Читать книгу What The Magnate Wants: The Magnate's Mail-Order Bride / The Magnate's Marriage Merger / His Accidental Heir - Joanne Rock - Страница 14

Six

Transported by the snow, the city and the man, Sofia hadn’t been expecting the kiss, and maybe it was her total lack of defenses that let her feel the pleasure of it. She delighted in the warm pressure of his mouth in contrast to such a cold day. The soft abrasion of his chin where the new of growth of whiskers rubbed over her tender skin oversensitive from the wind. The gentle way he touched her face to steer her where he wanted, to better delve between her lips.

Answering his demand by stepping closer, craving the warmth of the man, Sofia lost herself.

Quinn’s kiss was the second act of Swan Lake. Or maybe Giselle. Or maybe it was every romantic moment she’d ever danced and never felt deeply until this moment. She squeezed his hand where he’d entwined their fingers, enjoying the way her body fit against him. They weren’t like two dancers with bodies that complemented one another. But like a man possessing a woman, lending her his strength so she didn’t have to draw from her own.

It was a moment of heaven.

When he slowly pulled away from her and she felt the snowflakes fall on her skin again now that he did not completely shelter her, the cool ping of the tiny drops urged her out of her romantic swoon. And no doubt about it, she stood in Central Park swooning on her feet for a man she’d met the day before.

“Quinn, we have a lot of work we should be doing.” She blurted the words with no segue and zero grace. “If we want to get that press release out on time, that is.”

Untangling her fingers from his, she brushed by him to continue walking...east? Her brain scrambled to regain thought. Yes, east. What on earth had gotten into her? Had that kiss been part of the role he seemed determined to play for her? Or had he truly felt inspired to kiss her?

“You’re right.” Quinn didn’t need to walk fast to keep up with her as she practically jogged through the park. His longer strides ate up the ground easily. As he glanced at her, the light reflected devilishly in his eyes. “But I want you to know I liked kissing you, Sofia. Very much. There’s no reason we shouldn’t enjoy ourselves over the next few weeks.”

Sharp, cold air entered her lungs. “Just because we are within easy reach doesn’t mean we should automatically start touching.” She didn’t want to be a convenient outlet for him. “But what’s our story for how we met or when we met?”

“I was introduced to your father at the Met Gala. Were you there with him?”

“Of course not. Do you have any idea what a ticket costs to that event?” At moments like this she could understand how her mother might have come to believe the wealthy were living in a different universe from regular people. The Met Gala was so far beyond her price range it was laughable.

“Actually, no.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his overcoat, his profile in shadow as they walked. “I was on the guest list because I made a donation to the museum.”

Right. Which meant he’d paid more than the ticket price that was almost half her annual salary. Like her father, Quinn belonged to a world of wealth and unreality. A world she had purposely avoided.

“Suffice it to say, we didn’t meet there.” She wished she’d worn warmer clothes for their walk. Her knees were feeling the effects of the cold.

“What if we say we met here? In the park? We bonded over rescuing a kid’s toy stuck in a tree last spring.” As a bicyclist churned through the growing snow cover, Quinn slid a protective arm around her, his hand an enticing warmth through her cape before his touch fell away again. “At least we don’t have to make up something fictional. We base it on today, but say it happened when I was walking home one evening and you were taking a break in the park.”

“That could work.” She nodded, locking down the time frame in her mind and trying to envision today’s scene in a different season. “Although I would never give a stranger I met in the park my contact information.”

“Maybe I started taking that route home every day, hoping to see you. Two weeks later, bingo. There you were again. We fell in love over the next few months, and that should be all we need to fill out Jasmine’s press release.” He slowed as they passed Central Park Zoo and headed toward Fifth Avenue. “Are you all right?”

“Of course,” she answered automatically. “Why?”

“You’re limping.”

“No I’m not.” She couldn’t be. Refused to be. She excelled at hiding injuries on stage. Perhaps she just didn’t give much thought to her gait in her private time. “Just hurrying to get home.”

She couldn’t read his expression in the dark.

“I should have insisted on a car. We’re almost there.”

“I’m fine. And if you can point me to the closest subway station? I thought there was one on Fifth?”

“Come inside and warm up first. I’ll drive you home.”

“That’s not necessary. As you pointed out, we have enough for the press release. I’ll send it over to Jasmine when I get home.”

“We haven’t firmed up plans for the Fortier reception.” As they emerged from the park, he crossed Fifth Avenue at East Sixty-First. “Besides, my building is right here. I can send out that release for you, and I’ll call you a car afterward.” He stopped outside the Pierre.

He lived in the hotel?

Of course he did. It was a gracious, old New York address with five-star service. The small part of her that was still her father’s daughter could already envision the kind of food room service provided here.

“Sofia.” Quinn lowered his voice as they stood under the awning in front of the building. “We’re committed to this course now. Let’s be sure we deliver a believable performance.”

