown addicted to.

      Carajo, he was even hearing bells now. Kissing Ella, holding her in his arms, made him forget where he was.

      Her hands on his shoulders shifted, pushed, and she pulled her head back. Dazed silver eyes met his, their pupils huge and unfocused.

      Donato leaned in to take her mouth again.

      ‘No.’ Her whisper came from lips now bare of make-up but deliciously dark and plump from their kisses. ‘Interval’s over.’

      Donato looked around the rapidly emptying space. What had begun as a deliberate display had become something else. The burn of rage and guilt in his belly and the indefinable emotions that stirred when Ella had turned to him, looking proud yet so vulnerable, had torn away something within him. He’d wanted to erase every vestige of hurt from her face, but in the process he’d lost himself.

      Nato, she’d called him. And it had felt right. So right he hadn’t wanted to draw back.

      He’d wanted to help her but he’d also needed to tap into that sense of well-being she always gave him. It was a feeling he’d come to crave.

      And he’d wanted to possess her. Still he clutched her, one hand anchored now in her honey-brown hair, making a delectable mess of her upswept style.

      She straightened, her hands going self-consciously to her hair as her gaze slid to the last stragglers.

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