The Magnate's Mail-Order Bride

by Joanne Rock

  Now, as he rang the bell outside 5C, he mentally reviewed the game plan. Let the attraction build. Don’t rush her. But once they were in the spotlight and she needed to sell their relationship as a stable, happy union that wouldn’t detract from her dancing, he planned to deliver. She would be in his arms as often as possible to prove it.

  And he looked forward to that more than he’d anticipated any date in a long time. So much for the idea that all this was for show or to smooth over relations with her father. Quinn wasn’t going through with it just to ease those European deals and to save his brother from embarrassment.

  When the door opened, the sight of her hit him in his chest like a physical blow. Not because she was beautifully dressed, although she damn well looked incredible in her navy-silk gown with subtle, breezy feathers covering much of the skirt to the floor-length hem, her blond hair artfully arranged so it was half up and half down, the tendrils snaking along her neck. He would have been affected if she’d been in a T-shirt and shorts.

  He’d missed her. And that realization rocked him.

  “You look incredible, Sofia.” She looked like the woman he wanted more than any other. Her wide, smoke-colored eyes picked up hints of silver when she wore navy. Diamond roses glittered in her ears.

  “You clean up rather nicely yourself.” She reached to touch him, surprising the hell out of him in the best possible way, but in the end she merely rubbed the fabric of his tuxedo sleeve appreciatively. “That’s a gorgeous tux.”

  “Thanks,” he answered absently, his mind on stun at a simple brush of her fingers. He wanted her touching all the rest of him that way. But he breathed deep and stuck to the game plan.

  “Are you ready to go?” He stepped inside her apartment, following her while she retrieved a beaded purse.

  “Almost. I couldn’t get the hook at the top.” She presented him with her back. A soft scent like vanilla mingled with musk drifted up from her hair as he swept aside some of the blond tendrils to find the clasp.

  What was it about the nape of a woman’s neck that drove a man insane? The vulnerability of it? The trust in exposing it? Quinn wanted to lean closer and lick her there, kiss his way to the back of her ear and then down the column of her throat again.

  He settled for taking his time with the clasp, his knuckles lightly brushing beneath the fabric of her dress. He felt the answering quiver in her body. They were that close. Sealing his eyes shut for a moment—needing to control his runaway thoughts—he finished the job and reached around her to take the evening wrap, settling it on her shoulders.

  “Time to leave,” he urged, wanting nothing so much as to get her in public so he could touch her. How backward was that? Most men couldn’t wait to get a woman home to be alone. But he’d promised her their physical contact would be just for show. “Do you have a coat?”

  Quinn needed a public audience as an excuse to put his hands on her.

  But maybe tonight would change that. Make Sofia realize the effort of staying away from each other wasn’t worth it when they could explore the heat between them to their thoroughly mutual satisfaction.

  “A cape.” She reached for a long black cape with fur around the oversize hood. Lovely. Elegant. Like her.

  Before she could move further, he took it from her and draped it reverently over her shoulders. She looked like a timeless screen star in that movie Doctor Zhivago.

  Damn, he was getting downright sentimental. He needed air. Bracing, cold air.

  Leaving her apartment behind—thank God the elevator was crowded to keep him in check—he offered his arm and was glad she took it as they walked toward the vestibule. As a dancer used to working on her toes, she must be comfortable in the sky-high silver heels he glimpsed beneath the dress hem as she walked. But with damp spots on the hall floor from the snow tracked indoors, it helped that she could hold on to him for support.

  Once they were inside the limo and headed uptown to the gala venue, Sofia placed a hand on her chest.

  “Can I just tell you I’m a nervous wreck?”

  “Just remember, you’re a professional at the top of her career about to impress a choreographer who is probably already very eager to work with you.” Quinn had read up on Idris Fortier over the course of the week, as well as the dance world’s frenzied reaction to his New York arrival.

  “You don’t know that. Some of my reviews are solid.” She spoke quickly, settling her purse beside her as they stopped at a red light. “But I have received plenty of harsh criticism, too, and I know my own shortcomings, so Fortier might decide—”

  “I read your reviews, Sofia. They’re more than solid.” He wanted to halt her before she strayed too far down that road of what-ifs and worry. “Some say you favor technique over artistry, the sport of it over the dancing, and you don’t trust your partners enough.” He’d scoured the praise and the criticism in an effort to understand her more, to be closer to her. “But I compared your reviews to the rest of the stars in the company, and I don’t see anyone who comes away more favorably. In fact, critics agree you are the most exciting talent to work here in years. If I can glean that as a novice, an insider like Fortier will be well aware of you.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” She wound one of the long, loose feathers of her skirt around her finger where the cape had fallen away. He noticed how her nails were polished a clear pink, and her engagement ring was practically glowing in the limo’s dome lighting.

  But her movements suggested she was more than a little nervous.

  “May I make a suggestion?” He covered her hand where she’d gently destroyed the single feather, breaking his own rule about not touching her in private.

  “I don’t suppose it could hurt.” The tension in her body was so obvious she practically vibrated with it. “What is it?”

