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

Damn, he was getting downright sentimental. He needed air. Bracing, cold air.

Leaving her apartment behind—thank God the elevator was crowded to keep him in check—he offered his arm and was glad she took it as they walked toward the vestibule. As a dancer used to working on her toes, she must be comfortable in the sky-high silver heels he glimpsed beneath the dress hem as she walked. But with damp spots on the hall floor from the snow tracked indoors, it helped that she could hold on to him for support.

Once they were inside the limo and headed uptown to the gala venue, Sofia placed a hand on her chest.

“Can I just tell you I’m a nervous wreck?”

“Just remember, you’re a professional at the top of her career about to impress a choreographer who is probably already very eager to work with you.” Quinn had read up on Idris Fortier over the course of the week, as well as the dance world’s frenzied reaction to his New York arrival.

“You don’t know that. Some of my reviews are solid.” She spoke quickly, settling her purse beside her as they stopped at a red light. “But I have received plenty of harsh criticism, too, and I know my own shortcomings, so Fortier might decide—”

“I read your reviews, Sofia. They’re more than solid.” He wanted to halt her before she strayed too far down that road of what-ifs and worry. “Some say you favor technique over artistry, the sport of it over the dancing, and you don’t trust your partners enough.” He’d scoured the praise and the criticism in an effort to understand her more, to be closer to her. “But I compared your reviews to the rest of the stars in the company, and I don’t see anyone who comes away more favorably. In fact, critics agree you are the most exciting talent to work here in years. If I can glean that as a novice, an insider like Fortier will be well aware of you.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” She wound one of the long, loose feathers of her skirt around her finger where the cape had fallen away. He noticed how her nails were polished a clear pink, and her engagement ring was practically glowing in the limo’s dome lighting.

But her movements suggested she was more than a little nervous.

“May I make a suggestion?” He covered her hand where she’d gently destroyed the single feather, breaking his own rule about not touching her in private.

“I don’t suppose it could hurt.” The tension in her body was so obvious she practically vibrated with it. “What is it?”

“Considering that you’re visibly anxious about tonight...” he began. But before he could propose the idea, she made a small sound of distress. Uncrossing and re-crossing her legs in the opposite direction, her foot nudged his calf and then began to jitter.

“Oh, God.” She swallowed hard. “I will get it together. Even though there is so much riding on making a good impression—”

“Listen. We make a good team. Remember how easily we ran off the journalists from Dance magazine at the airport? I know your goals tonight and I’m good at things like this. Follow my lead and you’ll be fine.” He twined his fingers through hers, hoping to impart some calm, not just because he wanted to touch her.

“You think I can after reading how I don’t trust a partner?” she asked dryly. “I’ve gotten dropped on several occasions. It doesn’t inspire confidence.”

Sofia’s forced smile and raised brow struck him. He needed to assure her that he wasn’t one of those types of partners. He’d be there.

Pulling her gaze away from his, she stared out the window, eyes actively scanning the buildings and pedestrians on the sidewalk.

“I can imagine.” He smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand, liking the feel of her skin and the way his touch relaxed her. He could sense some of the tension leaking away as her musky vanilla perfume seemed to invite him closer. “But I would never let you fall.”

“Well. Thank you.” Her gaze fell to their locked fingers, as if she were surprised to see the way they were connected. “I will admit that I could use a steadying presence tonight.”

A car horn blared outside and a faint crescendo of sirens filled the air. Oh, New York.

“Good. Now, about my suggestion.” He traced the outline of her engagement ring with his finger, extraordinarily aware of her calf still grazing his knee. “It might help if you allowed me to distract you.”

“Distract me?” She arched an eyebrow at him, skeptical but no longer nervous. Her jittering foot came to a rest.

If anything, the sudden stillness of her body suggested she just might be intrigued.

“It’s completely up to you.” He wanted nothing so much as to gather her up and settle her on top of him. But he had a plan and he would take his time. Let her get used to the idea of enjoying every moment of their time together. “But we could rechannel all that nervous energy. Give it a different physical outlet.”

Her jaw dropped.

“I am not the kind of woman who has sex in a limousine,” she informed him, not looking quite as scandalized as she might have.

He, on the other hand, was plenty surprised her mind had gone there.

“Well, damn. That’s an incredible thought, but I wasn’t suggesting we take things that far. You look too beautiful to mess up before your big night, Sofia.”

“Then be more clear,” she snapped, her cheeks pink and her eyes alight with new fire. “Because I have no idea what you mean.”

In a blink, he shifted positions, releasing her hand so he could bracket her shoulders between his arms, pinning her without touching her. He held her gaze, lowering himself closer until his chest came within inches of her breasts. Even with her dress and cape between them, he could see their gentle swell.

He spoke softly in her ear.

“Distraction.” He articulated it clearly so there would be no mistake. “I could kiss you somewhere that wouldn’t mess you up. A spot along the curve of your lovely neck, maybe.” His eyes wandered over her, assessing the possibilities. “Or beneath your hair.”

A shiver ran through her while his breath warmed the space between her skin and his mouth. Careful not to touch her, he let the idea take hold. If nothing else, he felt damn certain just this conversation would rewire her thoughts for a while, taking them off the choreographer she was so anxious to impress.

The notion satisfied him. A lot.

“That is a crazy idea,” she whispered back. “Letting you kiss me might give me more heart palpitations than I was having before.”

He wanted a taste of her. So. Badly.

“But the heart palpitations I could give you would be the pleasurable kind.” Dragging his attention off the rapid pulse at her throat, he heard her quick intake of breath, saw her eyelids flutter once. Twice.

“You are way too sure of yourself, Quinn McNeill.” Her hands lifted, hovering near his shoulders as if she debated touching him there.

He willed her palms closer.

“No. I’m sure of what’s between us even though you don’t want to acknowledge it.”

“We’re only pretending,” she insisted, her eyebrows furrowing as the limo slowed to another stop, jostling her closer to him. She braced her palms on his chest. Torture. Pure torture.

He hoped their destination was another hour away because he was locking that limo door if anyone tried to open it now.

“I only agreed to pretend because I was attracted to you to start with.” The words were out of his mouth. He couldn’t take them back, and what surprised him was he didn’t want to.

“What are you saying?” She shook her head, squinting as she tried to process. “Next month, this will be all over—”

“I know.” Gently he edged her wrap back and smoothed aside a few locks of silky hair that curled around her neck and rested against the fur-lined hood. “But until then, I want this.”

Pressing his lips to the curve of her shoulder, he soaked in the warmth and fragrance unique to this woman. Sweet and musky at the same time, her scent made him instantly hard. Not moving, he wanted to take his cue from her, only advancing this game as far as she’d let him.

When her hands finally landed on his shoulders, for a moment he thought she might push him away. Instead her fingers tunneled under his open coat, then farther inside his jacket, splaying out over his tuxedo shirt until he could feel the soft scrape of her short nails through the cotton.

The sensation raked over his senses, arousing a fierceness in him that had no place in a limo five minutes before a party. He opened his mouth to taste her, lick her, nip her. His chest grazed her breasts, her delicate curves arching hard against him as she pressed deeper into him.

Her response was everything he wanted, everything he could have hoped for, and the damn reception of hers was just a minute farther up the road. But his heart slammed in his chest in a victory dance, his body too caught up in the feel of hers to get the message that this was not the time to take all he wanted.

Damn. Damn.