darkened to the deep slate of gunmetal. “My best friend, Giancarlo, died in a car accident recently. It was pointless. Unnecessary.”
Oh . The way he said unnecessary sent a chill through her. The grief she saw in his eyes was something she knew all too well. Dammit, she castigated herself, she should not have asked that. The wine had been a bad, bad idea.
“I am so sorry,” she murmured huskily, needing to say something into the heavy silence. “I lost my mother when I was ten. It makes you question everything, doesn’t it?”
He nodded. “ Si . It does.”
The conversation stumbled after that. There was a darkness surrounding Matteo that contrasted strikingly with his earlier charming demeanor. When they’d finished dessert, he suggested she must be tired. She nodded and said that she was. Her head was starting to spin now. It was way past time for her jet-lagged body to be in bed.
They stopped by the kitchen where she gave Guerino her compliments, then walked over to the west wing. On the circular, steep stairwell to her turret bedroom, her head started to spin in a dizzying pattern that made the ascent in four-inch heels particularly challenging. Halfway up, her shoe caught in a rivet. She stumbled and teetered in the ridiculously high designer heels, and would have fallen if Matteo hadn’t been behind her. He cursed, swept his arm under her knees and caught her up in his arms.
“Wh-what are you doing?” She dug her fingers into his muscular shoulders and held on for dear life.
“Making sure you don’t break your neck,” he muttered, carrying her up the last flight and down the hallway to her room. “Why you women wear those heels is beyond me.”
She was too busy registering that wow, he was strong and so hot carrying her like this to pay much attention to the rebuke. He smelled delicious, too, the spicy, exotic scent of his aftershave filling her nostrils.
“I think I might have overdone the wine,” she offered faintly as he set her down on the floor outside her room. He kept his hands around her waist as if scared she would keel over, his fingers burning into her skin like a brand. Quinn looked up at his gorgeous, sexy face, at the dark stubble she was dying to run her fingers over and told herself this was business.
Business. Business. Business.
The heat that arced between them like a living, breathing thing was not. It had been there from the moment she’d laid eyes on him and it was getting worse. The reluctant but oh-so-interested glitter in those smoky gray eyes wasn’t helping.
“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
I F 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
Oh . The way he said unnecessary sent a chill through her. The grief she saw in his eyes was something she knew all too well. Dammit, she castigated herself, she should not have asked that. The wine had been a bad, bad idea.
“I am so sorry,” she murmured huskily, needing to say something into the heavy silence. “I lost my mother when I was ten. It makes you question everything, doesn’t it?”
He nodded. “ Si . It does.”
The conversation stumbled after that. There was a darkness surrounding Matteo that contrasted strikingly with his earlier charming demeanor. When they’d finished dessert, he suggested she must be tired. She nodded and said that she was. Her head was starting to spin now. It was way past time for her jet-lagged body to be in bed.
They stopped by the kitchen where she gave Guerino her compliments, then walked over to the west wing. On the circular, steep stairwell to her turret bedroom, her head started to spin in a dizzying pattern that made the ascent in four-inch heels particularly challenging. Halfway up, her shoe caught in a rivet. She stumbled and teetered in the ridiculously high designer heels, and would have fallen if Matteo hadn’t been behind her. He cursed, swept his arm under her knees and caught her up in his arms.
“Wh-what are you doing?” She dug her fingers into his muscular shoulders and held on for dear life.
“Making sure you don’t break your neck,” he muttered, carrying her up the last flight and down the hallway to her room. “Why you women wear those heels is beyond me.”
She was too busy registering that wow, he was strong and so hot carrying her like this to pay much attention to the rebuke. He smelled delicious, too, the spicy, exotic scent of his aftershave filling her nostrils.
“I think I might have overdone the wine,” she offered faintly as he set her down on the floor outside her room. He kept his hands around her waist as if scared she would keel over, his fingers burning into her skin like a brand. Quinn looked up at his gorgeous, sexy face, at the dark stubble she was dying to run her fingers over and told herself this was business.
Business. Business. Business.
The heat that arced between them like a living, breathing thing was not. It had been there from the moment she’d laid eyes on him and it was getting worse. The reluctant but oh-so-interested glitter in those smoky gray eyes wasn’t helping.
“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
I F 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
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