The Truth About De Campo. Дженнифер Хейворд
of her in, right down to her toes. She swallowed hard. Shifted her weight so both designer-covered feet absorbed the impact.
“I hear he has a tattoo,” Thea whispered. “Hot, right?”
Quinn couldn’t help but wonder where on that tall, lean, muscular body it was. The dark suit that covered him was exquisite. The body better.
She found herself gaining a bit more respect for his legions of cast-offs as she returned his deliberate inspection. A woman might risk losing some self-respect over that. The photographs she’d seen of the youngest De Campo had been all about his lust for life, his freewheeling persona—the thick, unruly dark hair, the devil-may-care smile. But tonight, the hair was cropped close to his head so the sexy dark stubble that covered his square jaw showcased the perfection of his face. His expression was not the relaxed, indolent picture the tabloids loved to print. It was as intent as the night. Deliberate. Focused.
Damn. The “I am a sexy beast” stubble really worked for him.
She met his gaze, the amused half smile that curved his lips making her back stiffen. He was waiting for her to fall flat on her face. Waiting for her to fall all over him like every other woman did. She lifted her chin. He was so, so wrong on that. Julian had taught her well. The last thing any woman should trust was a pretty face in an expensive suit.
Summoning the cool, untouchable look she did so perfectly, she walked to her father’s side. He made the introductions, the two spirit company CEOs first, then the two younger men. All four were impressive, charismatic personalities who would stand out in a crowd from the pure power they exuded like a second skin. But even Daniel Williams, the golden-haired wine-and-cattle baron who looked like he’d just walked out of a cigarette commercial seemed to fade into the background with Matteo De Campo standing beside him. Silver-gray, she registered as she shook his hand. Matteo’s eyes were the exact color of the Chicago sky before a summer storm caused all hell to break loose.
Fitting then to feel that shiver slide up her spine.
“Quinn,” he murmured, keeping his gaze locked on hers as he folded his big, warm hand around her fingers. “A stunning name for a stunning woman.”
Her stomach did a funny roll as she retrieved her hand, the imprint of his fingers burning into hers. Is he for real?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. De Campo,” she murmured smoothly. “Although I feel as if I should already know you with all the tabloid attention you’ve been getting lately.”
He blinked, that one quick movement her only indication the gibe had landed. “Matteo, per favore,” he invited in a smooth, whiskey-soaked tone she was sure played a large part in how he slayed women. “And surely, Ms. Davis, you know better than to believe everything you read in the tabloids.”
“Where there’s smoke there’s usually fire, Mr. De Campo.”
A wry smile curved his lips. “A volte.”
She lifted a brow. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Italian.”
“Sometimes,” he drawled. “Sometimes there is, Ms. Davis.”
Her father flashed her a sharp look. Her head snapped back just like it had when she was ten and being rebuked at the dinner table for talking too much when the adults were conversing. Her shoulders came up and she summoned the exquisite manners the Davis family was legendary for. “Lovely to have you with us tonight.”
Matteo’s eyes glimmered as he held up the bottle he was carrying. “My brother Gabriele wanted you to have this. It’s the first bottle off the line of this year’s Malbec.”
The vintage that had the whole North American wine industry talking about it. The first bottle of the year at that. How very smooth. “I’m honored,” she murmured, wrapping her fingers around the bottle. “It’s a brilliant wine. Thank you.”
Score one for Matteo De Campo.
“And this,” he added, pulling two small silver-wrapped packages out of his jacket, “is a little taste of Tuscany for you both.”
He handed the tiny packages to her and Thea. Thea nearly fell over herself thanking him. Quinn thought it was a little over the top, but the look on the other men’s faces pronounced it an act of genius.
Two–nil.
Too bad she wasn’t a fan of doing the predictable thing. She took the gifts inside, then spent the evening soaking up the time with each prospective partner, doing as much reconnaissance as she could before she made her short list of two. Nothing surprised her about her conversations. In fact, she grew even more certain that Silver Kangaroo was the right choice. De Campo, in her mind, was too smug, too established a brand to fit with Luxe’s new direction. But she owed Matteo her time. He was the only one she hadn’t spoken to in depth, and although she’d like to tell herself she’d been too busy, she had the strange feeling she’d avoided him because he was a danger zone for her.
He was chatting with her father now, the two of them engulfed in a spirited debate about business issues. Her stern father had clearly fallen under the spell of Matteo’s legendary De Campo charm. Bizarre, really, when Warren usually saw right through people.
She skirted around them and headed for the house to use the ladies’ room. Her face ached from the polite smile she’d pasted on while the competitors plied her with information and assessed her comment by comment to find her hot spots, her weak spots. To see if she actually had a brain. Her feet burned in the stilettos that were her armor, as if a sharp heel could puncture the hurt she felt every time someone insinuated she’d gotten where she was because she was Warren’s daughter. Her head throbbed from a fourteen-hour work day.
Sometimes being Quinn Davis was just much too much.
She sliced a wry glance at Thea flirting with Daniel Williams on the porch. She’d do her due diligence with Matteo when she came back. Then she was calling it a night. Dirty look from Warren or not.
* * *
Matteo felt his blood boil as Quinn Davis walked by him yet again. From her frosty reception of the presents he’d racked his brain to come up with, to her complete avoidance of his attempts to snare her time, she had been sending a loud and clear message. Either she didn’t like him personally or De Campo didn’t stand a chance. Neither was desirable, but he’d prefer it was a personal thing. That he could work with. A dislike of De Campo, not so much.
He stared after her, distracted by the sway of her delectable hips in the conservative summer dress that still managed to look sexy on her with that hourglass figure, despite the fact she had about as much personality as a block of ice. His fingers tightened around his glass. Chemistry test. What chemistry test? This was a farce.
Warren excused himself with a frown and went after Quinn. He watched them exchange words, Quinn’s mouth tighten and her head incline. Then she continued on into the house. He clenched his teeth. What had he done to deserve this? That first moment they’d laid eyes on each other had been an intense, acknowledged male-female appreciation of each other’s assets. Unmistakable. Man-hater Quinn might not like it, but she was attracted to him. That much he was sure of. And maybe that was the problem. A woman like her hated to reveal any chink in her armor.
She was going to be an even tougher nut to crack than he’d anticipated.
Good then that he’d had enough, way more than enough.
Daniel Williams ambled over and gave him a sympathetic look. “Still waiting? She’s a piece of work, isn’t she?”
He would normally have agreed but he knew enough to keep his mouth shut around the competition. He inclined his head toward Warren, instead. “That hour-long chat would have cost me three and a half million in auction. I’m not complaining.”
The Australian’s mouth quirked. “Touché. But Warren isn’t making the decision, Quinn is.”
Yes, she is. Matteo crossed his arms over his chest, antagonism heating him like a thirty-year-old scotch.