Читать книгу What The Magnate Wants: The Magnate's Mail-Order Bride / The Magnate's Marriage Merger / His Accidental Heir - Joanne Rock - Страница 15

Seven

Tossing generous handfuls of Epsom salt into the tub, Sofia ran the hot water, anticipating the effects of the bath. Her muscles ached and it was only Wednesday.

As she let the water fill the tub, she pumped toning soap onto her hands and then her face, before splashing water from the faucet to wash away a day of sweat and stress. A candle flickered on the sink’s countertop, sending a soothing scent of lavender into the air. When she was a small girl, her mother would always burn lavender candles after a long day. Although only a small connection to life before her mom passed away, the fragrance still relaxed her.

And she needed that now more than ever.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

Washing the rest of the soap from her face, Sofia tried to focus on preparing for the private audition for Idris Fortier in less than a week. That should be her sole thought.

But instead thoughts of Quinn pushed into her head. It had been two nights since they’d walked through the park and a day since her interview with Dance magazine where she’d relayed the love story she and Quinn had manufactured. The details seemed all too real. And she kept replaying their brief time together. His lips, his touch. How she was attracted to him, though she knew better.

Even after her bath, she was frustrated as hell. She stepped out of the tub, water dripping from her body onto a bath mat, and tested her knee carefully. And, thank heaven, it held. It felt better if not perfect. She shrugged on a short, fluffy bathrobe and yanked the tie into a knot.

Patting her face dry with a semi-plush hand towel, she examined her reflection in the mirror. She could do this. She could nail the audition and be the star that Idris Fortier wanted for his next ballet. That connection would do so much for her. Give her career legs after her physical ones quit giving her the lift and height she needed on her jumps.

Stashed on the corner of the countertop was a collection of reviews from the most reputable critics about Fortier’s last ballet. Jasmine had sent this particular stack over to her apartment. When Sofia had an audition on her radar, she always poured over press releases and reviews, trying to glean a better sense of her audience.

Sifting through the documents once more, a headline caught her eye.

Affair.

She eased herself down onto the edge of the tub and put her feet back in the water as she devoured the article. Apparently the choreographer had had an affair with the star of his last production. The weight of that information unsettled her.

Her phone chirped, startling her. Pulling it out of the pocket of her robe, she glanced at the screen.

Quinn.

“Hello.” Heart fluttering, she felt a mixture of excitement and nerves crash in her chest.

“Hello, Sofia.” His voice incited a flush of warmth over her skin beneath the robe.

“Quinn.” His name felt like an endearment on her tongue. “Hello,” she said again. To cover her surprise.

She closed her eyes and saw him there—with her—in the tub. Her mouth went dry.

“I thought you might like an update about the matchmaker situation,” he continued.

Something that felt an awful lot like disappointment pounded in tandem with her heartbeat. Had she really just wanted him to call for no reason? If this faux engagement was going to work, she’d have to keep her emotions in check.

“Of course. Tell me.” The news clipping about Idris’s affair was still in her hand; she stared at it while Quinn’s baritone voice filled the speaker, willing her pulse back to normal.

She hadn’t called her father since announcing her engagement at the airport, despite how angry she’d been with him at the time. That night, she’d been too exhausted to do battle with him, and Quinn had told her he would take care of making sure her dating profile was removed from wherever it had been posted.

“I’m not sure if I mentioned that Cameron’s matchmaker is Mallory West. He contacted her for an explanation the day after he proposed to you.”

The name meant nothing to Sofia, but as her dancing peers had noted, she wasn’t part of the Manhattan singles scene.

“Did she say where she got my flight information?” She had thought about that more than once. How could Cameron’s matchmaker have known her arrival time in New York, while her father claimed to be ignorant of Cam’s appointment to meet her?

She dipped her hand into the bubbles in the tub, skimming her fingers across the soapy tops.

“She told Cameron she would look into it.” Quinn’s voice was as potent as his touch. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine him beside her. “But since then, her phone has been disconnected and her email generates an autoreply that she’s out of the country on an extended trip.”

Sofia forced her eyes open, thinking about that bit of peculiar news. Her cheeks puffed with a hefty exhale. “What do you think it means?”

“For now, it simply means that she is a dead end in our hunt for information. I’m sorry, Sofia. But I will continue having my IT technician hunt for any sign of her online. And, for what it’s worth, he’s seen no traces of a dating profile for you online, so I think the matchmaker your father hired made good on her promise to pull it down.”

