The Truth About De Campo (6 page)

“There was no choice. We are De Campos.”

Sounded familiar. “Didn’t Riccardo race cars for a while?”

“Si.”
He took a long swallow of his wine. “My father made it hell for him when he came back.”

“Why
did
he come back?”

“Antonio was ill. He wanted Riccardo to take the reins.”

She threw him a curious look. “What would you have been if you hadn’t been a De Campo then? If you could have chosen?”

He arched a dark brow at her. “Is this an attempt to peer into my psyche? Part of your partner personality analysis?”

She smiled. “Answer the question.”

“I would have been a concert pianist.”

Her jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

He lifted a shoulder. “I’m not half bad. I minored in music at Oxford.”

Those hands.
Her gaze slid to their elegant length
.
She yanked it back with effort
. Oh, no, you don’t, Quinn. Don’t you dare start getting fascinated
.

“And you?” He waved a hand at her. “What would you have been if not a high-ranking executive?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I’ve never stopped to think about it. From the minute Warren saw me make scads of money with a lemonade stand, there was never any question of my path.”

His mouth tipped up at the corner. “How did Thea end up, of all things, a veterinarian?”

“She was hopeless with numbers. It was just never going to happen. Warren gave up.”

“And you filled the gap.” He slid her a sideways look. “You seem very different, you two.”

She lifted her shoulders. “I’m adopted. Not surprising.”

“How did my intelligence miss
that?
”

“It’s not something we talk about publicly. Warren and Sile adopted me when I was less than a year old.”

“Do you know who your birth parents are?”

She nodded. “They live in Mississippi. They weren’t able to keep me.”

Something in her voice must have alerted him to the wealth of emotion beneath the surface. His gaze rested on her, but he didn’t push. “You and Thea seem close despite the differences.”

“We are.” She smiled. “Thea is the one who believes in fairy tales. I’m the cynic always waiting for the penny to drop. We balance each other out.”

“
Does
the penny always drop?”

She stared down at the glowing
castello
. “Sometimes it does.”

He studied her for a long moment. “My brothers and I are very different too. But close as well. Riccardo likes to rule the world. Gabriele is obsessed with his wine.”

“And you?”

“I’m not sure I want a label. Care to give me one?”

Undeniably sexy. Broodily magnetic?
There were just so many. She shook her head. Safer that way.

“Do you play the piano for others?”

“Not usually no.”

“Do you take requests to do so?”

“Are you asking?”

“Maybe.”
Dammit,
yes she was curious, so curious to see how those beautiful hands worked a piano.

It was better than imagining them carrying out the slow and easy seduction of a woman. Something she was definitely, absolutely never going to experience.

His gaze turned an incendiary gray. “How about I play for you when De Campo wins the pitch?”

Her heart tripped over itself. “Gambling again...”

“Gambling is a miscalculation.” He levered himself up off his elbows. “Like me betting on the fact that you don’t want me to kiss you right now when you absolutely do.”

“I don’t,” she whispered, her palms going sweaty as he leaned toward her.

“Liar,” he murmured, cupping her jaw in his fingers, his gaze locked on hers. “You wanted me to kiss you last night and you want me to kiss you now.”

“To which you did the smart thing and walked away,” she protested weakly.

“Yes, but last night you’d had a bottle of wine. Tonight you’re sober.”

“Matteo—this is—”

“Just a kiss...” he murmured, bending his dark head toward her. She sucked in a breath, sure that wasn’t going to be an adequate description. The slow, easy slide of his mouth across hers, as if he had all the time in the world, was so unlike the urgent, rough caresses Julian had always started with that it rocked her world. Then he did it again and again, until she was craving a firmer contact.
Needing it.
Her fingers curled into the soft jersey of his T-shirt, steadying herself, urging him on, she wasn’t sure which.

He made a low sound under his breath, angled his mouth over hers and took the kiss deeper, exploring every centimeter of her lips with a sensual thoroughness that turned her into a mindless pile of flesh, his to command. She had never known it could be like this—so deliciously intoxicating, so obviously meant to arouse and enjoy; not to dominate. Here on the top of the mountain, in a place like heaven, where nothing and no one else existed, she never wanted it to end.

“Matteo—” The word sounded so breathless and needy Quinn could hardly believe it was coming from her. He reached down, captured her hand and brought it to the back of his head. Invited her closer. The wiry coarseness of his hair beneath her fingertips was undeniably male, the teasing pressure of his tongue against the corner of her mouth tantalizing. She knew if she let him in it was going to be another mind-bending demonstration of what she’d been missing. But she did it anyway because she couldn’t resist.

Big mistake.
It was hot and never ending.

She never
wanted
it to end.

“Quinn.”

The husky word pulled from Matteo’s throat penetrated her consciousness with the force of a hammer. He dragged his lips across her cheek and rested his forehead against hers. “Now might be a good time to stop.”

