The Truth About De Campo (5 page)

He smiled at that. “If you mean honest and straightforward about how we feel without a hundred pounds of analysis spread on top of it, then
si,
it’s true.”

“But in being that way, you miss many of the subtleties of life.”

“Care to give an example?”

“I’d prefer you finish your list.”

* * *

By the time he had and they’d eaten dinner, Quinn had the glaring feeling she’d vastly underestimated how valuable De Campo could be in helping her dig Luxe out of the mess it was in. Matteo was clearly a brilliant businessman and a marketing genius. De Campo
was
making scads of money at its übertrendy wine bar locations on the East and West Coasts. She’d done the research.

“You make some very good points,” she conceded, pushing her empty plate away. “But there still remains the fact you are competition for us in the restaurant space.”

He shook his head. “It’s not the same clientele. Go sit in one of our wine bars. The customer is ten years younger at least. They do not have the disposable income to eat at Luxe.”

Her gaze sharpened. “How would you guarantee you wouldn’t compete with us in the future? Write it into the contract?”

He flinched, a slight, almost imperceptible movement. “We could talk about that.”

She pressed her lips together. “It’s a problem. I agree that there are synergies there. But I can’t sell this to the board if we’re going to be competing against each other.”

“Who’s to say Silver Kangaroo won’t get into the restaurant business? You can’t know what’s going to happen in the future.”

“But I can hedge my bets. Make my decisions based on the facts I have now.”

He picked up the wine and poured the last of it into their glasses. It occurred to her she should probably refuse any more but the legendary Brunello was just too good to turn down.

He fixed that intense dark stare on her, the one that made her pulse jump all over the place. “Why fourth, Quinn? Why originally rank us fourth when you so clearly want a pure wine play, not a big behemoth.”

Maybe the wine was loosening her tongue, but she decided he deserved to know. “In my mind, De Campo is an arrogant, self-satisfied brand. Yes, you make exceptional wine. Your lineage is impeccable. But you represent what Luxe
used
to be. Not where we’re going. Silver Kangaroo is young, vibrant and fresh. A bit on the eclectic side. It fits perfectly with where I intend to take the Luxe brand.”

A frown furrowed his brow. “De Campo is not an arrogant brand. A proud brand—yes. A brand with a century of heritage behind it—yes. But arrogant? You’re wrong.”

She tilted her head to one side. “I beg to differ.”

“I have third-party brand studies that will
show
you you’re wrong. That we appeal to a young, hip demographic.”

“Brand studies are a self-serving exercise in making a company feel good about itself,” she countered. “It’s an instinctual feeling I have, Matteo, and at the end of the day, that is how I will make my decision. Instinct.”

Frustration glinted in his eyes. “You need to visit Gabriele in Napa. He is light-years ahead of Silver Kangaroo.”

She nodded. “I will if time permits.”

A server came to take their dishes away. “That was fantastic,” she murmured, sure she could crawl into bed right now and sleep for twenty-four hours. “Maybe I should steal Guerino away from you.”

He flashed a lazy smile. “Sorry. He’ll never leave Italy.”

“So sad.” She tried to ignore how the dark stubble that covered his jaw was even more pronounced tonight as he spoke to the waiter in Italian. How it took his rakish good looks to a whole new dangerous level. But the warmth from the wine had turned her limbs into mush and her brain along with it. He had been mentally undressing her earlier, she was sure of it, and what had she done? Just let him keep on doing it. Insane, really, when this was all about business and this was Matteo they were talking about. The playboy who couldn’t keep it in his pants.

Unfortunately that didn’t stop her from studying his beautiful, elegant hands as he gestured to the server. It made her think of a quote she’d read in one of the tabloids while getting her hair done. One of Matteo’s exes—the curator of a Manhattan art gallery—had made an incredibly blunt comment about how he’d been the best she’d ever had. Then had gone on to suggest she’d like to sample him again—all while dating the studlike quarterback of New York’s pro football team.

He couldn’t be
that
good. Could he? Or would those gorgeous hands be the perfect instrument to seduce a woman slowly, taking the time to savor her?

“Quinn?”

Her gaze flew guiltily to his. “Sorry?”

The grooves on either side of his mouth deepened. “Crème caramel or chocolate torte for dessert? Personally, I think Guerino’s crème caramel is the best in Italy.”

