What The Magnate Wants: The Magnate's Mail-Order Bride / The Magnate's Marriage Merger / His Accidental Heir
“Dance with me,” he murmured in her ear, his nostrils flaring at the vanilla scent of her skin. It rose around him and heated his blood.
Her large gray eyes were hesitant, questioning as they swerved to his. He trailed his fingertips up her spine, feeling the sweet curve of her back through silk. “I am classically trained,” she murmured in a breathy rush. “The tango is a ballroom dance.”
“Then it will be a welcome chance for me to partner you on the floor.” He drew her toward the square parquet tiles near the musicians.
“Since when do hedge fund managers learn sexy Argentinian dances?” She was light on her feet as she backed into position, joining the handful of couples taking the floor.
“I must have known I’d need to impress a woman one day.” He tightened his grip on her, urging her closer as they entered the counterclockwise flow. Her lithe body moved gracefully against his, but this wasn’t a pretty dance. It was primal and raw.
She watched the other dancers long enough to gather her bearings, then turned her gaze back to him.
“You are full of surprises, Quinn McNeill.” For an aching moment her body cradled the growing hardness concealed by his tuxedo. Then she twisted her hips sideways and kicked her foot through the long slit up one side of her dress, shooting him a coquettish look from beneath the sweep of her long lashes.
At last he’d distracted her completely. She was no longer worried about the reporter, the choreographer or her career. All her focus was on him.
The throbbing notes of the violin wove with the cry of the bandoneon and echoed the seething heat she stirred inside him.
Before she could slip too far away, he hauled her close again then bent her backward. Her spine arched and her head dipped to the floor, exposing the creamy, satin skin of her elegant neck, the slender column of her body. Their hips brushed as they swayed and then he snapped her upright so that their mouths touched. They breathed each other in and their gazes tangled.
Tension whipped between them. His body grew taut; need and craving pounded through him. He felt the pressure of it all licking through his blood. When he stepped with his left foot, she followed, her limbs seeming to loosen and grow molten, her movements more languid. The arm curled around his neck singed his flesh and her fingers burrowed into his hair, her nails raking his skin.
He steered her expertly, felt her respond to the lightest of touches, the smallest pressure. She seemed to surrender to the dance, to him, as her eyes closed and she let him lead her the way he wanted to.
Yet just when she looked defenseless, a staccato rhythm seemed to break her trance and she whirled around him, improvising mouthwatering steps as he stood rigid, watching. Wanting. He couldn’t tear his eyes off her. She held his hand then shimmied lower, her body sinuous. She rose slowly. Out of nowhere, her lips curved into a tempting smile, her expression full of promise.
His mouth dried and his tongue swelled. They cross-stepped for several more beats and the world fell away. His senses narrowed, homing in on the beautiful woman who didn’t back down when he pushed forward, who stood her ground and stalked him as well until at last, they stood, foreheads pressed together, breaths coming in fits and starts as the tango ended.
“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.
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.
She lifted her hands to his shirt, flicking open the buttons and tugging the fabric from his pants. He must have loosened his tie and the top button earlier, because the knot slipped free easily, his shirt suddenly open to her questing hands.
He felt even better than she’d imagined, his bare skin simmering with heat. From the sprinkling of hair on his chest, she followed the lightly furred line down the center of his abs to his pants, but he reared up on his knees and stopped her, unfastening the buckle himself and lowering the zipper to her avid gaze.
Built like an athlete, he had the thighs and butt of a soccer player, his whole composition heavier than a dancer’s. Sturdier. Immovable. And yet he’d been light on his feet when he’d taken her around the floor in that surprising tango tonight. Proving he knew how to use all that muscle to enticing effect.
“I want you inside me.” She didn’t know she’d said the words aloud until her throat rasped on a harsh breath. Reaching to touch his hip, she followed the path of his boxers as they slid from his thighs.
“And I can’t wait to be there.” He stretched over her, his thigh parting hers as he gave her more of his weight.
Sofia sighed into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, molding her breasts to his chest and fitting her hips to his. He rolled them, as one, to the side of the bed where he tugged a box of condoms from a nightstand drawer. He left them there, a tangible assurance she would get what she wanted.
She cried out when he shifted against her, his thigh pressed at the juncture of hers where she ached for him. Where she wanted more of him. But in an instant, he replaced his thigh with his palm, his fingers playing lightly along the damp silk of her panties, now the only scrap of clothing between them.
Their gazes collided in the half light and the intensity of his expression quieted her hunger for a moment since she could see the same need in his eyes. He wanted her, too. Badly. But he must be holding back for the right moment, spinning out the beauty of the dance until act three instead of jumping straight to the climax.
Who would have thought she’d be the one desperate for more, faster, while Quinn took his time with every delicious sensation, burning this night into her memory—she knew—forever. So, closing her eyes, she gave herself over to him and his sure hands, allowing her mind to savor each shock of pleasure he ignited with his fingers. He pressed gently, testing what made her sigh and gasp, only sliding beneath the silk when she twisted her hips in a silent plea.
And, oh.
The slick glide of one blunt finger down the center of her set off one heady contraction after another, her body racked with spasms in a release that shook her to her toes. The waves of pleasure broke over her again and again.
Quinn whispered sweet words in her ear, beautiful encouragement she only became dimly aware of as she floated back from her brief trip to carnal oblivion.
“I can’t wait to taste you,” he breathed against her ear, the sensual promise alone almost sending her body into another orgasmic frenzy.
“I’m too new to this,” she reminded him. “That is, I’m not totally new to this, but it’s never been like this for me before.” She kissed his shoulder, her tongue tasting a hint of salt on his skin. “I might lose consciousness if I have much more pleasure in one night.”
He grinned, his male pride evident as he tightened his hold on her waist. “I don’t think that’s possible, but it could be an interesting experiment.”
“I think I’d rather be fully in control of my senses for all of this.” She roused herself to draw the arch of her foot up the back of his leg, gratified to see his smile slip, his pupils dilate. “You could take it easy on me this first time.”
“As long as there are more times.” Hooking a finger in her panties, he dragged them down and off, the action stirring a feather that must have fallen in the sheets from her discarded dress.
Quinn plucked it from the air, drawing it over her hip and up her rib cage, circling her breast. Sweet chills skipped along her nerve endings.
“There will be more times,” she promised, knowing this night had to mean something more than simple pleasure. Didn’t it?
Refusing to overthink it, telling herself that simple pleasure might be a very good thing, she helped herself to the box of condoms and withdrew a single packet.
Handing it to him, he set aside the feather and went to work ripping open the foil. She took the opportunity to kiss along his biceps, feeling the muscles flex against her lips as he moved. The raw power in his body fueled the fire in her.
When he positioned himself between her thighs, she bit her lip at the sensation of him right there, where she needed him most. Their eyes met. Held. He gripped her hips with one hand and tilted her chin toward him with the other.