Joanne Rock - What The Magnate Wants

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.