“Definitely the crème caramel.” She might even manage to spoon some in her mouth before she did a face-plant in it.

Matteo relayed their choice to the server, then miraculously produced another bottle of Brunello. She held up a hand. “No more wine for me, thank you.”

“I’ll drink most of it,” he said smoothly. “Live a little.”

Her shoulders stiffened. Julian had said that to her all the time in that condescending, highbrow voice of his.
“Live a little, Quinn. Show me you can have some fun or you might drive me elsewhere.”

“Just half a glass,” she said quietly.

“That was a joke, you know,” he murmured, his gaze on her face. “Although you are known to be a workaholic. Just as driven as your father, insiders say.”

Impossible. She’d never met a human being on this earth as driven as Warren. Her mouth twisted. “And what else did your intelligence turn up?”

“You made the top thirty under thirty business people in America this year. One of only two women. That must have made Warren proud.”

Questionable. He hadn’t much commented even though she’d been aching for him to. Quinn took a sip of the heady wine. Rolled it around her mouth and set the glass down. “No matter what people like to believe, there is still a glass ceiling for women. But I had advantages from the start.”

“
Si
, but you’ve also had the disadvantage of being very beautiful. Many men don’t take that seriously.”

“Do you?”

His smile flashed white in the candlelight. “I’ve never underestimated a woman in my life, beautiful or otherwise. You would rule the world if men weren’t physically stronger.”

He looked genuine when he said that. Quinn had the ghastly idea she might actually like Matteo De Campo after these couple of days. Which was really, really not a good idea.

“So,” she murmured, taking another sip of her wine, “what else was in your report?”

“The usual. Harvard, your rapid climb up the corporate ladder...” An amused glitter entered his eyes. “I have to say, the graduate-level Krav Maga caught me off guard. Interesting choice.”

How had he found out about that? She never talked publicly about it. Went to the most discreet school in Chicago specifically to avoid that type of publicity.

She waved her hand at him, brushing it off. “It’s an outlet.”

“Hardly.” That smoky, perceptive gaze stayed on hers. “Krav Maga is a street-fighting martial art, Quinn. The Israeli army trains its soldiers in it. It’s hardly a casual outlet.”

She shifted in her seat. And lied. “A girlfriend was doing it. It suits my competitive personality.”

It would also make any man think twice about putting his hands on her ever again.

“Since we’re trading interesting facts about one another,” she said, changing the subject, “I’m intrigued by the tattoo. What does it mean?”

He touched his fingers to his biceps, as if he’d forgotten it was there. “It means ‘never forget.’”

“Never forget what?” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them.

Matteo’s gaze darkened to the deep slate of gunmetal. “My best friend, Giancarlo, died in a car accident recently. It was pointless. Unnecessary.”

Oh
. The way he said
unnecessary
sent a chill through her. The grief she saw in his eyes was something she knew all too well.
Dammit,
she castigated herself, she should not have asked that. The wine had been a bad, bad idea.

“I am so sorry,” she murmured huskily, needing to say something into the heavy silence. “I lost my mother when I was ten. It makes you question everything, doesn’t it?”

He nodded. “
Si
. It does.”

The conversation stumbled after that. There was a darkness surrounding Matteo that contrasted strikingly with his earlier charming demeanor. When they’d finished dessert, he suggested she must be tired. She nodded and said that she was. Her head was starting to spin now. It was way past time for her jet-lagged body to be in bed.

They stopped by the kitchen where she gave Guerino her compliments, then walked over to the west wing. On the circular, steep stairwell to her turret bedroom, her head started to spin in a dizzying pattern that made the ascent in four-inch heels particularly challenging. Halfway up, her shoe caught in a rivet. She stumbled and teetered in the ridiculously high designer heels, and would have fallen if Matteo hadn’t been behind her. He cursed, swept his arm under her knees and caught her up in his arms.

“Wh-what are you doing?” She dug her fingers into his muscular shoulders and held on for dear life.

“Making sure you don’t break your neck,” he muttered, carrying her up the last flight and down the hallway to her room. “Why you women wear those heels is beyond me.”

She was too busy registering that wow, he was strong and so hot carrying her like this to pay much attention to the rebuke. He smelled delicious, too, the spicy, exotic scent of his aftershave filling her nostrils.

