by Joanne Rock
Outside the private room, the chamber group paused in their play and someone took the microphone. Sofia peered over her shoulder, wondering if Idris was about to be introduced.
“I’m sure it’s not.” Delaney gestured toward the open door. “But don’t let me keep you. I plan to speak with several more of your colleagues tonight.”
“Have you got all the material you need?” Sofia had hoped for a feature in the magazine, not a snippet about her engagement to a hedge fund manager.
“Plenty.” Delaney flipped off her tablet and stood. “And I’ll be there to film your audition for Mr. Fortier, which will be something our readers will want to hear all about.”
Sofia knew she’d made a misstep with the woman, but had no idea how to correct it now. She settled for being polite as she rose to her feet.
“Thank you, I look forward to it,” she lied, although not nearly as well as Quinn could have in this situation. Funny how he’d become her biggest ally this week, their unlikely partnership providing her with an outlet at a stressful time in her career.
Maybe she shouldn’t be so quick to write off his ability to put on a façade in public. She would do better to learn the trick from him.
“Enjoy that handsome fiancé of yours,” the reporter called after her. “You’re so lucky to have found someone special. I was thinking of resorting to a matchmaker myself.”
Sofia nearly tripped over her feet, the shock of the words like an icy splash to her nerves. Turning, she saw Delaney tapping her chin thoughtfully with her stylus.
“You don’t happen to know any good ones, do you?” the woman asked.
A gauntlet had been dropped.
Sofia understood the implication. The woman knew something about what had happened at the airport. Had she learned that Sofia’s father had hired a matchmaker? That in itself was certainly not a big deal. But what if she knew more than that? That her engagement was a lie. That Sofia had only done it to quiet the gossip among her peers so she could focus on her dancing.
Maybe she should have straightened it out that night. Stuck with the truth. But since she was in no position to untangle any of it right now, Sofia simply smiled.
“I don’t, but I’ve heard that’s a very popular option these days.” She rushed to melt into the crowd and find Quinn.
In the pressure cooker of her work world, her fake fiancé had become her best source of commiseration.
And he wanted to be even more than that. He wanted to give her pleasure, a heady offer that had teased the edges of her consciousness all evening long. With her heart ready to pound out of her chest, she realized he was the only person she wanted to see right now.
If only she could truly trust him. But even as she raced to find him, she reminded herself to be careful. He might genuinely be attracted to her. But he wouldn’t be helping her right now if it didn’t serve McNeill interests.
* * *
“I need to speak to you.”
Sofia’s whisper in Quinn’s ear was the sexiest thing he’d heard since that small gasp she’d made in the limo when he’d kissed her neck. He’d been ready to get her alone ever since then.
Maybe this was his moment.
He stood on the fringes of the crowd listening to the guest of honor speak at a podium about his eagerness to work in New York and to let the city inspire him. The guy said all the right things, but something about him irritated Quinn from the moment he’d opened his mouth. Perhaps it was just because he held power over Sofia’s career and Quinn didn’t like thinking that the subjective opinions of one man could mean so much to her.
More likely, it was because Idris Fortier laughed at his own jokes and occasionally referred to himself in the third person. The well-heeled crowd in attendance hung on his every word, however.
“Should we listen to this first?” Quinn asked Sofia quietly, surprised her interview had finished so soon.
“The reporter asked me if I could recommend a good matchmaker.” The soft warmth of her breath teased over his ear, but the seductive sensation couldn’t cancel out the anxiety in her words.
And no wonder she was nervous.
“He’s almost done speaking.” Quinn wrapped an arm around her waist, to bring her as close as possible, wanting to give every appearance of being deeply in love and lost in one another. “It will be easier to talk once the dancing begins.” His lips moved against the silk of her hair. “And I don’t want your reporter friend to see us darting off in a corner to whisper.”
Nodding, she relaxed against him ever so slightly. That small show of trust was something he’d been working hard for all week long. He’d put her needs first, letting Cameron fly to Kiev to handle the hotel acquisitions. He’d asked his brother Ian for help running down more information about Mallory West, giving himself more time to gain Sofia Koslov’s trust.
To help her, of course. They’d agreed to as much. But things had gotten more complicated as he admitted the depth of his attraction. He wanted her. And after the heat they’d sparked in the car on the way over here, he thought he knew where things were headed between them.
Would she act on that attraction if she knew this engagement was helping him as much as it helped her? That he’d purposely delayed drawing up that contract he’d discussed with her that first night they’d met because he now wondered if the relationship could help him around his grandfather’s marriage dictate.
Quinn still hoped he could help Malcolm McNeill see that he didn’t need to call the shots in his grandsons’ love lives. That he could trust them to find spouses on their own terms and in their own time. Quinn would at least try to talk him into scrapping the marriage stipulation from the will. But failing that? He was confident he could work out some kind of agreement with Sofia that would help him to fulfill the terms.
