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Daniel shrugged. “You’re making a lot of money in the restaurant business. Can’t imagine De Campo’s going to stop there.”
“But we are.” Matteo set down his beer, his gaze locked on his opposition. “Organizations that spread themselves too thin ultimately fail. You should know that, Williams. Your first venture collapsed, didn’t it?”
Daniel flinched. “I consider that a war wound. Gotta take the hard knocks to get where you’re going.”
Matteo shrugged. “From what I’ve heard, poor management was to blame.”
And the gloves were off. Quinn set down her coffee cup. “Perhaps we should call it a night. We have an early start tomorrow.”
“I think I’d like an after-dinner drink,” Daniel interjected, a belligerent tilt to his chin. “Care to join me, De Campo?”
Matteo started to decline, but Margarite jumped in. “We have some amazing ports at the bar. Let’s have one then call it a night.”
What was she doing? Quinn shot Margarite a warning look, but the other woman was already standing up, smiling at Matteo. Quinn set her mouth in a grim line. One drink and they were breaking this up.
At the bar near the cascading waterfall, she tried to slide onto the empty stool beside Matteo, intent on keeping the two men apart, but Daniel beat her to it. She took the one on the other side of the Australian while Margarite moved behind the bar and started picking out the ports.
“I might have something harder,” Daniel drawled. “How about some Armagnac?”
“Sure.” Margarite plucked the bottle out. “Matteo?”
“Not for me, grazie. The port is fine.”
The rough, uneven tone of his voice drew Quinn’s gaze. She stared at his face. His tanned skin had lost all its color, his gray eyes vacant.
“Oh, come on, De Campo,” Williams boomed. “Be a man. Have one with me.”
“I said no.”
Three set of eyes gaped as Matteo stood up. “I’m going to turn in. Good night.”
He was gone before Quinn had a chance to register what had happened. Margarite frowned. “Is he okay?”
No, he was not. He was far from okay. Heart pounding, Quinn stood up. “I’ll go check on him. You two enjoy your drink.”
* * *
In his suite, Matteo pulled off his jacket and the tie that threatened to choke him. Yanked the top buttons of his shirt loose. He stared at the bottles of the fully stocked bar for a long moment, the heated rush of a hard shot calling to him like a siren’s song. Then jerked away. The keys of the grand piano in his suite, undoubtedly Quinn’s idea, would normally have beckoned but he was too far gone even for that.
He kicked his shoes and socks off and walked down to the private beach. Strode through the powdery white sand to the water’s edge. Giancarlo had been drinking cognac the night of the accident. That big smile of his on full display, his friend had slapped him on the back and gestured for the bartender. “Come on, De Campo, let’s close it off with the good stuff. A perfect drink to end a perfect night.”
He could have saved things right there. Instead he had gone along with the insanity. Fed his best friend’s death wish.
The contents of his stomach rose up to the back of his mouth. Why didn’t you stop it? You were supposed to be the sensible one.
Or had he had his own death wish?
“Matteo.”
Quinn’s voice penetrated his haze. He stayed where he was, his back to her, because he didn’t want her to see him like this. Didn’t want anyone to see him like this.
“I’m fine. Go back to the others.”
“You aren’t fine. You haven’t been fine all night. What happened back there?”
He turned around. “It was nothing,” he said harshly. “Go back to the others.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not leaving until you tell me. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
A harsh bark of laughter escaped him. “I have.”
She stepped closer, her gaze on his face. “This is about Giancarlo.”
“Dammit, Quinn. Go.”
“What happened with him? You are clearly not okay, Matteo.”
Frustration erupted like a spew of volcanic ash. Rose up inside him like an unstoppable force, curling his hands into fists at his sides, sending his breath flaming through his nostrils. “It’s the anniversary of his death tomorrow. It’s a bad night for me, that’s all.”
“Oh.” She pushed her hair out of her face, her beautiful eyes gleaming with compassion. “I’m so sorry. How long has it been?”
“Three years,” he said bleakly. Three years of hell.
She stepped closer, her fingers curving around his forearm. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“One kiss does not make a confessional,” he rasped, jerking away. “The only thing that makes this better is alcohol or a woman, Quinn, and since I’ve sworn off the former as a source of anesthesia and we’ve agreed you are off-limits, you need to walk away.”
She stared up at him, her hazel eyes huge. “I don’t think... I don’t want to leave you like this...”
“Walk, Quinn.” Close to the edge and terrified of her seeing him go over it, he reached up and brushed his fingers across her cheek. “I’m doing my best to keep this strictly business. But you in that dress tonight isn’t anything about business. All I can think about is stripping it off you and knocking my brain senseless because I know it would work.” He ran his thumb down over her full, lush mouth. “I know you would blow my mind enough to pull me out of this. But we both know that can’t happen. So leave...now.”
Her mouth quivered under his thumb. She stood there and for a moment, he thought she might stay. Then she stepped back and did exactly what he’d known she would. Retreated. But her gaze remained firmly fixed on his face.
“I’m in the suite at the end of the road if you need someone to talk to. At any time, Matteo.”
Then she turned and left.
He waited until she was out of earshot. Then he let out a primal yell the pounding surf swallowed up.
It was not nearly enough. It would never be enough.
CHAPTER SIX
WHEN A SLEEPLESS night had only made your brain more combustible, your balance on the high wire that was life more tenuous and your need to scream near deafening, you did whatever it took to make it through the day.
Fortunately for Matteo, working in François Marin’s kitchen was an intense form of therapy that left no room for thought. A well-oiled machine, his kitchen ran with military precision, timed down to the minute, with no room for mistakes. Exactly what he needed right now on this darkest of days.
He had spent the morning touring the kitchens with François, Margarite, Daniel and Quinn, followed by an exhaustive study of the hotel’s new menus. His knowledge of food and the unique wine pairings he’d suggested for François’s menu had elicited an excited response from the chef. They fit perfectly with Quinn’s eclectic vision and made Daniel Williams look like a neophyte in the process.
Exactly as planned. He sliced up a scallion with ruthless efficiency. After the menu review, much to Daniel William’s chagrin, Matteo had joined the other sous chefs in the kitchen to prepare for tonight’s chef’s challenge. The guests weren’t due until seven, but the preparation for this type of an event was massive. He alone had three sauces on the go and salads to plate.
Adrenaline pounded through his veins and fired his movements as the clock ticked until he was a finely tuned cog in the machine, operating on command. He started on the hot peppers, tearing through them with a razor-sharp knife. If he moved from point A to point B to point C without deviating, he might, just might, not become unhinged.
Might forget that Quinn had seen into the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind last night. A place he’d never let anyone go.
* * *
Quinn tossed her pencil on the desk, sat back and rubbed her hands over her eyes. She’d finally gotten that report on her progress over to her father last night, but the rest of her paperwork and troubleshooting emails for the Mediterranean hotels had taken until well into the early hours. She was good at existing on six hours of sleep but anything less than that and she started to get distinctly unbalanced, her judgment skewed and unreliable.
Right now was a case in point. She should be working. Instead she couldn’t get the haunted look on Matteo’s face last night out of her head. The way he’d looked ready to tip over the edge. She’d had some tortured moments in her life, like the morning the private investigator had turned over that file on her parents and she’d found out the truth. That it had been her they hadn’t wanted. But it hadn’t come close to the look of pure agony on Matteo’s face. Like he was being tortured by something beyond his control....
