The Magnate's Mail-Order Bride

by Joanne Rock

  “Jasmine does seem determined to package your career—and you—in the best possible way.”

  “She’s a good friend and an equally awesome public relations manager.”

  “And this reception she wants us to attend. That’s for the choreographer you mentioned who’s putting together the new ballet.” He’d read about the guy a good bit last night. “The media can’t use enough superlatives about him gracing New York with his presence.” It had been a bit much in Quinn’s mind, but then, he was far from an expert.

  “You have been doing your research.” She rewarded him with an approving smile that renewed the urge to kiss her.

  But he also liked finding out more about her that would help him get closer to her. He would wait.

  “This is a dress rehearsal for me, too, Sofia.” He watched a few kids try to shake a radio-controlled helicopter down from some tree limbs; they were attracting an audience. “I’m trying to get my part down.”

  “You’re doing well. If you were one of my students, you’d be promoted to the next level.”

  “You teach?” He paused on the outskirts of the crowd.

  “A lot of the dancers do.” Sofia’s gaze went up to the helicopter and the kids shaking any branches of the old oak they could reach. “It’s a way to pick up some extra income and give back to the company. The School of American Ballet is like our farm system...it feeds the City Ballet.”

  “Give me one second.” He hated to interrupt her, but he also couldn’t let the kids kill a tree that—for all he knew—could predate the damn park itself. He set down Sofia’s bag and grabbed a football at one of the boys’ feet as he strode into the group. “Guys, back up a minute.”

  The group did as he asked, a few calling out taunts that he’d never be able to reach the branch where the helicopter teetered. Which he welcomed, of course, since the ribbing only ensured that he’d throw twice as hard. He’d grown up with brothers, after all. He spoke the language.

  “I get three shots,” he insisted. “Only because I haven’t warmed up my arm.”

  “I’ll give you six, old man,” shouted a wiry redhead who seemed to be the ringleader. “That thing is straight-up stuck.”

  Old?

  Quinn told himself that he was only interested in saving the tree, but with a beautiful woman he wanted to impress watching from the sidelines, there was a chance he was fueled by another motivation altogether. Far from old...he was acting like a damn kid.

  Backing up a step to adjust his aim, he cocked his arm and let the football fly.

  Like in an ESPN highlight reel, the thing connected with the toy helicopter on the first try, earning cheers of admiration. And, because it had been so high up, the kids had time to run underneath the tree where the mouthy redhead caught it, scoring some of the victory for himself.

  “Sorry about that.” Quinn jogged back to Sofia, who stood on the path under a halo of light from a cast-iron street lamp. He grabbed her bag and hitched it higher on his shoulder.

  With her hooded cape and the snow falling all around her, she looked like some exotic character from one of her ballets. A Russian princess, maybe.

  “You appeared to have performed that trick a few times before,” she observed.

  “With two brothers? Of course. We got plenty of things caught in trees as kids. Kites were the worst to get down. By comparison, the helicopter was a piece of cake.” His warm breath lingered in the cool air, making it seem as though his words hung in the space between them. A gust of wind sent a slight chill through him. Glancing at Sofia, he noticed her hair was still wet.

  “I can’t imagine what it would be like to have siblings.” The loneliness in her words was evident.

  “Your bio doesn’t say much about your family.” He knew because he’d scoured it for details about her.

  “In the past, I tried to keep my personal life and work life separate. Not that I have a lot of personal life to speak about.” She stared up at Tavern on the Green as they passed. The restaurant looked sort of otherworldly in the snowfall with the trees and white lights all around. “But my mother died when I was thirteen and I am not close with my father.”

  “I’m sorry about your mother.” He took her hand for the dash across West Drive before they reached quieter roads through the middle of the park. “That must have been a really difficult age to lose a parent.”

  He didn’t let go of her hand since her fingers were chilled. And because he wanted to touch her. Besides, they would be in the public eye again soon enough, where they would have to sell themselves as a loving couple.

  As if she understood his motivations, she leaned into him and the spicy smell of her currant perfume wafted up to him. Hooking her arm through his, she drew closer.

  “I was devastated. All the more so because my mother hated my father, which meant I hated him, too. Then, suddenly, after her death I was left with him.” Sofia pushed off her hood as they reached denser growth that limited how much snow fell on them. Maybe she’d just been looking for a reason to untwine their fingers. “To this day, I don’t know what drew the two of them together since he represented everything she despised. She called the privileged wealthy a ‘soulless culture.’”

  “What about you?” Quinn wondered where that left him in her world view. “Do you agree with your mother?”

  “Wait.” She turned around to look at the path they’d just traveled, tugging on his arm so they stood off the walkway to one side. “Let’s stop for a second and take it in.”

  She didn’t have to explain what she meant. This part of the park was beautiful on any given day. But in a fresh snowfall, with the Tavern on the Green glowing from within and the tree trunks and branches draped in white lights, the view was like no other in the city. The snow dulled the sounds from the streets nearby, quieting rush hour to white noise.

