The Truth About De Campo (16 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

S
UMMER
IN
C
HICAGO
got just about as hot as anywhere.

Quinn nudged the café door open with her hip, keeping her two iced coffees tucked to her chest as a wall of heat greeted her. The roiling, hundred-degree temperatures that had blanketed the city all weekend had stayed with them for the start of the workweek. She’d had a trickle of sweat rolling down her back not two minutes down the sidewalk.

She longed for the cooling breezes of the Caribbean. For the peace she’d found there.... Yes, they’d worked like dogs getting Le Belle Bleu up and running, but being with Matteo had made her feel settled in a way she’d never experienced before. They had been in their own private bubble, sheltered from the world. And maybe that was the problem. As soon as reality had hit, it had felt as if everything was falling apart.

She wound her way around a group of tourists, and headed for the gold facade of the Davis offices. The minute she’d taken one step into the O’Hare airport, Matteo’s distant “I’ll call you” ringing in her ears, the familiar anxiety had surfaced. The need to be someone she didn’t want to be anymore. The uncertainty of who she wanted to be.

Then she’d faced off against her father. He’d been furious, as expected, questioning her commitment to the job with no regard for her personal feelings which had, in turn, prompted her anger and the devolution of their conversation into a whole lot of issues that had nothing to do with the deal. But she’d convinced him and the board to keep De Campo in the final two. Her father had appointed Walter Driscoll, Luxe’s Chief Operating Officer, to take her place as the head of the committee, smoothed Daniel Williams’s feathers, and her fall from grace had been cemented.

Now she could focus on doing her job. Except, she thought, lips compressing as she pushed her way through the revolving doors of the Davis building, everyone she worked with seemed to be reveling in the controversy, whispering behind her back. The tabloids had been having a field day, and worst of all, she missed Matteo like crazy.

She’d responded to his texts and calls to see if she was all right with polite if brief responses, as if her self-preservation was finally kicking in. Because if she’d had reservations before of things working out with a playboy like Matteo, the media coverage over the weekend had persuaded her she could never live in a fishbowl like this.

She exited the elevator on the executive floors, stopped at her PA’s desk to drop off her coffee and pick up her messages, and shook her head as Kathryn held up a newspaper. “No more. I can’t take it. Let it be a mystery to me.”

“Perhaps you might prefer the life-size version lounging in your office,” her PA purred.

Her heart jumped—raced in her chest like a jackhammer. She pressed the sheaf of papers against it. “Matteo is in my office?”

Kathryn nodded with a sly smile. “I didn’t think he needed an appointment.”

The prevailing attitude from everyone here all day. An intense, persistent interest in her personal life. Quinn the ice queen demystified as a human after all.

She stood there torn by how much she missed him and the desire to be her smart, rational self.

Kathryn flashed her an amused look. “Are you just going to leave him in there?”

She pursued her lips. “I’m trying to decide how the new Quinn would do this.”

“I would start by closing the door,” her PA said archly. “I like the new Quinn, by the way.”

So did she. Although she was scary as hell and none too certain about the transformation.

Minimalist, fern-endowed and done in creamy, soft colors, her office was the perfect backdrop for a sensational-looking Matteo, draped across her desk, immersed in his smartphone. Dressed in dark pants and a light gray shirt with a contrasting darker charcoal tie, he looked like a cool, elegant drink of water.

She stopped inside the door and stuck her hands on her hips. “The pitch is not until Friday, you know.”

He looked up and smiled that slow, easy grin that made her already excited heart go pitter-patter. “I’m here to see you.”

She swallowed. “You trying to stir up more gossip and speculation parking yourself in my office like this?”

He gave her an even look. “I’d prefer to pursue the real story.”

Which is?

“Shut the door, Quinn.”

She stepped backward and pushed it closed, if only to prevent even more gossip.

He tilted his head to one side. “When you’ve taken my calls you’ve been annoyingly brief. Same with your texts. How am I supposed to know how you are if you won’t talk?”