Stop?
What was she doing?

She yanked her hand from around his neck and sat back, her palm covering her mouth.
Oh, my god
. She couldn’t believe she’d just let him do that. That she’d
participated
in it. Eagerly.

Matteo’s mouth flattened. “It was just a kiss, Quinn.”

Just a kiss?
She’d been
necking
with a man she could potentially award a ten-million-dollar contract to. If that wasn’t a conflict of interest she wasn’t sure what was!

Apparently he was starting to realize that too, because he’d whitened under that dark tan of his. “It won’t happen again.”

“You’re damn right it won’t happen again...” She jammed her palms against her temples. “We can’t be kissing each other, Matteo. Despite your need to satisfy your curiosity with every woman on two legs.”

He scowled. “That is
not
what that was.”

“What was it then?”

He sighed. “A need to satisfy a curiosity specific to you, Quinn. And, a massive mistake, I agree.”

She squashed the flutter that flickered to life in her stomach. Matteo rolled to his feet and held out a hand. “Your flight is early tomorrow. We should go.”

She eyed the appendage warily, then took it. He pulled her up, stepping away from her as soon as she was level.

They didn’t speak as they made their way down the mountain, the sky darkening into early dusk. Matteo led the way on Anteros, Marica following at a slow, steady pace. Quinn wished desperately for some of her mare’s calm demeanor. Because that had not been
her
. She hadn’t been able to let a man near her since Julian. Hadn’t wanted to. Yet every time she got within five feet of Matteo De Campo she wanted his hands all over her.

Matteo De Campo.
She wasn’t sure if she should be thrilled she wasn’t the ice queen everyone, including herself, thought she was or distraught at her
incredibly bad judgment.

Her mouth compressed. Matteo was playing a game. He was playing to win. And
she
was acting like some silly pawn in it. She clenched her legs around Marica as they went down a steep section, her muscles crying out at the request. Crazy when she had a to-do list as long as her arm of major do-or-die issues she needed to take care of with Luxe.

She needed to get on that plane tomorrow morning with her head on straight, primed for what lay ahead.

Put temptation out of reach.

Unfortunately, her track record of late wasn’t stellar.

CHAPTER FIVE

M
ATTEO
HAD
KNOWN
he was going to kiss Quinn from the moment she’d gotten down off Marica, her green eyes glowing with the exhilaration of having conquered her fear. Most definitely after he’d heard the intense vulnerability in her voice when she’d said her birth parents hadn’t been able to keep her. He’d taken action after one too many not-so-subtle invitations from the queen of mixed signals, and the result had been a scientific experiment gone horrifically right. A chemistry test he wished he could forget, but had been burned into his brain ever since Quinn had left Italy two days ago.

Not even the mountain of work he’d plowed through on the ten-hour flight to St. Lucia had been enough to banish the memory of an eager, passionate Quinn in his arms. The fact that she’d answered his question about what she’d be like when she totally let go hadn’t put his curiosity to rest. It had made it much, much worse. Because now he knew.

His low curse was drowned out by the roar of the surf below the dramatic, open wall of his suite at Paradis Entre les Montagnes, Luxe’s world-renowned luxury resort tucked between the island’s famous twin volcanoes. He straightened his bow tie in the mirror and scowled. Why in God’s name hadn’t he just packaged up the insight he’d gained from digging into her hard-to-penetrate psyche and used it to work her angles? Why had he had to
kiss
her?

He picked his jacket up and shrugged it on with an antagonized movement. Bad judgment seemed to be his specialty. No matter how many times he told himself Angelique Fontaine had pursued him that night in Paris, had followed him to his hotel room after his drinks with his brothers and thrown herself at him, it had been
his
huge error to let her in. His shortsightedness to medicate himself with a woman intimately involved with a deal that could make De Campo’s future.

His breath came out in a long hiss. Things might not always have been perfect in his family, but they were everything to each other. Family was everything. He had to find a way to rid himself of that little demon that sat on his shoulder urging him to do all the wrong things. Because the Luxe deal was his chance to rebuild his reputation with his brothers. To right his past mistakes. And he wasn’t screwing it up.

A glance at the clock told him he had five minutes before he met the others. He strode out to the edge of the patio with its mind-blowing view of the volcanoes, wrapped his fingers around the iron railing and tried to find the focus that usually came so easily to him. Tucked into the mountains directly across from the spectacular peaks, Paradis Entre les Montagnes—literally translated as Paradise Between the Mountains—had proven to be as beautiful as its namesake. A lush, green haven perched above the Caribbean Sea, it disappeared into the mountainside with its tropical hardwoods, stone and tile chosen to blend in with its surroundings.

