AllFreeNovel
Share Us
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.”