She shook her head, trying desperately not to fall into the trap that was Matteo because therein lay disaster. “Hasn’t any of this craziness convinced you I was right in St. Lucia? This has to end?”

“Was
I
not clear enough we are going to work through this together?”

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. Tucked the papers under her chin.

“Come here.” He held out a hand and dammit if her feet didn’t obey as if she was a trained animal. He smelled like spice and Matteo and when he tucked her between his legs and pushed her hair out of her face, it was the most right place on earth.

“First of all,” he murmured, holding her gaze, “thank you again for ensuring De Campo’s position in the pitch.”

“It was the right thing to do.”

“Secondly,” he drawled, “I know you wanted me to say I was falling in love with you the night of the party. But I need to do things in my own time, Quinn. I have baggage too.”

Her stomach did a loop-the-loop, ending up somewhere in the base of her abdomen. “I don’t know how to play this game,” she said huskily. “I need more, Matteo, to hang in here with you because right now this is all too much for me.”

His eyes flashed. “What do you need me to say?”

She shook her head. She didn’t even know.

“This isn’t about the deal, Quinn,” he said harshly. “I could pull De Campo out of it but it still wouldn’t help with your trust issues.”

“
Earned
trust issues.”

He sighed. Lifted his hands to cradle her jaw, his smoky eyes holding hers. “I’m crazy about you, Quinn. I’m falling so hard it terrifies me. But this is a place I’ve never been before. You have to cut me some slack.”

She felt her insides liquefy. “How are two commitment-phobes supposed to make this work?”

“Because it’s you and me,” he said softly. “And we are perfect together.”

If anyone could have expected her to hold up after that, they were sadly mistaken. She rose on tiptoe, set her mouth to his and let her kiss show him how much she’d missed him. It was about two seconds before it burst into full-on flames. Matteo made a sound low in his throat and set her away from him. “If you want a decrease on the gossip you’d better cut back on that.” He rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Please tell me you don’t have plans for tonight.”

“I do,” she said with a nod. “With my bathtub. I could possibly amend it to include you.”

The slow smile that stretched his lips pulled her insides tight. “I will make it worth your while,
cara
.”

The new Quinn was fully in evidence as they left the office just after five. They stopped at a local grocery store, bought some cheese Matteo knew far more about than she did and a bottle of wine and took them back to her penthouse apartment in the Loop.

Far more than she needed with three bedrooms and an impossibly gorgeous view of the skyline, it had been an investment. Matteo walked to the edge of the lushly landscaped terrace and took in the view as she worked the cork out of the Pinot Noir he’d chosen.

“So how did your conversation with your father
really
go?”

She’d given Matteo the glossed over version of her no-holds-barred confrontation with Warren. “He thinks my judgment is way off.” She poured the wine and walked over to hand him a glass. “He thinks you’re using me to get the contract.”

He winced. “Quinn—”

She held up a hand. “I know it’s not true and I told him that. I also told him I needed him to be more of a father than mentor sometimes. That the tough love can be too much.”

“And what did he say to that?”

Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I think he was flabbergasted. He thinks I’m as tough as him which clearly I am not.” She shrugged. “He also pointed out I am not the best of communicators.”

Matteo’s face softened. “We’ll call that an understatement.”

“I also told him about Julian.”

“Did he have any idea?”

“I think he didn’t
want
to have any idea. He was horrified. But I think maybe it made him understand me a bit more. Understand why I’ve been the way I’ve been. Done the things I have.”

He stepped forward, slid a hand behind her neck and pulled her into him. “You see? It wasn’t that hard.”

His heat, his strength enveloped her, swept over her like an elemental necessity of life she couldn’t do without. She reached up and cupped his jaw in her hand. “I can’t do another Julian, Matteo. If you leave now, nobody gets hurt.”

He shook his head. “Getting hurt is part of life. But I am not going anywhere and neither are you. We are going to do this together.
Capisci?
”

Tears stung her eyes. “Yes.”

He swept her up into his arms and carried her inside. She guided him to the master bedroom with soft, husky instructions. Peeled the clothes from his taut, muscular body with hands that shook with emotion. She wanted,
needed
him to possess her, to fill the void inside so badly it hurt.