“At least that part is good news.” She really needed to call her father and ask him more about the situation herself, if only to find out whom he’d hired to help her with her dating prospects. She would feel better once she told that person in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t interested.

“It is. And we’ll figure out the rest of it, Sofia,” Quinn assured her before his tone shifted and his voice got lower. “But that isn’t the only thing we have to figure out.”

“No?” Sensations tripped down her spine at that sexy rasp in his voice. “What else should we be discussing?”

A half laugh sounded from the other end of the call and nothing else, no background noise, just him. He must be somewhere private. Alone. “Something more fun. So, Sofia, what kind of dress should I buy you to wow and woo the crowds at Idris Fortier’s reception on Friday? Do you have a favorite boutique?”

Buy her a dress? The gesture was sweet. But it was too much. Far too much.

“That is kind of you, but definitely not necessary.” Still, she imagined what he would choose for her. What it would be like to slide on a garment handpicked by Quinn?

“I’ll take you shopping anywhere you’d like.”

She tried not to think about the beautiful things a man like Quinn McNeill could afford.

“You are thoughtful, Quinn, but I can’t accept more gifts.” She felt guilty enough about wearing that massive diamond on her left hand, but he’d convinced her the ring was a necessity. “And I already have something in mind.” She didn’t mean for her voice to sound so clipped.

“Are you nervous?” he pressed, the deep tones of his whiskey-rich voice warming her moist body.

Her instincts kicked in; she could tell he was interested. He actually wanted to know.

“A bit. I... I just...” Her voice trailed off. Social gatherings and big parties were not her thing. She disliked superficial small talk, preferring meatier conversations.

Music.

Dancing.

“Yes?” he prompted.

“I’m terrible at galas. And around large masses of humanity in general.”

“Seriously?” Surprise colored his voice. “But you dance in front of large audiences.”

“Yes, seriously. I have stage fright in social scenarios where I’m forced to talk. But when I’m on stage, ballet feels like poetry, like breath. It’s different. Completely different.” Chewing her lip, she felt a ball of anxiety begin to form.

Deep breath.

“Luckily for you, I’m quite the pro at these galas. I’ll be there to guide and help you, if you want to follow my lead, that is.”

“If you can speak in coherent sentences, you’ll be one step ahead of me. I’m notoriously awkward in interviews. Jasmine has tried to coach me, but I get very tense.”

“I hope that having me there helps. But either way, we’ll get through it. And if you want to leave early, I’ll give everyone the impression that it’s my fault because I can’t wait to have you all to myself.”

The images that came to mind heated her skin all over again. So much so, she needed to pull her feet out of the hot water.

“How generous of you,” she observed, feeling tongue-tied already but for a very different reason.

“I do what I can.” The smile in his voice came right through the call. “So can I ask what you plan on wearing?”

A playful tone from him? Now, wasn’t that a surprise. Smiling, she glanced out of the bathroom and into her bedroom, eyeing her closet where she had exactly nothing appropriate.

While her father would have loved to write her monthly checks or set up a trust fund for his sole heir, she’d resisted all of his efforts to share his wealth with her in any way. Her mother had always blamed him for his refusal to focus on the things that really mattered in life. Like love. Family. Art. All the things that mattered most to Sofia.

She would do without a dress.

“Something stunning,” she told Quinn finally, wondering if she could get something on loan from the costume department.

“Something sexy?” He pressed and she heard his smile through the phone.

“Extremely,” she said, forgetting that she was supposed to keep herself in check around him.

Chuckling, his voice was low like a whispered promise. “I look forward to seeing every sexy inch of you on Friday.”

And before she could close her gaping jaw, he’d hung up.

* * *

Quinn stepped from the limo outside Sofia’s apartment building shortly before seven on the night of the reception for her big-deal choreographer.

He hit the call button near the door and waited to be buzzed in before heading inside and taking the elevator to her floor. They’d spoken by phone the last two nights and their conversations had allowed him to get closer to Sofia without the in-person surge of attraction getting in the way. She seemed more at ease on the phone, as if she needed that cerebral connection before she’d allow herself to admit the physical chemistry that had been apparent to him since the first moment he’d seen her.

He’d even talked her into letting him send her a gown for tonight, a feat it had taken him a lot of effort to pull off. He’d only gotten his way by arguing that it would make their engagement more believable. He would absolutely want his fiancée to appear at such an important event for her career in an unforgettable, one-of-a-kind dress. Especially since this would be their first formal public outing as an engaged couple.

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.”