Joanne Rock - What The Magnate Wants - The Magnate's Mail-Order Bride / The Magnate's Marriage Merger / His Accidental Heir

“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. Following 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.