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Quinn’s rash preemptive strike was festering like a gigantic sore. He didn’t know it. In fact, he’d been avoiding the whole subject entirely until she’d said it. And as soon as she had, he’d realized he didn’t want it to end. He wasn’t ready to give her up. Might never be. But she was doubting what they had. Her history was kicking in and he didn’t like it—not one bit.
Not when they’d both risked everything to be together.
He set his glass down with a thud. “I’ll be right back.”
Matteo’s long strides carried him into the empty restaurant and down to the massive, ornate cellar. He found Quinn in the perfectly climate-controlled showpiece of a space, staring bemused at the rows of ports.
She looked up at him, hand on her hip. “Another request?”
“No. Which port are you looking for?”
She named it. He scanned the rows, yanked out a couple and found it. Setting it on the shelf, he caged her against the racks with his hands on either side of her.
“I’d like to know what’s going on in your goddamned head.”
Her eyes went round. “I thought we were going to talk about this later.”
“Now. Why are you withdrawing? Why do I feel like we’ve regressed a week in a few hours?”
The delicate muscles of her throat convulsed. “Matteo, not now. I need to get someone a drink.”
“And I need to know what’s going on in your head.”
She pressed a hand to her throat. Was silent for a good two or three seconds. “I’m panicking.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know, it’s just all too much right now and I—I—”
“Spit it out, Quinn.”
She glared at him like a cornered animal that wanted out, her emerald eyes sparking. “I am falling for you. I know it’s stupid and I don’t want to be but—”
He cut her off with a kiss. It might have been relief because it flooded through him like a life-infusing force. Or it might have been the need to put his mouth on hers and feel her sweet lips beneath his and know that it wasn’t over between them. Because it couldn’t be. She had wormed her way inside his heart, had become his weakness. And he couldn’t resist her.
She sighed into his mouth as if she’d lost a battle and brought her hands up to frame his face. He wedged his knee in between hers and hauled her closer. Took the kiss deeper until he was sure he had branded her irrevocably his.
“You have to believe in us, Quinn,” he murmured against her mouth. “This is real. We are real. And we are going to figure this out together.”
“That’s a nice cutline for the photo.”
The amused voice came from behind them at the same time a bright light exploded. He jerked his hands from Quinn and spun around as another flash went off. A photographer.
The shorter, slighter man turned and ran. Matteo lunged for him but he was too quick. He fled up the stairs, Matteo in hot pursuit. Through the restaurant, out the doors to the terrace they ran. The photographer must have cased the place and knew exactly where he was headed, because Matteo lost him in the crowd. He stood there, breathing hard, his arms dropping by his sides. Damn.
He grabbed a security guard. The guard alerted his coworkers and they scoured the grounds. To no avail. The photographer was long gone.
Matteo sought out Raymond Bernard and demanded to see the press credentials. A white-faced Quinn joined him as the manager went off in search of them. She flicked him a glance. “I saw him watching us earlier while we danced.”
“I don’t understand.” Matteo ran a hand over his head. “The door to the cellar locks automatically. You need a code to get down there.”
“There’s a ten-second delay before it locks again,” Quinn said numbly. “If he was watching us and saw you go down he could have slipped in.”
Matteo wanted to kick himself for being so indiscreet. Like a cowboy with your gun drawn at all times, Riccardo had said. Was that what he was?
Well, he was paying for it now.
“It was a Whispers and Tales photographer,” Raymond said, returning with a sheet of paper. He handed it to Matteo, a frown on his face. “Why would he be shooting in the cellar? It was not included in the permissions.”
Quinn looked as if she wanted to throw up. Matteo studied the photographer’s picture. It was definitely him.
He left a voice mail with Alex to put pressure on the magazine not to use the photograph. Threaten them with legal action. But it was 2:00 a.m. Chances were, the photograph would be making the rounds before she even had a chance to speak to his editor.
Quinn pressed her hands to her temples. “That’s not going to make any difference, is it? They’re going to use it.”
“Probably.”
They closed things off for the night, then headed back to the suite. It was nearly two-thirty in the morning by the time Quinn paced the floor of the living room, steam coming out of her ears. “With your notoriety, that photograph’s going to be everywhere by tomorrow morning.”
“Likely.”
“We need a game plan.”
“We’ve done what we can do for tonight.” He kept his voice level, but his stomach was churning. The sense that he was on a one-way ticket to Hades binding its way around his brain. “It was a great night for Le Belle Bleu, Quinn. You did a superb job. Get some sleep and we’ll figure the rest out tomorrow after I talk to Alex.”
“I am not you.” She went from agitated to Mount Vesuvius in under a second. “You might be used to having graphic photos strewn across the internet, but I am not.”
He gritted his teeth. “I am generally very discreet about my relationships. This is not a usual occurrence for me.”
“Yes, well, I have a reputation to protect. This is a disaster.”
He took a step toward her, his blood heating at the gibe. “It’s done. We can’t take it back. There’s no use being melodramatic.”
“Melodramatic? You won’t feel that way when my father hits the roof. When the board realizes how ethically wrong we’ve both been. Goddammit, Matteo. I was going to recuse myself. Now what is everyone going to think?”
“We will deal with it,” he said firmly. “Together. It will be fine.”
“You don’t think Daniel Williams is going to see this and not cry bloody murder?” Her voice rose another octave. “I have breached an open bidding process with completely unethical behavior. It is not going to be fine. It’s going to be awful.”
“Quinn—”
She started pacing again. “Why couldn’t you have just listened to me? Kept your hands to yourself until that party was over?”
“You want to discuss who hasn’t been able to keep their hands to themselves?” He gave her a dangerous look. “Because you started this.”
Color flared in her high cheekbones. She turned and walked to the open French doors and leaned against the frame, looking out at the sea. “It’s not just about me, Matteo. De Campo could lose the contract over this.”
He was well aware of that. Well aware of the nausea forcing its way up his throat, threatening to choke him.
“Panicking isn’t going to help,” he said grimly.
“My whole career is hanging in the balance.” Quinn turned around, her face paler than he’d ever seen it. “What else would you suggest I do? I’ve spent the last seven years killing myself to get where I am. To prove myself. People are finally starting to respect me for who I am. And then I do this. For what? For me to satisfy my need to sleep with you?”
He went to her then, wrapped his fingers around her upper arms and pulled her to him. “Do not start tearing us apart because you’re afraid. I told you I won’t let you do that.”
“Why not? You haven’t even said—”
“What?” He slid his fingers under her chin and brought her gaze up to his.
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
It hit him then. She wanted him to say he was falling in love with her....
The words jammed in his throat. He cared about Quinn. He really did. But he wasn’t sure he even knew what love was. How could he say it?
He might never be ready to say it.
He swallowed hard. “I care about you,” he said gruffly. “I told you earlier I want you in my life.”
She looked up at him, her pupils dilating like those of a wounded animal. “Really it was my fault wasn’t it? Falling for a playboy? Because what does that really mean? You want me in your life until you eventually tire of me?”
“Quinn—”
She held up a hand. “I’ve had enough for one night. Like you say, let’s see what the morning brings.”
She marched toward the bedrooms. He watched her go, chest tight, the injured look on her face almost making him go after her. But what would he say? He’d forced her to open up and now he didn’t know what to do with the information he’d unearthed.