  Standing with Sofia at his side made it all the more appealing. The glow of the white lights reflected on her face.

  “Beautiful.” His assessment, while simple, was heartfelt.

  “But you know what my mother taught me about beauty?” Sofia asked, a mischievous light in her liquid silver eyes. “It is not a matter of just looking beautiful. It should surround us.” She held her hand out, palm up to catch snowflakes. “Feel special.” Inhaling deeply, she smiled with her eyes closed. “Have a unique scent when you breathe it in. And if you can catch it on your tongue, the taste will be beautiful, too.”

  He watched, transfixed, as this aloof and disciplined dancer stuck her tongue out and tipped her head to the sky.

  Another time, he might have laughed at her antics. But she seemed lost in a happy childhood memory, and he didn’t want to spoil it. Reaching for her hand full of snowflakes, he warmed her palm with his and peered upward through the white branches at the hint of stars beyond.

  “You’re right.” He felt the beauty around him, that much was certain. But it had more to do with the slide of her damp fingers between his. With the tattoo of the pulse at her wrist that he felt on his palm.

  “Did you catch one?” She lowered her chin to meet his gaze, her eyes still alight with a glow of happiness.

  But she must have seen another expression reflected in his face because her smile faded.

  “No.” He reached for her jaw to thumb a snowflake from her creamy cheek, her skin impossibly soft to the touch. Capturing her chin in his hand, he angled her lips for a taste. “But I’m about to.”

  Six

  Transported by the snow, the city and the man, Sofia hadn’t been expecting the kiss, and maybe it was her total lack of defenses that let her feel the pleasure of it. She delighted in the warm pressure of his mouth in contrast to such a cold day. The soft abrasion of his chin where the new of growth of whiskers rubbed over her tender skin oversensitive from the wind. The gentle way he touched her face to
steer her where he wanted, to better delve between her lips.

  Answering his demand by stepping closer, craving the warmth of the man, Sofia lost herself.

  Quinn’s kiss was the second act of Swan Lake. Or maybe Giselle. Or maybe it was every romantic moment she’d ever danced and never felt deeply until this moment. She squeezed his hand where he’d entwined their fingers, enjoying the way her body fit against him. They weren’t like two dancers with bodies that complemented one another. But like a man possessing a woman, lending her his strength so she didn’t have to draw from her own.

  It was a moment of heaven.

  When he slowly pulled away from her and she felt the snowflakes fall on her skin again now that he did not completely shelter her, the cool ping of the tiny drops urged her out of her romantic swoon. And no doubt about it, she stood in Central Park swooning on her feet for a man she’d met the day before.

  “Quinn, we have a lot of work we should be doing.” She blurted the words with no segue and zero grace. “If we want to get that press release out on time, that is.”

  Untangling her fingers from his, she brushed by him to continue walking...east? Her brain scrambled to regain thought. Yes, east. What on earth had gotten into her? Had that kiss been part of the role he seemed determined to play for her? Or had he truly felt inspired to kiss her?

  “You’re right.” Quinn didn’t need to walk fast to keep up with her as she practically jogged through the park. His longer strides ate up the ground easily. As he glanced at her, the light reflected devilishly in his eyes. “But I want you to know I liked kissing you, Sofia. Very much. There’s no reason we shouldn’t enjoy ourselves over the next few weeks.”

  Sharp, cold air entered her lungs. “Just because we are within easy reach doesn’t mean we should automatically start touching.” She didn’t want to be a convenient outlet for him. “But what’s our story for how we met or when we met?”

  “I was introduced to your father at the Met Gala. Were you there with him?”

  “Of course not. Do you have any idea what a ticket costs to that event?” At moments like this she could understand how her mother might have come to believe the wealthy were living in a different universe from regular people. The Met Gala was so far beyond her price range it was laughable.

  “Actually, no.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his overcoat, his profile in shadow as they walked. “I was on the guest list because I made a donation to the museum.”

  Right. Which meant he’d paid more than the ticket price that was almost half her annual salary. Like her father, Quinn belonged to a world of wealth and unreality. A world she had purposely avoided.

  “Suffice it to say, we didn’t meet there.” She wished she’d worn warmer clothes for their walk. Her knees were feeling the effects of the cold.

  “What if we say we met here? In the park? We bonded over rescuing a kid’s toy stuck in a tree last spring.” As a bicyclist churned through the growing snow cover, Quinn slid a protective arm around her, his hand an enticing warmth through her cape before his touch fell away again. “At least we don’t have to make up something fictional. We base it on today, but say it happened when I was walking home one evening and you were taking a break in the park.”

  “That could work.” She nodded, locking down the time frame in her mind and trying to envision today’s scene in a different season. “Although I would never give a stranger I met in the park my contact information.”

  “Maybe I started taking that route home every day, hoping to see you. Two weeks later, bingo. There you were again. We fell in love over the next few months, and that should be all we need to fill out Jasmine’s press release.” He slowed as they passed Central Park Zoo and headed toward Fifth Avenue. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course,” she answered automatically. “Why?”