He moved his gaze over the layered blues of the Caribbean Sea that sparkled at the bottom of the cliff, over the tropical flowers of every hue and variety that bathed the resort in a jumble of color. The two mighty volcanoes loomed over it all, a vivid reminder of the power of nature. They were, apparently, still active. What would it be like if they roared back to life? Would they match the combustive feeling inside of him? Like he was ready to blow...

He shook his arms and legs out, the long flight from Italy leaving him stiff and sluggish. His head throbbed with that low, insistent pulse that had been with him all day. The three-year anniversary of Giancarlo’s death was tomorrow. And as usual, nothing or no one had been able to wipe it from his mind.

Three years ago his best friend had perished because of a stupid bet.
His
bet.

It rested just below the surface, ready to push Matteo into inconsolability whenever he began to feel a measure of peace. Had been the driving force of every mistake he’d made since. Had driven his frenzied partying and out of control lifestyle until he’d shut it all down.

Without that oblivion, he felt like a man with enough burning lava inside of him to destroy an entire civilization.

He braced his hands against the railing and looked out over the water. A desert island would be preferable right about now. Instead, he had a manager’s cocktail party to attend with Quinn and Daniel. A head chef and sommelier to win over. Perhaps a good thing since drinking himself into a stupor was no longer an option.

Something else he had banned from his life.

He clenched his hands by his sides. He would do this like he always did. By pretending to the world he didn’t care. By being Matteo the Charming. Matteo who lit up a room when he walked into it. It was like switching on a lightbulb. Declaring it showtime.

The sky was transforming into a potent cocktail of pink and orange as he took the path down to the terrace that overlooked the sea. A small group of exquisitely dressed men and women chosen to enjoy cocktails with the manager sipped champagne in the sultry tropical air that still steamed from the heat of the day, a calypso band lending a distinctly West Indian flavor to the party. He stopped at the edge of the crowd and took in the scene. Daniel Williams was schmoozing the resort’s manager, Thomas Golding, with that same smarmy smile he seemed to have constantly painted across his face.

Margarite, Quinn’s head sommelier from New York, looked cool and elegant in a sleek royal-blue dress as she spoke with Paradis’s head chef, François Marin, Quinn and a tall, distinguished-looking male in his early fifties. The gray-haired man’s attention was riveted on Quinn. Matteo didn’t blame him. Margarite had French chic, but Quinn looked...drool-inducing.

Gone was the conservative style of dress he was used to. In its place was a figure-hugging fuchsia sheath with a slit up the side just far enough to make a man look twice. Spaghetti straps made a mockery of the gravity required to wear the dress, because it was not the straps holding it up, it was the full-on perfection of Quinn’s voluptuous curves that was doing it.

Damn
.
His mouth went dry. Why choose now, after that kiss, to pull out this new weapon in her arsenal? She’d even left all of that soft, silky hair down, sliding against the bare skin of her back. It took very little imagination to picture it spread across the ivory silk sheets of his suite’s king-size bed. Less still to picture himself picking up where that kiss had left off, indulging the urge to explore every inch of her creamy flesh.

He shut the fantasy down in the middle of its full glory and grabbed a glass of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray.
Get a goddamned handle on yourself, De Campo
. Tonight was the night he was going to master the devil inside of him. Not let it loose.

Work the room. Get François Marin and Margarite Bellamy on your side. And then get out.

* * *

Quinn told herself the dress was absolutely appropriate as she watched Matteo’s jaw hit the ground. She hadn’t had time to shop for the sweltering St. Lucian temperatures before she’d left Chicago, so she’d turned herself over to Manon in the hotel’s boutique to outfit her with a few dresses. Manon had assured her this soft, gorgeous designer dress in the finest silk was perfect for the cocktail party, but Quinn had felt it clung far too much.

She was now sure of it.

She smoothed the silky material over her hips and gave him her most professional smile. Margarite caught the nervous movement, her gaze sweeping over her. “So what’s
with
the dress? You never wear anything like that.”

“New addition to my wardrobe,” she muttered.

Margarite’s thin mouth quirked upward. “I heard François say it was a definite improvement.”

Quinn bristled. “He did?”

“He’s a French male, Quinn. By the way, he’s right. You should play up your natural assets, not hide them.”

Quinn wasn’t sure what to do with that so she pushed her hair out of her face and directed a glance at the hottest man in the room. “I should introduce you to Matteo.”

“Oh, I don’t need an introduction.” Her blonde, very young, very talented sommelier’s blue eyes glittered. “I met him on the beach earlier. He had the whole place in an uproar. It’s cruel and unusual punishment making me do business with him, Quinn.”

She wasn’t the only one
. Quinn had the distinct feeling the sight of Matteo De Campo in swim trunks would be as impossible to eradicate from her memory as that kiss.

“He brought me a bottle of the Brunello,” Margarite crowed. “Too bad I can’t invite him back to my suite to share it with me.”

