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“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
IF 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.
