The Magnate's Mail-Order Bride

by Joanne Rock

  Did she realize how many complications would arise if they continued this fictional engagement? He’d really thought she would jump at the chance to say she’d turned down his proposal. But then again, he couldn’t deny a surge of desire at the prospect of seeing her again.

  “I’m willing to continue with the appearance of an engagement if that’s simpler for you.” He wanted to right the mess Cameron had made. And this time, it wasn’t for Cameron’s sake.

  It was for Sofia’s.

  “It would be easier for me.” She twisted some of her windblown blond hair behind her ear and he noticed a string of five tiny pearls outlining the curve. “Just for three more weeks. A month, at most, until the rumor mill in my company settles down. I need to get through that important audition.”

  She glanced his way for the first time in miles and caught him staring.

  “Of course,” he agreed, mentally recalibrating his schedule to accommodate a woman in his life. He would damn well hand off the trip to Kiev to Cameron or Ian since Quinn would need to remain in New York. “In that case, maybe we should draw up a contract outlining the terms of the arrangement.”

  With Vitaly Koslov threatening to block his business in Eastern Europe, Quinn needed to handle this as carefully as he would any complicated foreign acquisition.

  “Is that wise?” Frowning, she withdrew a tin of mints from her leather satchel and fished a couple out, offering him one. “A paper trail makes it easier for someone to discover our secret.”

  He took a mint, his eye drawn to her mouth as her lips parted. He found himself thinking about that kiss again. The way she’d tasted like mint then, too. And how an engagement would lead to more opportunities to touch her. The idea of a fake fiancée didn’t feel like an imposition when he looked at it that way. Far from it.

  “Quinn?” Her head tipped sideways as she studied him, making him realize he’d never responded. “If you really think we need the protection of a legally binding contract—”

  “Not necessarily.” He should keep this light. Friendly. Functional. “But we’ll want to be sure both of our interests are protected and that we know what we’re getting into.”

  “A prenup for a false engagement.” She shook her head. “Only in New York.”

  “Your father will want to ensure your reputation emerges unscathed,” he reminded her.

  The limo driver hit the brakes suddenly, making them both lurch forward. On instinct, Quinn’s arm went out, restraining her. It was purely protective, until that moment when he became aware of his forearm pinned against her breasts, his hand anchored to her shoulder under the fall of silky hair.

  A soft flush stole over her cheeks as he released her and they each settled back against their respective seat cushions. The awkward moment and the unwelcome heat seemed to mock his need to put the terms of this relationship in writing.

  “That’s fine,” she agreed quickly, as if she couldn’t end the conversation fast enough. “If you want to draw up something, I will sign it and you can be sure I will not cause a fuss when we end the engagement.”

  She wrapped her mohair cape more tightly around her slight figure, the action only reminding him of her graceful curves and the way she’d felt against him.

  Damn. His body acted as though it’d been months since he’d been with a woman when...

  Now that he thought about it, maybe it had been that long since he’d ended a relationship with Portia, the real-estate developer who’d tried to sell him a Park Avenue penthouse. In the end, Quinn hadn’t been ready to leave the comfort of the Pierre, a hotel he’d called home for almost a decade. He hadn’t been ready for Portia, either, who’d been more interested in being a New York power couple than she had been in him.

  Somehow he’d avoided dating since then and that had been...last year. Hell. No wonder the slightest brush of bodies was making him twitchy. Gritting his teeth against the surge of hunger, he told himself to stay on track. Focused. To clean up his brother’s mess and move on.

  The sooner they got through the next month, the better.

  * * *

  Sofia breathed through the attraction the same way she’d exhale after a difficult turn. She ignored the swirl of distracting sensations, calling on a lifetime’s worth of discipline.

  She controlled her body, not the other way around. And she most definitely would not allow handsome Quinn McNeill to rattle her with his touch. Or with his well-timed kisses that were just for show, even if the one she’d experienced had felt real enough.

  With an effort, she steered him back toward their conversation, needing his captivating eyes to be on something besides her.

  “I’m curious about the plan you developed with my father. I’m certain it didn’t involve us being engaged.” She would rather know before her father contacted her. Her powerful parent would never stop interfering with her life, insisting he knew best on everything from which public relations firm should promote her career to hiring a matchmaker she didn’t want.

  They’d butted heads on everything since her mother had died of breast cancer during Sofia’s teens, ending her independence and putting her under the roof of a cold, controlling man. Until then, she and her mother had lived a bohemian lifestyle all over the US and Europe, her mom painting while she danced. When her mother died, she’d been too young to strike out alone and her father had been determined to win her over with his wealth and the opportunities it could afford.

  She’d wanted no part of it. Until he’d found that magic carrot—ballet school in St. Petersburg, Russia, an opportunity she truly couldn’t ignore. But she’d been paying for the privilege in so many ways since then, her debt never truly repaid.

  “He wanted me to write off Cam’s behavior as a private joke between old friends.” Quinn shifted conversational gears easily. “But I’m sure he’ll be glad that your preferences were considered.”