  “Considering that you’re visibly anxious about tonight...” he began. But before he could propose the idea, she made a small sound of distress. Uncrossing and re-crossing her legs in the opposite direction, her foot nudged his calf and then began to jitter.

  “Oh, God.” She swallowed hard. “I will get it together. Even though there is so much riding on making a good impression—”

  “Listen. We make a good team. Remember how easily we ran off the journalists from Dance magazine at the airport? I know your goals tonight and I’m good at things like this. Follow my lead and you’ll be fine.” He twined his fingers through hers, hoping to impart some calm, not just because he wanted to touch her.

  “You think I can after reading how I don’t trust a partner?” she asked dryly. “I’ve gotten dropped on several occasions. It doesn’t inspire confidence.”

  Sofia’s forced smile and raised brow struck him. He needed to assure her that he wasn’t one of those types of partners. He’d be there.

  Pulling her gaze away from his, she stared out the window, eyes actively scanning the buildings and pedestrians on the sidewalk.

  “I can imagine.” He smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand, liking the feel of her skin and the way his touch relaxed her. He could sense some of the tension leaking away as her musky vanilla perfume seemed to invite him closer. “But I would never let you fall.”

  “Well. Thank you.” Her gaze fell to their locked fingers, as if she were surprised to see the way they were connected. “I will admit that I could use a steadying presence tonight.”

  A car horn blared outside and a faint crescendo of sirens filled the air. Oh, New York.

  “Good. Now, about my suggestion.” He traced the outline of her engagement ring with his finger, extraordinarily aware of her calf still grazing his knee. “It might help if you allowed me to distract you.”

  “Distract me?” She arched an eyebrow at him, skeptical but no longer nervous. Her jittering foot came to a rest.

  If anything, the sudden stillness
of her body suggested she just might be intrigued.

  “It’s completely up to you.” He wanted nothing so much as to gather her up and settle her on top of him. But he had a plan and he would take his time. Let her get used to the idea of enjoying every moment of their time together. “But we could rechannel all that nervous energy. Give it a different physical outlet.”

  Her jaw dropped.

  “I am not the kind of woman who has sex in a limousine,” she informed him, not looking quite as scandalized as she might have.

  He, on the other hand, was plenty surprised her mind had gone there.

  “Well, damn. That’s an incredible thought, but I wasn’t suggesting we take things that far. You look too beautiful to mess up before your big night, Sofia.”

  “Then be more clear,” she snapped, her cheeks pink and her eyes alight with new fire. “Because I have no idea what you mean.”

  In a blink, he shifted positions, releasing her hand so he could bracket her shoulders between his arms, pinning her without touching her. He held her gaze, lowering himself closer until his chest came within inches of her breasts. Even with her dress and cape between them, he could see their gentle swell.

  He spoke softly in her ear.

  “Distraction.” He articulated it clearly so there would be no mistake. “I could kiss you somewhere that wouldn’t mess you up. A spot along the curve of your lovely neck, maybe.” His eyes wandered over her, assessing the possibilities. “Or beneath your hair.”

  A shiver ran through her while his breath warmed the space between her skin and his mouth. Careful not to touch her, he let the idea take hold. If nothing else, he felt damn certain just this conversation would rewire her thoughts for a while, taking them off the choreographer she was so anxious to impress.

  The notion satisfied him. A lot.

  “That is a crazy idea,” she whispered back. “Letting you kiss me might give me more heart palpitations than I was having before.”

  He wanted a taste of her. So. Badly.

  “But the heart palpitations I could give you would be the pleasurable kind.” Dragging his attention off the rapid pulse at her throat, he heard her quick intake of breath, saw her eyelids flutter once. Twice.

  “You are way too sure of yourself, Quinn McNeill.” Her hands lifted, hovering near his shoulders as if she debated touching him there.

  He willed her palms closer.

  “No. I’m sure of what’s between us even though you don’t want to acknowledge it.”

  “We’re only pretending,” she insisted, her eyebrows furrowing as the limo slowed to another stop, jostling her closer to him. She braced her palms on his chest. Torture. Pure torture.

  He hoped their destination was another hour away because he was locking that limo door if anyone tried to open it now.

  “I only agreed to pretend because I was attracted to you to start with.” The words were out of his mouth. He couldn’t take them back, and what surprised him was he didn’t want to.

  “What are you saying?” She shook her head, squinting as she tried to process. “Next month, this will be all over—”

  “I know.” Gently he edged her wrap back and smoothed aside a few locks of silky hair that curled around her neck and rested against the fur-lined hood. “But until then, I want this.”

  Pressing his lips to the curve of her shoulder, he soaked in the warmth and fragrance unique to this woman. Sweet and musky at the same time, her scent made him instantly hard. Not moving, he wanted to take his cue from her, only advancing this game as far as she’d let him.

  When her hands finally landed on his shoulders, for a moment he thought she might push him away. Instead her fingers tunneled under his open coat, then farther inside his jacket, splaying out over his tuxedo shirt until he could feel the soft scrape of her short nails through the cotton.