“Believable because we show up for all of those public appearances as a couple?” She lowered her voice even more in deference to the doorman who was pulling open a cab door for a newcomer. “Or believable because we’re kissing in our spare time?”

Quinn seemed to weigh the idea carefully. “If you truly think that the kiss was a bad idea, we’ll make sure all future displays of affection are strictly for show and limit them to the public sphere.”

She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved. Maybe a little of both.

“That might help.” At least then she’d be prepared before he kissed her again. She’d have her guard up. Her body would receive a warning before he stoked it to life with a mere flick of his tongue. “Thank you.”

“Will you come inside, then? We can have dinner sent up while we fill in the blanks for Jasmine and send out the statement.” Quinn had been both patient and reasonable.

Of course, he was only doing any of this for the sake of his business concerns, protecting the McNeill interests from the threats her father had made at the airport last night. She needed to remember that, even if his kisses told a different story. Quinn was simply more experienced. Worldly. Maybe even jaded. Some people could kiss solely for passion’s sake, not love, but she’d never been that kind of woman.

Or so she thought. Maybe she’d just never met a man she could truly feel passionate about? Unlike her friends, she’d never been a boy-crazy teenager. Her attention and love had always belonged to the stage.

“Okay,” she agreed, the chill in her bones making the decision for her, damn it. Or maybe it was the promise of something more delicious than the banana and crackers that awaited her at home.

It wasn’t Quinn’s fault she was far more attracted to him than she’d ever been to any man. Deep in thought as they entered the hotel, they rode a private, key-operated elevator to his floor. Even the elevator was opulent, inlaid with gold, and the deep rich scarlet carpet showed no signs of wear. The doors swished opened into a large foyer and a view through the living room to Central Park.

The apartment took up an entire floor.

She should have guessed from the engagement ring she still wore that he would live this way. His family owned a resort chain, while he himself managed a hedge fund. Exactly the kind of man she would have never envisioned herself with. But in spite of the multimillion-dollar views, his apartment was decorated with tasteful restraint. Coffee-toned walls were a warm backdrop for sleek, gray furnishings punctuated with some rust-colored accents—a vase, matched roman shades that covered the top third of the huge windows. Comfortable and attractive, the room pulled her forward as Quinn switched on the fireplace and put in a call to the hotel’s kitchen.

An hour later, picking over the remains of her chicken fricassee while seated on a giant leather couch that wrapped around a corner of Quinn’s apartment, Sofia had to admit she felt glad to be there. The snow had stopped outside the living room windows, but peering down into the park with all the street lamps lit was sort of like looking into a dollhouse with hundreds of different tiny rooms. He was putting the finishing touches on the press release on his laptop. A fire crackled in the fireplace, warming her feet and knees, and she’d even accepted a throw blanket made of the softest cashmere ever.

With silent apologies to her mother, Sofia decided that no one truly soulless would help a scrappy thirteen-year-old retrieve a toy. Or help Sofia carry off a mad scheme to pretend to have a fiancé. Quinn was an exception to her mother’s rule about rich people.

“Just confirming...when did we know we were in love?” Quinn had taken the easy chair diagonally across from her, maintaining a professional amount of space between them.

“How about when you ordered the chicken fricassee for me?” she offered, trying to stick to the truth the way he’d showed her earlier.

“No one could blame you for being wooed by the food here.” He quit typing and peered over at her in the firelight.

They hadn’t put any other lights on in this room, although there was a glow from the kitchen. Sofia had been enjoying looking outside and the view was easier to appreciate with less light behind her.

“Dancers are perpetually starving,” she admitted. “So I’m more susceptible than most to good food.”

“Why are you always starving?” Quinn set aside the laptop long enough to clear their plates and set the dishes on a serving cart that had been delivered half an hour ago.

“It’s a figure of speech. I expend a great deal of energy, for one thing. And, for another, the body preferred by most directors is very slender.”

The topic had come under more debate over the last few years with a move to recognize healthy bodies of all sizes in dance. But ballet was rooted in traditions on every level, and she didn’t know any company that truly embraced this philosophy yet.

“I’m surprised. I would think the moves require a great deal of strength.”

“They do. But we need to build that strength in different ways. Repetition of lighter weights, for example.”

“But why?” He took the seat closer to her now, sharing the couch even though he was a couple feet away. He’d brought his laptop with him but hadn’t opened it yet.

“Choreographers like a company of dancers that are all roughly the same size and build. There’s more symmetry to it when we all move.”

“And you’d still get that if you all agree to be ten pounds heavier. And wouldn’t more muscle minimize injury?”

“Yes and no. Some say a lighter frame puts less strain on the joints.”

“You can’t eat enough. You work constantly. You’re subject to intra-squad jostling for position—so much so you’re willing to fake an engagement to keep your detractors quiet.” He counted off the negatives on his fingers. “So if you’re willing to go through all that, I have to think there’s one hell of an upside for you.”