He divested her of her clothes in a haphazard, completely un-Matteo-like fashion. His urgency should have frightened her, set off the old alarm bells. Instead she urged him on with husky commands. Told him how much she wanted him. Needed to know he could possess her completely, that she could give herself to him without reservation.

That she had the power of surrender.

He sensed it. Pushed her further. Set his hand to the small of her back and held her firmly against the mattress while his other hand slipped between her legs and brought her to hot, wet readiness.

“Matteo,” she groaned, wild for him. “I need you.”

The sound of foil ripping filled the air. He came back to her, slid a hand under her stomach, lifted her so he could bring the thick, insistent pressure of him against her pulsing core.

“You want me to take you,” he rasped.

She gasped as he brushed the wide tip of his erection back and forth along her aching flesh. “Yes, now,
please...”

He took her with a powerful thrust that stole the breath from her lungs. He was dominant, fully in control, using her body for his pleasure. His palm on her back held her secure, made her take all of him, but it was her pleasure, too. She felt him everywhere, stroking into her. Wildly excited, she pushed her hips up, meeting him stroke for stroke, murmuring her appreciation as he took her higher, gave her more.

When she couldn’t take it, when she begged him in broken pleas to make her come, he flipped over on his back, his arm banded around her waist so she came with him. He was still buried deep inside her and brought his thumb to her clitoris. Maddeningly, insistently, he rotated against her pulsing flesh until she screamed, hurtling into the most intense orgasm he’d ever given her.

His big body pulsed inside of her, his hands clamped down on her flesh as he groaned and came. Made her his from the inside out.

They fell into a hot bath, had their wine and cheese on the bed. Then he wrapped her in his arms and held her. It was perfect, so perfect Quinn stayed awake long after Matteo’s raspy snore sounded in her ear.

Maybe it was the lingering effect of always waiting for the penny to drop—maybe it was because her father had pretty much said she and Matteo wouldn’t last. But she couldn’t help but wish he’d offered to walk away from the pitch. Had made his feelings for her
that
clear.

But he was right. She had to learn to deal with her trust issues. She needed to have faith in him. The problem was, she was still very, very new at this faith thing.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

M
ATTEO
WAS
ADDING
some last-minute statistics to his pitch presentation over coffee on Quinn’s terrace when his mobile pealed, wrecking his concentration. He glanced at the screen. It was Gabriele.

“This better be good,” he barked into the phone. “As you know my future with the De Campo family rests on me nailing this presentation tomorrow.”

“No pressure there,” his perfectly controlled, sanguine brother came back, rich amusement flavoring his tone. “Win and De Campo moves to another level entirely, lose and you are the permanent black sheep.”

Matteo scowled. “You called for a reason?”

“I need you down here for a meeting today. I finally nailed an audience with the liquor board. The director had a last-minute cancellation.”

Matteo pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. “You want me to fly to California
today
for a meeting?”

“A late afternoon meeting and dinner. You can head back first thing in the morning in plenty of time for the pitch in the afternoon. Rehearse on the jet.”

He brought the phone back to his ear. “No way,
fratello
.”

“I need you there, Matty. The director is a woman, apparently she knows you.”

Matteo stood up and paced to the edge of the terrace. “I’ve stopped renting myself out as a stud, Gabe.”

“Her name is Katlyn Jones. Remember her?”

Ah
. He did. She’d been at a couple of parties he’d attended with his Hollywood ex.

“You’re killing me, Gabe.”

“Two years, Matty. Two years I’ve been waiting for this. To get them listening about the Malbecs.”

“Two years I’ve been in purgatory,
fratello mio
.”

“So we’ll both win. Be here for two. I promise I’ll get you back in time.”

The line went dead. He dialed their pilot with a low curse, then his PA and went inside to change. Texted Quinn his whereabouts from the cab to the airport. And thought about the doubts he still saw in her eyes every time the contract came up. Since he was now sure he was fully, irrevocably in love with her, perhaps he needed to do something to demonstrate exactly how serious he was.