Quinn shot her a look that told her what she thought of that. Margarite waved a hand at her. “God, you’ve got to loosen up and learn how to take a joke, Quinn.”

She bit down on her lip. Another of Julian’s complaints about her. How dull and uninspiring a wife she’d turned out to be.

“Focus on business,” she said shortly. “You wanted to be a part of this process. Make the best decision for Luxe.”

Quinn started across the room toward Matteo, her sommelier trailing after her, a bemused look on her face. She knew she came across like a bitch sometimes but that’s what happened when your husband verbally abused you for a year. You shut down. You just didn’t care.

Whatever electricity she’d sensed between her and Matteo was nowhere in sight as he bent down to kiss her on both cheeks. He looked focused, all business, and kept his gaze on Margarite as he grilled her with questions, interspersed with enough charm that her sommelier just kept spilling the goods. Why that hurt her feelings she didn’t know. She should be
glad
he seemed to be taking their agreement seriously.

Except there was a part of her that had come alive with him on that mountain. That kiss had blown her perception of herself apart—made her wonder exactly
who
she was. Because not once had she ever kissed her husband like that. Or wanted to for that matter.

Was she Quinn the ice queen or Quinn, a woman capable of more?

She blinked and gave her head a shake.
That
was all inconsequential right now. Why was she devoting even a tenth of her brain to her ill-advised attraction to a playboy she couldn’t have anything to do with when she had at least two hours of paperwork to do after this cocktail party and a report to give to her father? She ought to be taking a page out of Matteo’s book and
not going there
.

They finished their cocktails and sat down to dinner on the outdoor terrace with François, Margarite, Daniel and Thomas Golding. There was no lack of conversation at the table of extroverts as the sun slid down behind the mountains and dusk settled over the island. Daniel was his usual smooth, conversational self, regaling them with his tall tales from the Outback; François, with his equally tall tales from the kitchens of Paris. Matteo won the chef and Margarite over with his charm and extensive knowledge of the hospitality and wine industries. But there was an edge to him tonight she couldn’t put a finger on. A tension to his demeanor that took her back to that night in the cellar.

“Quinn tells me we’ll get to explore the kitchens tomorrow and see the new menus you have planned,” Matteo said to François. “I’m very much looking forward to it.”

“
Oui,
in the morning.” The chef nodded. “In the afternoon we must prepare for the celebrity chef challenge we’re hosting.”

“Every year we host a prestigious competition amongst all the chefs on the island to raise money for the schools here,” Margarite explained. She nodded toward Matteo. “François is down a sous chef. Didn’t you say you trained with Henry Thiboult in New York?”

Matteo inclined his head. “Not really formal training. I like to cook. He was kind enough to let me work in the kitchen with him a few times.”

Quinn’s mouth dropped open. “When in the world did you have time to do that?”

He let loose one of those flirtatious smiles she hadn’t seen much of this evening. “Here and there. I told you I liked to cook.”

François’s sun-aged face split in a wide smile. “Anyone who has trained in Henry’s kitchen is welcome in mine.”

Margarite arched a brow at Matteo. “Are you up for it?”

“I’d be honored. As long as you don’t mind my amateurism.”

The chef beamed. “
Mais, oui
. I need you. It’s all set then.”

Daniel Williams looked dumbfounded. “I’d like to do it, too, then.”

François looked down his nose at him. “Do you have any training?”

“Well, no, but—”

“So sorry.” François waved a hand at him. “Only trained chefs in my kitchen. You’ll cut off a finger and I’ll lose my license.”

A pout twisted Daniel’s lips, if that was possible for a man. He sat and watched Matteo talk about working in Henry’s kitchen, the famous Manhattan chef notorious for his culinary theatrics. François’s booming laughter lit up the night. By the time dinner had stretched past the two-hour mark, Daniel Williams was distinctly red in the face.

“I hear De Campo’s expanding into Chicago next year.” The Silver Kangaroo CEO picked up his beer and took a sip. “Y’all are doing great. Next thing you know you’ll be pushing that top-chef guy right out on his skinny behind.”

“I hope so,” Matteo agreed evenly. “We are focused on that very
niche
segment of the market.”

Daniel shrugged. “You’re making a lot of money in the restaurant business. Can’t imagine De Campo’s going to stop there.”

“But we are.” Matteo set down his beer, his gaze locked on his opposition. “Organizations that spread themselves too thin ultimately fail. You should know that, Williams. Your first venture collapsed, didn’t it?”

Daniel flinched. “I consider that a war wound. Gotta take the hard knocks to get where you’re going.”

Matteo shrugged. “From what I’ve heard, poor management was to blame.”

And the gloves were off.
Quinn set down her coffee cup. “Perhaps we should call it a night. We have an early start tomorrow.”

“I think I’d like an after-dinner drink,” Daniel interjected, a belligerent tilt to his chin. “Care to join me, De Campo?”