“There is.” She shifted positions, straightening as she warmed to her subject. “I watched Sleeping Beauty with my mother as a child. It was a performance in the middle of nowhere—a tiny troupe traveling through Prague. And I was captivated by Aurora like any other little girl who attends the ballet.” Sliding off the couch, she moved to an open spot on the floor to show him. “I thought the dancer was the most beautiful and elegant woman in the world.” She took a position for the Rose Adagio dance in her stocking feet, imagining a princely suitor before her as she mimicked Aurora’s questioning pose with one leg raised and curved behind her. “When she took the roses from each of her four suitors...” She mimed the action, having danced the role many times herself. “I knew I wanted to be her. Not just Aurora, but the dancer who brought her to life.”

Quinn’s blue gaze tracked the movement of her arched foot as she lifted it in the exaggerated extension that her Russian teachers had stressed. The warmth in his eyes—his attention to her body—did not inspire the same feelings as when she captured an audience’s imagination on stage. This felt personal in a way that heated her skin and made her all too aware of her appearance.

Not just her body, which was perpetually displayed in dance. But the stroke of her braid against one arm. The rush of air past her lips as her breath caught.

“So you dance for the love of it. Because it was your dream.” He kept the conversation focused, which she appreciated since she’d forgotten what they were talking about for a moment, distracted by the sparks that crackled between them.

“I have never wanted to do anything else.” Which was why she feared the end of her career, a moment that could sneak up on her on any given night, with her body constantly battling injuries.

She needed to reach the top of her field now—as quickly as possible—to achieve the fame necessary to parlay the experience into success afterward. And she needed to dance the starring role for Fortier to make that happen.

“Ballet is your passion.” Quinn let the word simmer between them for a long moment before returning his attention to the laptop. “And I think I know when we fell in love.”

He began typing.

“You do?” Her heartbeat stuttered in her chest. She forced herself to sit back down and resume normal conversation in spite of the nerve endings flickering to life all over her body.

Too late she realized she had sat closer to him than she’d been before. She told herself that was only so she could peer over his shoulder at whatever it was he was typing. She caught a hint of his male scent, something clean like soap or aftershave that made her want to breathe deeply.

“It was the first time I saw you dance.” His fingers paused on the keyboard, the sudden quiet seeming to underscore the moment and stirring to life a whole host of complicated feelings.

His words should not affect her this way. Especially since they were spinning tall tales for the media and not discussing anything remotely real.

“Name the performance. I’ll tell the whole world how your movements on the stage captured me. When I watched you dance, I saw how passion guides you and knew we were a match.”

“You toy with me,” she accused, scuttling back to her previous position on the couch. “Your words are like your kisses—all for show. But I find them confusing.”

“I’m not toying with you.” He passed her the laptop. “You should read this over.”

How could she concentrate on the words when her blood ran too hot and she kept imagining the way his eyes had followed her body while she danced?

“I’m sure it’s fine.” She set the laptop on the couch between them. “Jasmine will review it before she sends it out.”

“Sofia?” He moved the laptop to the coffee table, edging closer. “I don’t know how else to approach this to make you more comfortable. But you wanted to put on this show. I’m trying to help you.”

His voice, deep and masculine, sent a shiver through her.

“Thank you. But I would prefer if this remained a performance for the benefit of others. I don’t want to play at the game when we are alone.” She felt his nearness in the same way that she knew without looking where her dance partner would be at all times. Except that was practiced, a trick she’d learned through study and repetition. With Quinn, her cells seemed to seek out his presence, attuning themselves to him without her even thinking about it.

“The only reason I kissed you in the park is because I’m attracted to you. I won’t pretend otherwise.” With a shuddering breath, his eyes, which a moment ago blazed with heat, seemed to ember as his voice lilted with resignation. “But I can put a rein on that, and I have.”

“How? How do you put a rein on it, as you say?” She wondered if he had tricks of his own. Something she might learn for herself.

“It’s not easy. And it gets tougher the longer I’m with you.” He lifted his hand toward her face the way he’d done in the snowfall right before he’d kissed her. But then he lowered his fingers again, hand falling to his side. “We have an agreement, however, and I’ll do what it takes to see it through. If that means we play this your way, I’m going to do everything in my power to keep my hands to myself unless we’re in public.”

“The way we will be on Friday.” At the reception for Idris Fortier. Her first real public appearance with Quinn as a couple, and it would be a major moment in her career.

Butterflies fluttered through her belly at the thought of being on this man’s arm all evening. Feeling his hand at her waist or grazing her hip through a thin evening gown.

Pretending to be in love.

Her lips tingled as she wondered if he would kiss her.

“Yes.” His gaze dipped to her mouth as if he could read her mind. “I’m already looking forward to it.”