As the crowd around him erupted into applause for the choreographer, a violinist struck a dramatic, quavering note. It cracked through the air, stirring the room. The unmistakable trill of a Spanish bandoneon followed in the opening note of a tango, a rare dance Quinn knew well. It transported him back to the small Buenos Aires pub where he’d learned the steps afterhours with his work crew while overseeing renovations on one of the family’s resorts. He recalled the packed dance floor crowded with passionate couples and knew, with fierce certainty, that he wanted to share this with Sofia.
“Dance with me,” he murmured in her ear, his nostrils flaring at the vanilla scent of her skin. It rose around him and heated his blood.
Her large gray eyes were hesitant, questioning as they swerved to his. He trailed his fingertips up her spine, feeling the sweet curve of her back through silk. “I am classically trained,” she murmured in a breathy rush. “The tango is a ballroom dance.”
“Then it will be a welcome chance for me to partner you on the floor.” He drew her toward the square parquet tiles near the musicians.
“Since when do hedge fund managers learn sexy Argentinian dances?” She was light on her feet as she backed into position, joining the handful of couples taking the floor.
“I must have known I’d need to impress a woman one day.” He tightened his grip on her, urging her closer as they entered the counterclockwise flow. Her lithe body moved gracefully against his, but this wasn’t a pretty dance. It was primal and raw.
She watched the other dancers long enough to gather her bearings, then turned her gaze back to him.
“You are full of surprises, Quinn McNeill.” For an aching moment her body cradled the growing hardness concealed by his tuxedo. Then she twisted her hips sideways and kicked her foot through the long slit up one side of her dress, shooting him a coquettish look from beneath the sweep of her long lashes.
At last he’d distracted her completely. She was no longer worried about the reporter, the choreographer or her career. All her focus was on him.
> The throbbing notes of the violin wove with the cry of the bandoneon and echoed the seething heat she stirred inside him.
Before she could slip too far away, he hauled her close again then bent her backward. Her spine arched and her head dipped to the floor, exposing the creamy, satin skin of her elegant neck, the slender column of her body. Their hips brushed as they swayed and then he snapped her upright so that their mouths touched. They breathed each other in and their gazes tangled.
Tension whipped between them. His body grew taut; need and craving pounded through him. He felt the pressure of it all licking through his blood. When he stepped with his left foot, she followed, her limbs seeming to loosen and grow molten, her movements more languid. The arm curled around his neck singed his flesh and her fingers burrowed into his hair, her nails raking his skin.
He steered her expertly, felt her respond to the lightest of touches, the smallest pressure. She seemed to surrender to the dance, to him, as her eyes closed and she let him lead her the way he wanted to.
Yet just when she looked defenseless, a staccato rhythm seemed to break her trance and she whirled around him, improvising mouthwatering steps as he stood rigid, watching. Wanting. He couldn’t tear his eyes off her. She held his hand then shimmied lower, her body sinuous. She rose slowly. Out of nowhere, her lips curved into a tempting smile, her expression full of promise.
His mouth dried and his tongue swelled. They cross-stepped for several more beats and the world fell away. His senses narrowed, homing in on the beautiful woman who didn’t back down when he pushed forward, who stood her ground and stalked him as well until at last, they stood, foreheads pressed together, breaths coming in fits and starts as the tango ended.
“Come home with me,” he commanded. Her eyes burned into his and dimly he heard another song, slower, strike up.
Her grip tightened on his. “Yes.”
Victory surged through him. He wanted to pick her up and carry her out of the crowd and downstairs to the waiting limo this minute. But he didn’t want to end her time at a work function without accomplishing one more key goal that her friend Jasmine had clearly laid out as an objective for the evening.
“Excellent.” He released her slowly, peering through the crowd to find the man who held Sofia’s professional future in his hands. “We’ll pay our regards to the man of the hour and then we’re free to spend the rest of the night however we choose.”
He felt her go still beside him. But she didn’t tremble or fidget the way she had earlier in the evening.
“Good idea.” She nodded. “I’ll say hello and then I’ll text Jasmine from the car to let her know about Delaney’s comment to me. I want to give Jasmine some advance notice if the reporter plans a story about the matchmaking mix-up.”
“I’ll ask my own public relations department to circulate some stories about our engagement, as well.”
That would lend their union all the more credibility. And for the first time Quinn found himself wondering what Sofia would say if he asked her to extend a fake engagement into a year-long marriage like his grandfather’s will stipulated...
But of course he wouldn’t do that. His grandfather’s terms were out of line and unfair. He needed to talk him into rewriting the will. Right now, he would keep his focus on Sofia.
They stood waiting while an older woman dressed in an exotically colored caftan finished her conversation with the famed choreographer. When Sofia turned worried eyes toward him, Quinn took great pleasure in skimming a touch along her hip. And discreetly lower. Her eyes went wide so that she was thoroughly distracted by the time the older woman bid Fortier good-night.
“Sofia Koslov.” The boyishly built Frenchman opened his arms wide. “My dear, I’ve been dying to meet you.”
Quinn released her so she could be swept into a hug he personally found too damn enthusiastic, but then, he might have thought as much about anyone who put their hands on a woman he wanted this badly.