* * *

Quinn let herself in the penthouse, juggling an armful of groceries, her heart thumping in that ridiculous way it did any time she was about to see Matteo. She had taken the rather risky step of attempting to cook dinner for him given he’d been working until all hours getting ready for the pitch and as far as she could see, not eating very much. Risky when it happened she couldn’t cook at all. But being with Matteo these past few weeks had inspired her to try a lot of new things. To push beyond who she’d thought she was.

She deposited the groceries on the counter and headed out to the terrace where Matteo preferred to work. They’d agreed he would stay with her until the pitch was over and take it from there. Figure out their schedules. But the door to the outdoor space was locked and there was no sign of him.

Figuring he’d gone for a run after the heat of the day, she slipped on an apron in the kitchen and started the water boiling. How hard could pasta be? Boil the water and put the pasta in. Throw it against the wall, apparently. But
dicing?
That was a foreign language. She took a wild guess and started chopping the vegetables into bite-size pieces. Thought how quiet, how lacking in life the apartment was without Matteo in it. How much she wanted him to come home so she could tell him about the insane step she’d taken of contacting the adoption agency to get in touch with her birth parents. Who knew where it was all going to end, but at least she might get some closure.

Butterflies swooped through her stomach. She shooed them determinedly away. Baby steps, that’s how she was going to do this. With Matteo too. The scariest part was how easily she could see him fitting into her life. Last night he’d started talking about how he’d love a house in Lincoln Park, and it had not been a stretch to picture herself living there with him. Which wasn’t baby steps at all. It was a huge, monstrous step that should have made her run, terrified. Except she hadn’t.

She reached for the prosciutto rather than address the adrenaline surging through her. She loved him. She finally understood what it was that had been missing with Julian. How your heart could feel so empty with one person and so full with another. How when it was right, it was just
right.

When the pasta sauce was done and “reducing” in the pan, she went into the bedroom to change. The clock on the bedside table read 8:00 p.m., which made her frown because surely Matteo should be back from a run by now? She reached for her Harvard sweats hanging over a chair. Noticed Matteo’s overnight bag that had been lying in the corner was gone.

Her stomach seized. She strode into the bathroom. His toiletries were missing from the counter. She went into the living room and checked the table where he kept his laptop. Gone.

He was gone.

A buzzing sound filled her ears. Julian had walked out the door that day to Boston as if it was a run-of-the-mill trip to see his brother. And he’d never come back. Bile rose in the back of her throat.
Had Matteo left her?

She gave her head a violent shake. That wasn’t him. He wouldn’t do that to her
.
She picked up her mobile and called him. Got his voice mail. Checked her email and texts to make sure she hadn’t missed anything.

Nothing.

She thought about calling his PA but it was late and it didn’t seem appropriate at this time of night, so she showered, turned the stove off and sat down to wait with a glass of wine. Ten o’clock passed. Eleven. She tried him again and got his voice mail. Surely if there had been some sort of emergency he would have called?

Eyes burning, head throbbing, she went into the kitchen, dumped dinner into the garbage and brushed her teeth. Told herself to stay calm, that there must be some explanation for this. People didn’t just walk out on you.

When she came out of the bathroom, her phone was beeping. She snatched it up and pulled up the text message. It was from Matteo.

Saw you called. Can’t talk now. I need to talk to you before the pitch tomorrow. I’ll pick you up for a coffee before?

She stared at the message. For a good two or three minutes she just stared at it
.
Then it hit her.
He was dumping her.
He was about to accomplish his goal of winning the Luxe contract, so why keep her around any longer? It was just like it had been with Julian. Once she’d outlived her usefulness to him, once he’d forged the contacts he’d needed to with the Davis elite, he’d left.

But why now? Why hadn’t he just waited until the pitch was over? Had the guilt gotten to him?

She turned off the lights and slipped into bed. Tears slid down her face—hot, silent. She didn’t understand any of it. Didn’t understand how her emotions, her instincts could be so wrong.

But she would not let another man break her. She was stronger than that. It’s just that she should have known. She really should have known.