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“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
MATTEO 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.