  The sensation raked over his senses, arousing a fierceness in him that had no place in a limo five minutes before a party. He opened his mouth to taste her, lick her, nip her. His chest grazed her breasts, her delicate curves arching hard against him as she pressed deeper into him.

  Her response was everything he wanted, everything he could have hoped for, and the damn reception of hers was just a minute farther up the road. But his heart slammed in his chest in a victory dance, his body too caught up in the feel of hers to get the message that this was not the time to take all he wanted.

  Damn. Damn.

  “Sofia.” He kissed her neck below her ear, bit the tender earlobe just above her earring and forced himself to lean back. “We’re here.”

  Eight

  Games and lies, Sofia reminded herself later that night while Quinn fielded another question about their relationship from the reporter who wanted to do a follow-up interview with her and her fiancé. They were seated in a private room off the skylight lounge where City Ballet was holding the party for Idris Fortier, the music from a chamber orchestra filtering in through the open door along with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses and the rumble of conversation.

  The space was crowded and warm, especially for those who danced.

  Or those who were overwrought with the sensual steam of longing.

  Quinn and Sofia had been dealing in games and lies all week, so she could hardly be upset with her handsome, charming date for spinning a moving tale about how he fell in love watching her dance. She’d signed off on the story, after all. She’d agreed that it was easier to root the lies in some element of truth so they had shared memories to trot out at moments like this.

  How could she fault Quinn now for being a much better liar than her, especially since she was the one who’d pressed for the pretend engagement?

  “But I won’t take the focus away from Sofia’s dancing,” Quinn was saying as they sat side by side on a black leather sofa in the sparse, modern room full of bistro tables and areas for private conversations. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll let her finish up the interview.” He turned toward her, his tuxedo not showing a single crease as he stood and kissed her hand. “Save me the first dance when you finish?”

  His blue eyes had a teasing light. It bothered her that he was good at this, rousing suspicions of his motives no matter that he claimed to be attracted to her.

  “Of course. Thank you.” She smiled up at him, playing her part but knowing she wasn’t as skilled as he was. And her body still hadn’t completely recovered from the kisses in the limousine.

  If he hadn’t pulled away when he had back in the vehicle, she would have sacrificed the most beautiful gown she’d ever worn to press herself against all that raw masculine strength and follow where the attraction led.

  “Your future husband was one of the city’s most eligible bachelors, Sofia,” the reporter—Delaney—observed. The woman’s eyes followed Quinn as he strode out the open door into the party in the lounge. “The McNeill heirs are rich, charming and exceedingly good-looking.” She tore her eyes from Quinn as she picked up her digital tablet where she’d been taking notes. “His brother must have made quite an impression on you when he proposed at the airport. But I’m surprised you dated Quinn for so long without meeting Cameron? Cameron tends to be the most visible of the three.”

  Sofia fought back nerves, not wanting to drop the ball after Quinn had set her up so skillfully to talk about something else.

  “That may be, but I don’t have much time outside of ballet for socializing. What time I do have, I spend with Quinn. But I’d prefer to talk about work, if you have any questions for me.”

  Delaney pursed her lips in a frown.

  “Very well.” She changed screens on the tablet. “Perhaps you’d like to address your critics. Your work has been called mechanical and without artistry. What makes you think you will capture the leading role in the Fortier project when the choreographer is such a decided fan o
f mood and emotion in his work?”

  The biting tone of the query told Sofia just how much she’d accidentally offended the reporter by asking to change the subject. Maybe she should have asked Jasmine to be here for this follow-up interview to help smooth over awkward moments and ensure Sofia didn’t embarrass herself. But it cost enough just to have Jasmine set up these kinds of appointments, and she had attended a video interview earlier in the week.

  The upside of all the press coverage was that she ought to have a great feature piece by the time they were finished, right?

  “I strive every day to balance the physical demands of the dance with all the artistry I can bring to each piece. I hope that I’m always improving on both fronts. An artist should always aspire to improve.” She should explain how. Give the reporter more to work with. Except that her nerves had returned in full force.

  “And what is your impression of Mr. Fortier so far?” the woman asked, tapping her stylus on the tablet.

  Was she waiting for the quotable bit that would torch Sofia’s career for daring to stick to the topic?

  “I have the same impression everyone else has. He’s a brilliant talent and our company is extremely fortunate to work with him.” She couldn’t believe she’d invited this woman to her private audition with Fortier.

  The last thing she needed was to be nervous on that day, too. She was usually so solid when she danced. She didn’t need Delaney getting in her head.

  “Are you aware that his last two featured leads have moved in with him during the creative process?” The woman watched Sofia’s reaction closely. “That he was romantically linked to both of them?”

  She hadn’t known about that. Although she had read about the affair with the previous one, she’d assumed that was just a one-time thing. People working together fell in love all the time.

  But the same scenario twice?

  “No.” With an effort she coaxed her lips into a smile. “I’m sure it’s not a requirement for the job.”