The Magnate's Mail-Order Bride

by Joanne Rock

  She pressed her hand to her chest as though she could slow the runaway beat of her heart. This was all going so fast, but she needed that speed now that she’d made up her mind not to wait anymore. She’d wanted Quinn, probably had from the moment he’d captivated her full attention at the airport even through her jet-lagged exhaustion. No more holding back. Their tango had been a prelude of what was to come and she wouldn’t waste another minute out of his arms now that she’d made the decision to take this risk.

  To trust her partner.

  When the elevator arrived at his floor, he backed her inside the apartment, guiding her through the vaulted great room and open kitchen that she remembered from the first time she’d been there. Tearing at each other’s clothes, they moved as one down a hallway she hadn’t seen before, and into a dimly lit bedroom where a lamp shone on a large painting of the Manhattan skyline. In the sitting area, she spied a large desk against one wall and a bank of shade-covered windows on another. When he made as if to tumble them both to the bed, she sidestepped at the last minute.

  Just long enough to catch her breath.

  Her lips burned from his kisses, her skin tingling everywhere underneath the sensuous silk gown he’d had delivered to her apartment today, complete with a tailor to ensure the hem fell just right. Then the gown had felt like a lover’s caress against her skin, the hand-sewn, designer original a decadent luxury. But now, she only wanted the real thing—Quinn’s hands all over her. No extravagant dress would do.

  “Are we moving too fast?” he asked, brushing his knuckles down her bare arm. “We can slow things down. Take our time. Would you like a drink?”

  “No.” She didn’t need anything to cloud her head. “I just want a moment to take it all in. Savor the sensations.”

  She rested her hands on his broad chest, admiring the contrast of her pink nails against the crisp white tuxedo shirt, her glittering ring a reminder of all they pretended to be to each other. But she needed this much to be real.

  He lifted her hand to kiss the back of her knuckles. The back of her hand. The inside of her wrist. Even that brush of his lips in such an innocuous spot made her simmer inside.

  Somewhere in the suite of rooms, a clock chimed twelve. A fairy-tale time...only she wasn’t turning into a pumpkin or the girl she’d been before tonight.

  Now that she’d stepped onto this path, she was desperate to see where it led. What she would discover. Most of all, she wanted to dance with him. The kind of dance they’d begun at the party and would continue here to its fiery conclusion.

  She turned her back and peered over her shoulder. “I might need a hand.” She pulled her hair to one side, revealing the zipper. “I want to be careful with the gown.”

  “Damn the gown.” His teeth flashed in the darkened room. “I want what’s inside.” He eased the zipper down past her hips and she felt the room’s temperate air caress her bare skin.

  “Are you sure?” She slid the fabric from one shoulder and smiled at him, loving that he let her go at her own pace, giving her time to enjoy this kind of teasing pleasure.

  “Lady, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” he growled, unadulterated male appreciation roughening the edges of his voice. Still, he held himself back and she loved the command he exerted over every aspect of his life—even hers. It steadied the out-of-control tilt of her world and made her feel as though she might stop spinning for tonight at least.

  The silk whispered as the gown fell around her silver heels. She stepped out of it then turned slowly. He gaped at her, his amusement gone, replaced by an intent, hungry expression that made her stomach clench and warmth pool at the apex of her thighs. As a dancer, she’d always been aware of her body. She’d felt every muscle, sinew and bone, commanded them to move and pose at her will. Yet now she felt less in control and more aware of her body than ever. Standing there half-nude in her black lace bra and panties, she felt her skin heat everywhere his gaze fell. With Quinn, she wasn’t just a dancer but a woman brimming with desire and needs that transcended her ambitions, her career, her future. She wanted to gulp down every second of this encounter with him.

  When she slid each bra strap down over her arms, his eyes grew hooded. Exhilaration fired through her at his reaction. She commanded attention in a way that had nothing to do with her training, her skills, and everything to do with who she was...or maybe who she was discovering herself to be.

  She turned again, unhooked her bra then dangled the scrap of lace from an extended hand, letting the lingerie drift to the polished wood floor. At his guttural groan she smiled, pressed an arm across her aching breasts and turned, crossing one leg over the other as his eyes drifted down then rose slowly, lingering.

  “Enjoying yourself?” She stepped between his legs and her knees brushed the edge of the bed.

  “Not as much as I’m about to,” he vowed then tumbled her down on top of him.

  Sofia absorbed the feel of him, from the hard planes of his chest through the starched cotton shirt to the silken glide of his pants along her bare thighs. The metallic pinch of his belt buckle pressed against her abdomen, just above the jutting length of his erection.

  He cupped her bottom, fitting her to him in a way that aligned the neediest part of her with that straining length.

  “I’ve thought about doing this,” she admitted, skimming a finger along the edge of his jaw. “All week, I thought about it when I was on the phone at night with you.”

  “When we were talking about the missing matchmaker? Our career hopes and the demands of ballet?” He captured her finger in one hand and brought it to his lips for a gentle bite. “All that time, you were thinking about being naked on top of me?”