  “You’re limping.”

  “No I’m not.” She couldn’t be. Refused to be. She excelled at hiding injuries on stage. Perhaps she just didn’t give much thought to her gait in her private time. “Just hurrying to get home.”

  She couldn’t read his expression in the dark.

  “I should have insisted on a car. We’re almost there.”

  “I’m fine. And if you can point me to the closest subway station? I thought there was one on Fifth?”

  “Come inside and warm up first. I’ll drive you home.”

  “That’s not necessary. As you pointed out, we have enough for the press release. I’ll send it over to Jasmine when I get home.”

  “We haven’t firmed up plans for the Fortier reception.” As they emerged from the park, he crossed Fifth Avenue at East Sixty-First. “Besides, my building is right here. I can send out that release for you, and I’ll call you a car afterward.” He stopped outside the Pierre.

  He lived in the hotel?

  Of course he did. It was a gracious, old New York address with five-star service. The small part of her that was still her father’s daughter could already envision the kind of food room service provided here.

  “Sofia.” Quinn lowered his voice as they stood under the awning in front of the building. “We’re committed to this course now. Let’s be sure we deliver a believable performance.”

  “Believable because we show up for all of those public appearances as a couple?” She lowered her voice even more in deference to the doorman who was pulling open a cab door for a newcomer. “Or believable because we’re kissing in our spare time?”

  Quinn seemed to weigh the idea carefully. “If you truly think that the kiss was a bad idea, we’ll make sure all future displays of affection are strictly for show and limit them to the public sphere.”

  She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved. Maybe a little of both.

  “That might help.” At least then she’d be prepared before he kissed her again. She’d have her guard up. Her body would receive a warning before he stoked it to life with a mere flick of his tongue. “Thank you.”

  “Will you come inside, then? We can have dinner sent up while we fill in the blanks for Jasmine and send out the statement.” Quinn had been both patient and reasonable.

  Of course, he was only doing any of this for the sake of his business concerns, protecting the McNeill interests from the threats her father had made at the airport last night. She needed to remember that, even if his kisses told a different story. Quinn was simply more experienced. Worldly. Maybe even jaded. Some people could kiss solely for passion’s sake, not love, but she’d never been that kind of woman.

  Or so she thought. Maybe she’d just never met a man she could truly feel passionate about? Unlike her friends, she’d never been a boy-crazy teenager. Her attention and love had always belonged to the stage.

  “Okay,” she agreed, the chill in her bones making the decision for her, damn it. Or maybe it was the promise of something more delicious than the banana and crackers that awaited her at home.

  It wasn’t Quinn’s fault she was far more attracted to him than she’d ever been to any man. Deep in thought as they entered the hotel, they rode a private, key-operated elevator to his floor. Even the elevator was opulent, inlaid with gold, and the deep rich scarlet carpet showed no signs of wear. The doors swished opened into a large foyer and a view through the living room to Central Park.

  The apartment took up an entire floor.

  She should have guessed from the engagement ring she still wore that he would live this way. His family owned a resort chain, while he himself managed a hedge fund. Exactly the kind of man she would have never envisioned herself with. But in spite of the multimillion-dollar views, his apartment was decorated with tasteful restraint. Coffee-toned walls were a warm backdrop for sleek, gray furnishings punctuated with some rust-colored accents—a vase, matched roman shades that covered the top third of the huge windows. Comfortable and attractiv
e, the room pulled her forward as Quinn switched on the fireplace and put in a call to the hotel’s kitchen.

  An hour later, picking over the remains of her chicken fricassee while seated on a giant leather couch that wrapped around a corner of Quinn’s apartment, Sofia had to admit she felt glad to be there. The snow had stopped outside the living room windows, but peering down into the park with all the street lamps lit was sort of like looking into a dollhouse with hundreds of different tiny rooms. He was putting the finishing touches on the press release on his laptop. A fire crackled in the fireplace, warming her feet and knees, and she’d even accepted a throw blanket made of the softest cashmere ever.

  With silent apologies to her mother, Sofia decided that no one truly soulless would help a scrappy thirteen-year-old retrieve a toy. Or help Sofia carry off a mad scheme to pretend to have a fiancé. Quinn was an exception to her mother’s rule about rich people.

  “Just confirming...when did we know we were in love?” Quinn had taken the easy chair diagonally across from her, maintaining a professional amount of space between them.

  “How about when you ordered the chicken fricassee for me?” she offered, trying to stick to the truth the way he’d showed her earlier.

  “No one could blame you for being wooed by the food here.” He quit typing and peered over at her in the firelight.

  They hadn’t put any other lights on in this room, although there was a glow from the kitchen. Sofia had been enjoying looking outside and the view was easier to appreciate with less light behind her.

  “Dancers are perpetually starving,” she admitted. “So I’m more susceptible than most to good food.”

  “Why are you always starving?” Quinn set aside the laptop long enough to clear their plates and set the dishes on a serving cart that had been delivered half an hour ago.