stirring to life in her eyes. “Too much wine and a brief moment of madness. Don’t flatter yourself thinking it would have gone anywhere.”
He quirked a brow. “You don’t think so? I may be all kinds of arrogant, Quinn, but I know when a woman wants me to kiss her.”
Her lush mouth parted, then slammed shut. At a loss for words. It might just have been the best part of the whole evening.
“Breakfast at eight tomorrow.” He waved his hand in the direction of the family dining room. “We’ll take it downstairs. And wear something appropriate for horseback.”
She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. “I told you I don’t ride well.”
“Not to worry, I have a gorgeous, even-tempered mare for you to ride. You’ll love her.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“Good night,” he murmured. “I’m at the end of the hall if you need anything.”
The look she flashed him said it would be a cold day in hell before she ventured into his bedroom. Laughing inwardly, he turned on his heel and left.
If she only knew the things he could do to her.
* * *
With his brain on New York time and unable to sleep, Matteo headed down to the study, called Riccardo and told him to get working on a solution for Quinn’s competitive concerns. “The board will never approve a clause in the contract,” his brother dismissed. “We’ll have to find another way.”
“That’s why they pay you the big bucks,” Matteo inserted. “Find it.”
His brother’s husky laughter echoed in his ears. He put the phone down, pushed to his feet and paced to the window. The lights from the castello cast an amber glow over the surrounding hills, their peaks looming dark and endless the farther the eye traveled. The view was usually enough to bring him peace, but tonight he knew how steep his journey was about to get. He needed to convince Quinn that all this was what she should sign De Campo for. That no vineyard anywhere in the world produced vintages as fine as theirs or was as impressive. Which was what tomorrow’s tour would do.
What concerned him more was Quinn’s perception of De Campo as a self-satisfied, traditional brand. How was he going to dispel that if she wouldn’t even look at his research? Sending her to visit Gabriele in Napa might be the only way. She was as stubborn as Matteo was. And as closed a book as he’d ever seen. You might manage to penetrate those outer layers, but she was never going to let you any further in than that.
Exhaling deeply, he pushed away from the window and climbed the stairs to his room. He needed sleep. But his mind, as he folded himself into bed, was wide-awake. The anniversary of Giancarlo’s death was just days away. His role in that tragedy haunted him every waking hour of his life. Made it impossible to forget. So he focused on that utterly beddable version of Quinn standing outside her room instead. Anything not to go there.
He was now convinced Julian Edwards was a fool. That he couldn’t have been man enough for his wife. Because if that’d been him, if he’d had Quinn in his bed, she wouldn’t have been going anywhere.
He didn’t need to know what it would be like to taste her. He’d already done it in his head.
* * *
Quinn woke with a massive headache and a severe desire to avoid snorting, four-legged beasts who could accidentally crush you with a misplaced step. Also a particular two-legged variety whose name started with Matteo and ended with De Campo.
Unfortunately avoidance was not an acceptable strategy, so two aspirin and two cups of Maria’s strong black Tuscan coffee would have to do for the headache. As for the beast part? Both versions looked disgustingly fresh and beautiful in the dewy morning air, a jeans-clad Matteo in a navy T-shirt, his dark hair still damp from the shower, making a mockery of 99 percent of the world’s male population in casual attire. He was holding the reins of a dark brown mare with elegant long legs, certainly of aristocratic
He quirked a brow. “You don’t think so? I may be all kinds of arrogant, Quinn, but I know when a woman wants me to kiss her.”
Her lush mouth parted, then slammed shut. At a loss for words. It might just have been the best part of the whole evening.
“Breakfast at eight tomorrow.” He waved his hand in the direction of the family dining room. “We’ll take it downstairs. And wear something appropriate for horseback.”
She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. “I told you I don’t ride well.”
“Not to worry, I have a gorgeous, even-tempered mare for you to ride. You’ll love her.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“Good night,” he murmured. “I’m at the end of the hall if you need anything.”
The look she flashed him said it would be a cold day in hell before she ventured into his bedroom. Laughing inwardly, he turned on his heel and left.
If she only knew the things he could do to her.
* * *
With his brain on New York time and unable to sleep, Matteo headed down to the study, called Riccardo and told him to get working on a solution for Quinn’s competitive concerns. “The board will never approve a clause in the contract,” his brother dismissed. “We’ll have to find another way.”
“That’s why they pay you the big bucks,” Matteo inserted. “Find it.”
His brother’s husky laughter echoed in his ears. He put the phone down, pushed to his feet and paced to the window. The lights from the castello cast an amber glow over the surrounding hills, their peaks looming dark and endless the farther the eye traveled. The view was usually enough to bring him peace, but tonight he knew how steep his journey was about to get. He needed to convince Quinn that all this was what she should sign De Campo for. That no vineyard anywhere in the world produced vintages as fine as theirs or was as impressive. Which was what tomorrow’s tour would do.
What concerned him more was Quinn’s perception of De Campo as a self-satisfied, traditional brand. How was he going to dispel that if she wouldn’t even look at his research? Sending her to visit Gabriele in Napa might be the only way. She was as stubborn as Matteo was. And as closed a book as he’d ever seen. You might manage to penetrate those outer layers, but she was never going to let you any further in than that.
Exhaling deeply, he pushed away from the window and climbed the stairs to his room. He needed sleep. But his mind, as he folded himself into bed, was wide-awake. The anniversary of Giancarlo’s death was just days away. His role in that tragedy haunted him every waking hour of his life. Made it impossible to forget. So he focused on that utterly beddable version of Quinn standing outside her room instead. Anything not to go there.
He was now convinced Julian Edwards was a fool. That he couldn’t have been man enough for his wife. Because if that’d been him, if he’d had Quinn in his bed, she wouldn’t have been going anywhere.
He didn’t need to know what it would be like to taste her. He’d already done it in his head.
* * *
Quinn woke with a massive headache and a severe desire to avoid snorting, four-legged beasts who could accidentally crush you with a misplaced step. Also a particular two-legged variety whose name started with Matteo and ended with De Campo.
Unfortunately avoidance was not an acceptable strategy, so two aspirin and two cups of Maria’s strong black Tuscan coffee would have to do for the headache. As for the beast part? Both versions looked disgustingly fresh and beautiful in the dewy morning air, a jeans-clad Matteo in a navy T-shirt, his dark hair still damp from the shower, making a mockery of 99 percent of the world’s male population in casual attire. He was holding the reins of a dark brown mare with elegant long legs, certainly of aristocratic
Similar Books