  “Maybe not every second. But the idea definitely crossed my mind a few times. Especially right after I disconnected the calls.” Those had been oddly lonesome moments. She’d felt a growing attachment to him but she hadn’t been sure if it was friendship, a sense of being allies at a time when they needed one another, or if it was simply attraction. But each night when confronted with the silence of her apartment, she’d thought about how much she wanted to see him again.

  Touch him. Undress him.

  His expression grew serious. “I thought about you then, too. It was like the quiet echoed louder once we stopped talking.”

  His words so nearly matched the way she felt she fought a desire to squeeze him tighter and kiss him senseless. She was already taking a risk tonight in being with him. She wasn’t ready for a more emotional leap that might bare too much of her soul.

  So, instead, she kissed him.

  And for the first time she took the lead in the kiss, exploring the fullness of his lips and taking teasing swipes at his tongue. She tasted and tested, liking the feel of his body under her as she moved around him. Her nipples tightened at the friction of the pleats on his shirt. Her hair slid down to pool on top of him, curtaining them in silky privacy. She could have kissed him for hours, but then he ended the game by rolling on top of her.

  A new game began, becoming hotter and more fervent until she became lost in him and the way he made her feel. He palmed her breasts, cradling each in turn as though they were precious weights, his thumb gliding over each tip until the peaks ached with sensitivity. Only then did he lower his tongue to first one, then the other, making her back arch to increase the delicious friction.

  She lifted her hands to his shirt, flicking open the buttons and tugging the fabric from his pants. He must have loosened his tie and the top button earlier, because the knot slipped free easily, his shirt suddenly open to her questing hands.

  He felt even better than she’d imagined, his bare skin simmering with heat. From the sprinkling of hair on his chest, she followed the lightly furred line down the center of his abs to his pants, but he reared up on his knees and stopped her, unfastening the buckle himself and lo
wering the zipper to her avid gaze.

  Built like an athlete, he had the thighs and butt of a soccer player, his whole composition heavier than a dancer’s. Sturdier. Immovable. And yet he’d been light on his feet when he’d taken her around the floor in that surprising tango tonight. Proving he knew how to use all that muscle to enticing effect.

  “I want you inside me.” She didn’t know she’d said the words aloud until her throat rasped on a harsh breath. Reaching to touch his hip, she followed the path of his boxers as they slid from his thighs.

  “And I can’t wait to be there.” He stretched over her, his thigh parting hers as he gave her more of his weight.

  Sofia sighed into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, molding her breasts to his chest and fitting her hips to his. He rolled them, as one, to the side of the bed where he tugged a box of condoms from a nightstand drawer. He left them there, a tangible assurance she would get what she wanted.

  She cried out when he shifted against her, his thigh pressed at the juncture of hers where she ached for him. Where she wanted more of him. But in an instant, he replaced his thigh with his palm, his fingers playing lightly along the damp silk of her panties, now the only scrap of clothing between them.

  Their gazes collided in the half light and the intensity of his expression quieted her hunger for a moment since she could see the same need in his eyes. He wanted her, too. Badly. But he must be holding back for the right moment, spinning out the beauty of the dance until act three instead of jumping straight to the climax.

  Who would have thought she’d be the one desperate for more, faster, while Quinn took his time with every delicious sensation, burning this night into her memory—she knew—forever. So, closing her eyes, she gave herself over to him and his sure hands, allowing her mind to savor each shock of pleasure he ignited with his fingers. He pressed gently, testing what made her sigh and gasp, only sliding beneath the silk when she twisted her hips in a silent plea.

  And, oh.

  The slick glide of one blunt finger down the center of her set off one heady contraction after another, her body racked with spasms in a release that shook her to her toes. The waves of pleasure broke over her again and again.

  Quinn whispered sweet words in her ear, beautiful encouragement she only became dimly aware of as she floated back from her brief trip to carnal oblivion.

  “I can’t wait to taste you,” he breathed against her ear, the sensual promise alone almost sending her body into another orgasmic frenzy.

  “I’m too new to this,” she reminded him. “That is, I’m not totally new to this, but it’s never been like this for me before.” She kissed his shoulder, her tongue tasting a hint of salt on his skin. “I might lose consciousness if I have much more pleasure in one night.”

  He grinned, his male pride evident as he tightened his hold on her waist. “I don’t think that’s possible, but it could be an interesting experiment.”

  “I think I’d rather be fully in control of my senses for all of this.” She roused herself to draw the arch of her foot up the back of his leg, gratified to see his smile slip, his pupils dilate. “You could take it easy on me this first time.”

  “As long as there are more times.” Hooking a finger in her panties, he dragged them down and off, the action stirring a feather that must have fallen in the sheets from her discarded dress.

  Quinn plucked it from the air, drawing it over her hip and up her rib cage, circling her breast. Sweet chills skipped along her nerve endings.

  “There will be more times,” she promised, knowing this night had to mean something more than simple pleasure. Didn’t it?

  Refusing to overthink it, telling herself that simple pleasure might be a very good thing, she helped herself to the box of condoms and withdrew a single packet.