“I think I might have overdone the wine,” she offered faintly as he set her down on the floor outside her room. He kept his hands around her waist as if scared she would keel over, his fingers burning into her skin like a brand. Quinn looked up at his gorgeous, sexy face, at the dark stubble she was dying to run her fingers over and told herself this was business.

Business. Business. Business.

The heat that arced between them like a living, breathing thing was not. It had been there from the moment she’d laid eyes on him and it was getting worse. The reluctant but oh-so-interested glitter in those smoky gray eyes wasn’t helping.

“Ice-cold?” he drawled. “I think not, Quinn.”

The heat pooling in her abdomen rose up to her face. For the first time since Julian had walked out on her two years ago,
she
was interested. She wanted, badly, to kiss a member of the opposite sex. And not just any member of the opposite sex. Matteo De Campo!

CHAPTER FOUR

I
F
IT
HAD
BEEN
any woman other than Quinn Davis that Matteo had his hands on, if he hadn’t just plied her with a bottle of Brunello and perhaps most importantly, if he hadn’t promised his brother he’d keep his hands off her, Matteo would have stepped in, closed his hands firmer around her tiny waist and taken what she was so obviously offering.

Her forest-green eyes were hazy with desire and a curiosity that hit him square in the solar plexus. Her hips were soft under the span of his hands, her body primed for an exploration he was oh so ready to give her. And that perfume she was wearing, the one he’d given her,
merda,
did the spicy scent do something to him.

However, this
was
Quinn Davis standing in front of him, a tipsy Quinn Davis, and his fantasies had to stop
here.
He switched off the part of his brain that said to hell with it, lifted his hands from her with an exaggerated movement and stepped back. “See, Quinn?” A taunting smile curved his lips. “I
can
keep my hands to myself.”

She planted a hand against the wall to steady herself, a defiant glitter stirring to life in her eyes. “Too much wine and a brief moment of madness. Don’t flatter yourself thinking it would have gone anywhere.”

He quirked a brow. “You don’t think so? I may be all kinds of arrogant, Quinn, but I know when a woman wants me to kiss her.”

Her lush mouth parted, then slammed shut. At a loss for words. It might just have been the best part of the whole evening.

“Breakfast at eight tomorrow.” He waved his hand in the direction of the family dining room. “We’ll take it downstairs. And wear something appropriate for horseback.”

She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. “I told you I don’t ride well.”

“Not to worry, I have a gorgeous, even-tempered mare for you to ride. You’ll love her.”

She didn’t look convinced.

“Good night,” he murmured. “I’m at the end of the hall if you need anything.”

The look she flashed him said it would be a cold day in hell before she ventured into his bedroom. Laughing inwardly, he turned on his heel and left.

If she only knew the things he could do to her.

* * *

With his brain on New York time and unable to sleep, Matteo headed down to the study, called Riccardo and told him to get working on a solution for Quinn’s competitive concerns. “The board will never approve a clause in the contract,” his brother dismissed. “We’ll have to find another way.”

“That’s why they pay you the big bucks,” Matteo inserted. “Find it.”

His brother’s husky laughter echoed in his ears. He put the phone down, pushed to his feet and paced to the window. The lights from the
castello
cast an amber glow over the surrounding hills, their peaks looming dark and endless the farther the eye traveled. The view was usually enough to bring him peace, but tonight he knew how steep his journey was about to get. He needed to convince Quinn that all
this
was what she should sign De Campo for. That no vineyard anywhere in the world produced vintages as fine as theirs or was as impressive. Which was what tomorrow’s tour would do.

What concerned him more was Quinn’s perception of De Campo as a self-satisfied, traditional brand. How was he going to dispel that if she wouldn’t even look at his research? Sending her to visit Gabriele in Napa might be the only way. She was as stubborn as Matteo was. And as closed a book as he’d ever seen. You might manage to penetrate those outer layers, but she was never going to let you any further in than that.

Exhaling deeply, he pushed away from the window and climbed the stairs to his room. He needed sleep. But his mind, as he folded himself into bed, was wide-awake. The anniversary of Giancarlo’s death was just days away. His role in that tragedy haunted him every waking hour of his life. Made it impossible to forget. So he focused on that utterly beddable version of Quinn standing outside her room instead. Anything not to go there.

He was now convinced Julian Edwards was a fool. That he couldn’t have been man enough for his wife. Because if that’d been him, if he’d had Quinn in his bed, she wouldn’t have been going anywhere.

