The Truth About De Campo(27)

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....

She frowned and steepled her fingers against the edge of the desk. Losing a best friend must be awful. She couldn’t imagine losing Thea. But it had been three years since Giancarlo had died. Time enough to heal. So why was Matteo so tortured?

Picking up the pencil, Quinn pressed it against her temple. As if questioning her sanity. Because last night, even after Matteo had made it clear women were his anesthesia, that likely any woman would have done in that moment, she’d been tempted to stay. She could have said it had been her human side making a rare appearance. She was afraid it was a whole lot more than that.

She would check on him. Shoving her palms against the desk, she rolled to her feet. She’d stop by the kitchen, see how he was doing, then dress for the chef’s challenge. Not that Thomas was going to need her help. Unlike his counterpart at Le Belle Bleu on the other side of the island, who apparently, from the paperwork, did not have everything running smoothly, Thomas was a genius at running a high-end establishment.