  “Vitaly has never concerned himself with my preferences.” She already dreaded the phone call from him she knew was coming. He would be angry with her, for certain. But she needed to remind him that he wasn’t the injured party here. “But he is not the only one affected by his decision to hire a matchmaker without my permission. I need to call him and demand he have that contract terminated immediately. I don’t want my photo and profile posted anywhere else.”

  “Would you like me to tell him?” Quinn asked. She must have appeared surprised because he quickly added, “I don’t mean to overstep. But he and I have unfinished business and I plan to find out exactly where Cameron found your profile. I’m not sure who is at fault for the miscommunication between your matchmaker and his, but I plan to look into it as a matter of legal protection for McNeill Resorts since your father threatened to sue at one point.”

  Sofia sighed. “I’m ninety percent sure that was just blustering, but I honestly don’t blame you. And since I’d rather not speak to my father when I’m so upset with him, I’d actually be grateful if you would handle it.”

  It was a sad commentary on her relationship with her father that, while she hardly knew Quinn, she was already certain he would deal with her dad more effectively.

  “Consider it done. And for what it’s worth, he seemed to care a great deal about you when I spoke with him.” Quinn said the words carefully. Diplomatically. No wonder Cameron relied on him to take care of sticky situations. “But I’m most concerned about your expectations going forward.” He narrowed his gaze as he turned back toward her. “For instance, how often we need to be seen together in public. If we’re going to do this, we’ll need to coordinate dates and times.”

  “Really?” She was too tired and overwhelmed by the events of the evening to maintain the pragmatic approach now that it was just the two of them. “Although it’s been a while since I dated, I’m sure that we managed to schedule outings without a lot of preplanning. Why don’t I just t
ext you tomorrow?”

  His short bark of laughter surprised her as the limo descended into the Lincoln Tunnel toward Manhattan. Shadows crossed his face in quick succession in spite of the tinted windows.

  “Fair enough. But maybe we could find a time to speak tomorrow. I’d like to be sure we agree on a story about how we met since you’ll be talking to the media.”

  A stress headache threatened just from thinking about how carefully she would have to walk through that minefield, but damn it, she’d worked too hard to land that feature in Dance magazine to allow her pretend love life to steal all the spotlight.

  “I have a rehearsal tomorrow at ten and I’ll be jet-lagged and foggy-headed before that.” She could barely think straight now to hammer out the details. “What if I just avoid reporters until we speak later in the day?”

  Tomorrow’s challenges would be difficult enough. She couldn’t believe she’d also offered for Dance magazine to film her private audition with Idris Fortier the following week. She would be stressed enough that day without having her mistakes captured on video.

  “This news might travel fast.” He frowned, clearly disliking the idea of waiting. “But I understand about jet lag making conversation counterproductive in the morning. Can I pick you up after rehearsal then?”

  His voice slid past her defenses for a moment; the question was the kind of thing a lover might ask her. Was it certifiable to spend so much time with him this month? He was the antithesis of the kind of men she normally dated—artists and bohemians who moved in vastly different worlds from the Koslov family dynasty. Quinn, on the other hand, was the kind of polished, powerful captain of industry who liked to rule the world according to his whim. The tendency was apparent from the moment he’d strode into her personal drama today and quietly taken over.

  His assistance had been valuable, without question. But would she regret letting herself get close to a man like that? Especially one with such unexpected appeal?

  “After rehearsal will work.” She steadied herself as the limo driver jammed on the gas, trying to make some headway down Fifth Avenue despite the rush-hour traffic. “I’ll be done by four. Do you know where the theater is?”

  “Of course.” He shifted his long legs in front of him, his open overcoat brushing her thigh when he moved. “Is there a side door? Somewhere to make a more discreet exit?”

  She crossed her legs, shifting away from him.

  “Good idea. There’s a coffee shop on Columbus Avenue.” She checked the address on her phone and shared it with him as the car finally turned down Ninth Street in the East Village where she lived. Her phone continued to vibrate every few minutes, reminding her that the whole world would have questions for her in the morning.

  “Do you live alone?” he asked as the car rolled to a stop outside her building.

  The question shouldn’t surprise her since the neighborhood wasn’t the kind of place where hedge fund managers made their home. Her father hated this place, routinely trying to entice her into rooms at the Plaza or a swank Park Avenue place.

  “Yes.” Her spine straightened as if she was standing in front of the ballet barre. “I love it here.”

  He got out of the car to walk her to the door while the driver retrieved her bag. In the time it took her to find her keys in her purse, two older men stumbled out of a local bar, boisterous and loud. She noticed that Quinn kept an eye on them until they passed the entrance to her building.

  “Thanks for the ride.” She opened the front door and stood in the entryway, very ready to dive into bed.

  Alone, obviously. Although the thought of diving into bed with Quinn sent a warm wave of sexual interest through her.

  “I’m walking you to your apartment door,” he insisted, eyes still scanning the street out front that was filled with more bars than residences.