“Welcome to New York, Mr. Fortier,” she greeted him. Her wooden delivery was an endearing sign of her nerves, Quinn realized.
He liked knowing things about this very private woman that other people didn’t.
“Call me Idris. I insist.” The man didn’t spare a glance for Quinn as his eyes raked over Sofia with what Quinn hoped was professional interest.
Her body was the medium for her dance, he reminded himself even as he ground his teeth together.
“Idris,” she corrected herself with quiet seriousness. “We are thrilled to host you at City Ballet. We are all excited to hear your plans for your new work.”
Quinn found himself hanging on her words, wanting her to succeed since it clearly meant so much to her.
“And I sincerely hope you will be the first to hear those plans, Sofia. I look forward to your audition.”
Before Sofia could reply, the celebrated choreographer turned to greet a young man who’d come to stand behind Sofia, effectively dismissing her.
Sofia tucked against Quinn’s side with gratifying ease, whispering, “Did I offend him?”
If she wasn’t so intent on securing the man’s good opinion, Quinn might have told her that—on the contrary—Fortier’s behavior had been rude. But he didn’t want her to worry.
“You were perfect,” he assured her honestly as he guided her through the crowd toward the coat check. “Jasmine would have been thrilled.”
“Speaking of Jasmine.” Sofia opened her purse and withdrew her phone. “I need to let her know what happened with that reporter.” She lowered her voice for his ears only. “We should be prepared if the woman releases a story about me using a matchmaker.”
Quinn nodded his agreement as he excused himself to retrieve their coats. But he already knew his plan B if the matchmaker story leaked. If anyone questioned the legitimacy of their engagement, it would pave the way to convince Sofia to marry him for a year and secure that damned inheritance anyhow.
Just in case.
Nine
Twenty minutes later Sofia watched the numbers light up above the elevator in Quinn’s building as they waited for the private conveyance.
Ten, nine, eight...
Quinn’s hand brushed the small of her back and circled, his touch burning her as it had on the dance floor. The white-gloved bellhop near the concierge desk spoke with a deliveryman wheeling in a silver cart full of insulated dishes—presumably a five-star meal from an area restaurant. Behind them, an elegantly attired elder gentleman strode through the building’s thick glass doors, the smell of diesel and roasting nuts carrying on the rush of crisp, evening air that trailed after him.
Was she out of her mind for being there?
Probably.
Their arrangement was for public events only, yet here she stood, ready—no, wanting this intimate privacy with Quinn.
Seven, six, five...
Every nerve ending had come alive since the moment he’d guided her through the most passionate dance she’d ever performed. Only, it hadn’t been a performance. Every unchoreographed move had been born out of the sensuous desire he’d incited. Never before had she completely let go that way and she felt so empowered. Impassioned.
Nearby, other elevators with more white-gloved attendants took patrons to their floors, but she and Quinn were waiting for the private one direct to his floor.
Four, three, two...
Yet she hadn’t come home with Quinn just because she was crazy with lust. She wanted to take this risk with him and open up as she had on the dance floor. He’d helped her navigate a stressful time in her life just as he’d led her through the tango—with certainty, command, giving as well as taking.
While she’d appreciated his strength and cool head this week, his passionate moves had given her another glimpse at the enigmatic man, made her want to know him more. Followin
g his lead, as she had earlier, gave her confidence to let go and trust that he wouldn’t let her down.
In fact, she suspected he would bring her to greater heights than she’d ever known. Her past relationships had all been as careful as her professional life, each step rehearsed until she felt safe about moving forward. And where had that gotten her?
It had been bloodless companionship that amounted to little more than friendships, causing her peers to think she led some kind of sad, passionless existence.
There was nothing passionless about what she felt for Quinn. Nothing scripted. Just heat and wild fire.
The elevator bell chimed, the doors opened and he ushered her inside the wonderfully empty space. She held her breath as the door swooshed closed and, in an instant, he backed her up against the paneled wall. Hand burrowing in her hair, he loosened the few pins that held its shape so that the fragrant locks tumbled around her face, releasing the scent of her shampoo. Her cape slid from her shoulders to pool on the floor and she shoved his wool overcoat off in a quick, deft sweep.
She melted at his appreciative, predatory growl. When his lips brushed hers, she rose on tiptoe and fit her body against the hard length of him. A feminine thrill shot through her when he deepened the kiss. His tongue slid over the seam of her mouth, demanding entrance, and she moaned in the back of her throat. She felt winded, light-headed and incredibly turned on as he crushed her to him, his mouth slanting over hers, their tongues tangling in their own passionate dance.
His heart drummed against her chest, hard enough that she could feel it through his tuxedo jacket. Her head tipped back at the crescendo of sensations as he dropped his mouth to the crook of her neck, his tongue sweeping in intense, hot circles, his breath sounding harsh in the small space.
She gasped when he traced the outline of her rib cage through her dress. Her breasts swelled and ached as his fingers skimmed over her neckline before dipping inside to tease each tight peak. A sizzling tremble ran rampant through her body. His blue eyes burned into hers when the elevator lurched to a halt and he stepped away.