  Handing it to him, he set aside the feather and went to work ripping open the foil. She took the opportunity to kiss along his biceps, feeling the muscles flex against her lips as he moved. The raw power in his body fueled the fire in her.

  When he positioned himself between her thighs, she bit her lip at the sensation of him right there, where she needed him most. Their eyes met. Held. He gripped her hips with one hand and tilted her chin toward him with the other.

  Brushing her lips with his, he took his time entering her, letting her get used to the feel of him. Even if it hadn’t been a long time for her, it still would have felt brand new for being so different. Quinn wasn’t like any man she’d ever met and he treated her body in ways no one ever had before.

  So by the time they were joined fully, the sweat on his brow told her how much his gentleness cost him. She kissed his cheek and his jaw, grateful for the tender care. But now, with her body easing around him and the delicious pleasure building again, she could give herself over to the sensations. Let him guide her.

  Rolling them over again, he settled her on top of him, giving her a sense of control. His hands remained on her hips, though, setting the pace for each toe-curling thrust. For long moments she lost herself in it—the heat of the friction, the musky scent of his skin, the silken sheets that brushed against her calves. But then, remembering the way Quinn’s eyes had heated on the dance floor earlier, she swiveled her hips with the grace and strength that a ballerina had at her disposal, taking him with her on a sensual slow ride.

  His eyes closed as he hissed a low, ragged breath, giving her a tantalizing peek at the man behind the sleek, controlled exterior. When his eyes opened, she saw blue fire even in the dimly lit room.

  Spinning her to her back, he kept one arm anchored beneath her, his forearm aligned with her spine, one hand at her neck. Nose to nose, he thrust deeply—again and again—until the pleasure was too much to bear. She came in a blinding rush, a cry rising from her throat while the spasms trembled through every part of her.

  Quinn held her tight, his release following hers a moment later so that his breathing was as sharp and ragged as hers in the quiet afterward. They lay together in the middle of the king-size bed, limbs still twined and sheets wound around their feet in a soft love knot.

  Sofia wanted to remain there, boneless and sated, for as long as possible. She felt so good, for one thing. And for another, she had no idea how to follow up something like that with casual conversation. All her life, she’d been better using her body to express herself than her words and she’d done that tonight, as well.

  But as Quinn tucked her against his chest and stroked her hair, she knew there was one significant difference.

  She’d built some kind of friendship with him, too. That long walk in the park and their talks on the phone at night had all helped her to feel closer to him and to give her the sensation that maybe he cared about more than just protecting his resorts business from the wrath of her father.

  She might have been able to drift into sleep on that hopeful note, but one disturbing truth had emerged from the party tonight. As their breathing returned to normal, Sofia couldn’t help but share her worry.

  “I hope that journalist was just taking shots in the dark tonight when she brought up the matchmaker.” She didn’t want that story to come out now. Or ever. Antonia Blakely could whisper her gossip all day long, but if there was no proof her father hired a matchmaker, she wouldn’t share the story with the media.

  Antonia might be venomous, but she wouldn’t risk casting a shadow on her own career.

  “It seems an awfully specific detail to pick out of a hat,” Quinn observed in a dry voice. He pulled the blankets over her, tucking her in next to him.

  Even so, her skin cooled thinking that Delaney from Dance magazine might really have her big scoop.

  “Jasmine texted me that she’d look into it.” Nervous tension crept into Sofia’s shoulders, spoiling the languid pleasure she’d been feeling.

  “And you know she will. If she has any advance notice,
she’ll let us know.” His hand roved rhythmically along her arm, then rested on her hip. “But if the reporter actually writes that your father hired a matchmaker, we simply toast to the fact that you got lucky on your first try. And then stay engaged for as long as you need to prove you were committed to finding true love.” The five-o’clock shadow on his jaw caught against her hair, a tender intimacy that would have soothed her if not for the direction of a conversation that made her worried.

  “I can’t tie you up forever.” She scooted up to a sitting position, her shoulders tensing. “Maybe we should just come clean. It was all a mix-up anyhow.”

  Quinn shook his head.

  “We’re in too deep now. And the backlash could hurt my family’s business as much as you.”

  Those tentative, hopeful feelings of trust she’d put in him earlier now seemed misplaced. Quinn really was staying with her to protect his business interests. To ensure her father’s goodwill by doing what she’d asked of him.

  “So what would you suggest?” she asked, clutching the sheet to her chest.

  “If it comes down to it, we can always get married for real.” His teeth flashed white in the darkened room, but his expression was more grimace than grin. “No one would dare to question our love then.”

  “Only our sanity.” Frustrated, she debated calling Jasmine anyhow—if only to reassure herself she was worrying needlessly. She wanted real answers, not a glib treatment of the problem. “I’m serious, Quinn.”

  “Unfortunately, so am I.” He leveled a look at her from across the pillow before dropping a kiss on her temple. “Instead of a fake engagement, we make it a fake marriage. We give it a year and call it quits. Our critics are quieted. Scandal averted.”

  “You would be willing to go that far?” To actually marry. “To share a name, a house and a life when it’s all for show?”

  And she thought she was the performer in the relationship. Perhaps Quinn was a better actor than she knew. Even with her.