Free The Truth About De Campo by Jennifer Hayward Page B

the Caribbean Sea, it disappeared into the mountainside with its tropical hardwoods, stone and tile chosen to blend in with its surroundings.
    He moved his gaze over the layered blues of the Caribbean Sea that sparkled at the bottom of the cliff, over the tropical flowers of every hue and variety that bathed the resort in a jumble of color. The two mighty volcanoes loomed over it all, a vivid reminder of the power of nature. They were, apparently, still active. What would it be like if they roared back to life? Would they match the combustive feeling inside of him? Like he was ready to blow...
    He shook his arms and legs out, the long flight from Italy leaving him stiff and sluggish. His head throbbed with that low, insistent pulse that had been with him all day. The three-year anniversary of Giancarlo’s death was tomorrow. And as usual, nothing or no one had been able to wipe it from his mind.
    Three years ago his best friend had perished because of a stupid bet. His bet.
    It rested just below the surface, ready to push Matteo into inconsolability whenever he began to feel a measure of peace. Had been the driving force of every mistake he’d made since. Had driven his frenzied partying and out of control lifestyle until he’d shut it all down.
    Without that oblivion, he felt like a man with enough burning lava inside of him to destroy an entire civilization.
    He braced his hands against the railing and looked out over the water. A desert island would be preferable right about now. Instead, he had a manager’s cocktail party to attend with Quinn and Daniel. A head chef and sommelier to win over. Perhaps a good thing since drinking himself into a stupor was no longer an option.
    Something else he had banned from his life.
    He clenched his hands by his sides. He would do this like he always did. By pretending to the world he didn’t care. By being Matteo the Charming. Matteo who lit up a room when he walked into it. It was like switching on a lightbulb. Declaring it showtime.
    The sky was transforming into a potent cocktail of pink and orange as he took the path down to the terrace that overlooked the sea. A small group of exquisitely dressed men and women chosen to enjoy cocktails with the manager sipped champagne in the sultry tropical air that still steamed from the heat of the day, a calypso band lending a distinctly West Indian flavor to the party. He stopped at the edge of the crowd and took in the scene. Daniel Williams was schmoozing the resort’s manager, Thomas Golding, with that same smarmy smile he seemed to have constantly painted across his face.
    Margarite, Quinn’s head sommelier from New York, looked cool and elegant in a sleek royal-blue dress as she spoke with Paradis’s head chef, François Marin, Quinn and a tall, distinguished-looking male in his early fifties. The gray-haired man’s attention was riveted on Quinn. Matteo didn’t blame him. Margarite had French chic, but Quinn looked...drool-inducing.
    Gone was the conservative style of dress he was used to. In its place was a figure-hugging fuchsia sheath with a slit up the side just far enough to make a man look twice. Spaghetti straps made a mockery of the gravity required to wear the dress, because it was not the straps holding it up, it was the full-on perfection of Quinn’s voluptuous curves that was doing it.
    Damn . His mouth went dry. Why choose now, after that kiss, to pull out this new weapon in her arsenal? She’d even left all of that soft, silky hair down, sliding against the bare skin of her back. It took very little imagination to picture it spread across the ivory silk sheets of his suite’s king-size bed. Less still to picture himself picking up where that kiss had left off, indulging the urge to explore every inch of her creamy flesh.
    He shut the fantasy down in the middle of its full glory and grabbed a glass of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray. Get a goddamned handle on yourself, De Campo . Tonight was the night he