He didn’t need to know what it would be like to taste her. He’d already done it in his head.

* * *

Quinn woke with a massive headache and a severe desire to avoid snorting, four-legged beasts who could accidentally crush you with a misplaced step. Also a particular two-legged variety whose name started with Matteo and ended with De Campo.

Unfortunately avoidance was not an acceptable strategy, so two aspirin and two cups of Maria’s strong black Tuscan coffee would have to do for the headache. As for the beast part? Both versions looked disgustingly fresh and beautiful in the dewy morning air, a jeans-clad Matteo in a navy T-shirt, his dark hair still damp from the shower, making a mockery of 99 percent of the world’s male population in casual attire. He was holding the reins of a dark brown mare with elegant long legs, certainly of aristocratic heritage.

Quinn stood there, head throbbing, staring dubiously at them both.

“I’d really rather go on foot.”

“She is irreproachably lovely,” Matteo countered. “You’ll be fine.”

He held the stirrup out. She took a tentative step toward the horse. Jumped as the mare snorted and blew out a breath, sending a puff of steam snaking through the air. She pressed a hand to her pounding heart. Matteo’s mouth curved. “You had a bad experience with a horse?”

She nodded. “One bolted on me as a child. I’ve been too afraid to ride since.”

“Someone should have gotten you back in the saddle right away. That’s the key.”

“They tried. I wouldn’t do it.” She shifted her weight to both feet and exhaled slowly. “Really, I’d rather walk.”

“Quinn.”
There was no mistaking the command in his voice. “You cannot miss out on this experience for the rest of your life because you’re scared. I’ve never seen Marica bolt on someone.
Ever
.”

She sliced him the sharpest of looks. “I’m not stupid. Anything can make a horse shy and bolt. Even the nicest animal in the world, which I’m sure she is.”

“And here I did not take you for a quitter,” he taunted, eyes flashing. “Fine.” He gathered up the reins. “I’ll take the horses back to the stable and we’ll take the car.”

Humiliation seared through her as he started to lead the mare away. She wasn’t a
quitter.
She wasn’t ever a quitter.
Damn him
.

“Okay, fine.” He stopped and turned around. “I’ll do it. But so help me God if she bolts on me I will make you pay.”

His gray eyes crinkled at the corners. “How...
thought provoking
. You have a deal, Quinn Davis.”

He led the horse back to her. The inquisitive mare cocked her ears and budged Quinn’s arm with her nose. Her heart slammed into her chest. God help her. This was
so
not right.

Matteo held the stirrup out for her. “I’ll be here beside you every step of the way.”

That was not supercomforting. Not after last night. Not after she’d pretty much thrown herself at him and he’d walked away. She pressed her lips together and slid the ball of her foot into the stirrup. Hoisted herself up. Mounting a horse wasn’t nearly as easy as it looked and her lack of momentum would have sent her back to the ground if Matteo hadn’t planted a firm hand on her denim-clad behind and pushed her into the saddle.

Heat flooded her face as she sank her hips down into the leather. “Thank you.”

“Mounting’s the hardest part,” he came back, deadpan.

She picked up the reins and focused on the terrifying beast rather than on Matteo’s double entendres. She had no doubt he could dish them out all day and night.

He swung into the saddle of his very big, very dangerous-looking stallion with a lithe movement.

“What’s his name?” she gibed. “Lucifer?”

His eyes gleamed with laughter. “Anteros, after the Italian god of love and passion. Perfect for me, don’t you think?”

“Utterly.”

His smile widened. “
Andiamo.
Let’s go.”

He went first on the big stallion, leading the way down the narrow dirt road that wound its way through the mountain. True to his word, Marica followed quietly, picking her dainty way down the path. Quinn’s heartbeat slowed as she took in the lush green hills dotted with the most exquisitely colored wildflowers. The rows upon rows of perfectly straight, perfectly groomed vines. Matteo pointed out the different crops at each elevation, detailing the ideal growing conditions for each varietal and why.

When the sun had risen high in the sky, they took a break for lunch in the winery. Matteo and his master winemaker took her through the complex techniques they used to produce some of the world’s most exquisite wines. Then it was back on horseback to explore the other side of the mountain where the prize Brunellos and Chiantis were cultivated.

