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

She gasped when he traced the outline of her rib cage through her dress. Her breasts swelled and ached as his fingers skimmed over her neckline before dipping inside to tease each tight peak. A sizzling tremble ran rampant through her body. His blue eyes burned into hers when the elevator lurched to a halt and he stepped away.

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.