The Magnate's Mail-Order Bride. Joanne RockЧитать онлайн книгу.
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 text 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