They finished the tour high up on the mountain as the sun was setting, a fiery red ball sinking behind the hills. Quinn pulled her mare to a halt behind Anteros, so glad she had taken the challenge and gone on horseback. The view would not have been nearly the same in a Jeep. Would not have allowed her to truly appreciate the beauty and scale of the massive historic vineyard.

She leaned over and patted the mare’s silky neck, feeling rather victorious at conquering her fear. The sun and fresh air had cleared the throb in her head and chased away her jet lag.

“You really are lovely,” she murmured. The mare’s ears pricked up as if to say,
yes, I know
.

Matteo dismounted, tethered his horse and came to stand beside her. A smile curved his lips. “Feeling braver?”

She shrugged. “You were right. She’s wonderful.”

“She is.”

She slid her feet out of the stirrups. Her legs felt like limp spaghetti, her butt so numb she couldn’t feel it anymore. “Walking might be an issue,” she murmured.

“Why do you think I’m standing here?” He held out his hands. “Come.”

Why that command made her heartbeat increase by about ten beats per second was beyond her. She swung her leg over the saddle and let him lift her down. He kept his hands around her waist as he had last night to steady her, except this time she hadn’t consumed a bottle of wine and she had her wits about her. Not that that seemed to help. His earthy, male scent was even more intoxicating than the aftershave he’d had on the night before. The hard strength of his arms around her equally so. Maybe it was just the general Matteo effect, she admitted, pulling in a steadying breath. Because he was more male than any man she’d met in her life. Hands down.

She stepped back and made herself busy spreading the blanket he handed her on the grass. If she didn’t
look
at all the maleness and certainly if she didn’t
touch
it, she could keep this under control.

Right?

Matteo took a bottle of De Campo’s prizewinning champagne out of the saddlebags, along with glasses and a Swiss Army knife. Quinn gave him a wry glance as she eased her sore body down on the blanket. “Not too much for me.”

“You can’t enjoy this view without at least a taste.” He handed her the glasses and deftly opened the bottle. “It’s a tradition.”

The sparkling liquid he poured into their glasses was the palest of golden yellows. The blanket seemed to shrink to miniscule proportions as he folded himself down beside her and handed her a glass. She eased toward the opposite edge in a subtle movement. The corners of Matteo’s mouth lifted. “I’m hogging,” she offered in an offhand tone.

“Mmm,” he nodded. “You and your huge surface mass.”

She couldn’t help her smile. She unleashed it so infrequently these days it felt good to get it out. “Thank you for today,” she said, tipping her glass toward him. “I’m glad you convinced me to do it on horseback. It was amazing.”

“Prego.”
He lifted his glass.
“Salute.”

She tipped the liquid into her mouth. The tiny bubbles exploded on her tongue like the most potent ambrosia. Wow. She wasn’t normally a huge fan of champagne or any sparkling wine for that matter, but this was dry and tart and perfectly balanced.

Matteo sat back on his elbows. “So tell me about our trip to St. Lucia. What are we going to see?”

She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, letting her glass dangle from her fingers. “We have two hotels on the island. They’ll allow you to see the two sides of Luxe, one of our jewels, and one of our properties that needs a lot of work. Paradis Entre les Montagnes near the island’s famous twin volcanoes has been ranked one of the world’s top five luxury hotels. Our chef there is top-notch, the menu ready to go for the wine pairings. Le Belle Bleu, on the north end of the island, is about to reopen after an extensive renovation. It’s a work in progress. The menus haven’t been finalized yet. But all the more reason for you to meet with the chef and develop the pairings from the ground up.”

He plied her with questions as they drank their champagne. Lifted the bottle in question when she finished her half glass.

“No...thank you,” she murmured dryly. “But I am sold. On all of it.” She waved her hand at the vineyard and
castello
spread out in front of them in all its magnificence. “You must be so proud to be part of such history.”

He nodded. “I’m incredibly privileged to be a De Campo. Absolutely.”

She heard a hesitation in his voice. “But?”

He shrugged and looked down at the
castello,
sparkling like golden fire in the dying rays of the sun. “Being a De Campo can be a challenge.”

“Your father is difficult.” Which was putting Antonio De Campo’s legendary reputation mildly.

His mouth twisted. “He’s a titan. I’m sure you can relate.”

“Ah yes. I wonder what would happen if we put Antonio and Warren in the ring together? Who would win?”

His smile deepened. “I’d be fascinated to see.”

“Did you all choose the family business or was it expected of you?”