  Too weary to argue, she gave a clipped nod and led the way through the darkened corridor toward the elevator. She was vaguely aware that he had taken her bags from the limo driver and was carrying them for her. A few moments later, arriving at apartment 5C, Quinn stepped inside long enough to settle her luggage in the narrow foyer. Strange how much smaller her apartment seemed with him in it. She watched as his blue gaze ran over the row of pendant lamps illuminating the dark hardwood floor and white grass-cloth walls covered with dozens of snapshots of ballet performances and backstage photos.

  Maybe it was a sudden moment of self-consciousness that made her grab her cell phone when it vibrated again for what seemed like the tenth time in as many minutes. Checking the screen, she realized the incoming texts weren’t from curious colleagues or her father.

  Half were from the publicity firm she’d hired. The other half were from the ballet mistress. A quick scan of the content told her they were all concerned about the same thing—social media speculation had suggested she wasn’t serious about the Fortier ballet and was focusing on her personal life. She felt her muscles tighten and tense as if she were reading a review of a subpar performance, the stress twisting along her shoulders and squeezing her temples.

  “Is everything all right?” Quinn’s voice seemed distant compared to the imagined shout of the all-caps text messages.

  “You were right. News of our engagement traveled quickly.” Swallowing hard, she set the phone on an antique cabinet near the door. “My publicist urged me to wear an engagement band tomorrow to forestall questions until she writes the press release.” Anger blazed through her in a fresh wave, shaking her out of her exhaustion. “It is a sad statement on my achievements that a lifetime of hard work is overshadowed by a rich man’s proposal.”

  She wrenched off her scarf and fumbled with the buttons on her cape, anger making her movements stiff.

  “It’s because of your achievements that anyone is interested in your private life,” Quinn reminded her quietly, reaching for the oversize buttons and freeing them.

  She might have protested his sudden nearness, but in an instant he was already behind her, lifting the mohair garment from her shoulders to hang it on the wrought-iron coatrack.

  “It still isn’t fair,” she fumed, although she could feel some of her anger leaking away as Quinn’s words sank into her agitated mind. He had a point. A surprisingly thoughtful one. “No man would ever be badgered to wear a wedding ring to quiet his colleagues about his romantic status.”

  “No.” He dug into his coat pocket and took out the small, dark box that had caused such havoc at Teterboro. “But since you’ve been put in a tremendously awkward position, maybe we should see what Cameron had in mind for his proposal.”

  He held out the box. The absurdity of the night struck her again as she stared at it. Who would have suspected when she boarded her plane in Kiev so many hours ago that she would be negotiating terms of an engagement with a total stranger in her apartment before bedtime?

  “Why not? It’s not like I’m going to be able to sleep now with all this to worry me.” Shrugging, she backed deeper into her apartment, flipping on a metal floor lamp arching over the black leather sofa. “Come in, if you like. I haven’t been home in three weeks so it feels nice to see my own things. I’m glad to be home even if it has been a crazy day.”

  She gestured toward the couch, taking a seat on the vintage steamer trunk that served as a coffee table.

  “Only for a minute.” He didn’t remove his coat, but he did drop down onto the black leather seat. “I know you must be ready for bed.” Their eyes connected for the briefest of moments before he glanced back at the ring box. “But let’s take a look.”

  He levered open the black-velvet top to reveal a ring that took her breath away.

  Quinn whistled softly. “You’re sure you never met my brother before today?”

  “Positive.” Her hand reached for the ring without her permission, the emerald-cut diamond glowing like a crystal ball lit from wi
thin. A halo of small diamonds surrounded the central one, and the double band glittered with still more of them. “It can’t possibly be real with so many diamonds. Although it looks like platinum.”

  “It is platinum.” He sounded certain. “My brother goes all-in when he makes a statement.” Gently he pried the ring from the box. “And given how much trouble his statement caused you today, I think it’s only fair you wear it tomorrow.”

  Dropping the box onto the couch cushion, he held the ring in one hand and took her palm in the other. The shock of his warm fingers on her skin caught her off guard.

  “I can’t wear that.” She sat across from him, their knees bumping while his thumb rested in the center of her palm.

  Awareness sparked deep inside her, a light, leaping feeling like a perfectly executed cabriolé jump. Her heart beat faster.

  A slow smile stretched across Quinn’s face, transforming his features from ruggedly handsome to swoon-worthy.

  “We agreed on an engagement. Don’t you think it makes more sense to use the ring we have than to go shopping for a new one?”

  The insinuation that she was being impractical helped her to see past that dazzling smile.

  “I never would have guessed your brother would spend a small fortune on a ring for a woman he never met.” She edged out of his grip. “I thought he was a romantic, not completely certifiable.”

  Quinn’s smile faded. “I assure you, Cameron is neither.” He set the ring on the steamer trunk beside her. “I’ll let you decide whether or not to wear it in the morning. And in the meantime, I’d better let you get some rest.”

  He rose to his feet, leaving a priceless piece of jewelry balanced on last month’s Vogue.

  “Quinn.” She stood to follow him to the door then reached back to grab the ring so she could return it. “Please. I don’t feel right keeping this here.”

  He turned to face her as he reached the door, but made no move to take the glittering ring.