The Magnate's Mail-Order Bride. Joanne RockЧитать онлайн книгу.
Resorts upon marriage, with the share reverting to the estate if the marriage ended sooner than twelve months.
Out of overinflated loyalty, Cameron seemed ready to tie the knot with a woman, sight-unseen, after choosing her from a matchmaker’s lineup of foreign women eager to wed. Either that, or he was hoping a ludicrous trip to the altar would make their grandfather realize what a bad idea this was and prompt him to call the whole thing off.
It had always been tough to tell with Cam. For Quinn’s part, he was content to take a wait-and-see approach and hope their grandfather changed his mind. The old man was still in good health. And he’d conveniently booked a trip to China after the meeting in his lawyer’s office, making it next to impossible to argue with him for at least a few more weeks.
“Cam, look at it this way. If it’s so important to Gramps that the company remain in family hands, he wouldn’t have attached this new stipulation.” Quinn ignored the phone vibrating in his pocket as he tried to convince his brother of the point.
“Gramps won’t live forever.” Cameron raised his voice as a jet took off overhead. “That will might be ludicrous, but it’s still a legal document. I don’t want the company to end up on the auction block for some investor to swoop in and divvy up the assets.”
“Neither do I.” Quinn’s coattails flapped in the gust of air from the nearby takeoff. “But I’d rather try to convince the stubborn old man that forcing marriage down our throats might backfire and create more instability in the company than anything.”
“Who says my marriage won’t be stable? I might be on to something, letting a matchmaker choose my bride. It’s not like I’ve had any luck finding Ms. Right on my own.”
Cameron had a reputation as a playboy, a cheerful charmer who wined and dined some of the world’s most beautiful women.
Quinn shook his head. “Since when have you tried looking for meaningful relationships?”
“I don’t want someone who is playing an angle.” Cameron scowled. “I meet too many women more interested in seeing what I can do for them.”
“This girl could be doing the same thing. Maybe you’re her ticket to permanent residence in the United States.” Shouldering his way through a small group of businessmen who emerged from the terminal building stumbling and laughing, Quinn opened the door and held it for his brother. “How much do you know about your bride? You’ve never even spoken to this woman. Does she even speak English?”
Where the hell was their master negotiator brother, Ian, for conversations like this? Quinn needed backup and the reasonable voice of the middle son who had always mediated the vastly different perspectives Cameron and Quinn held. But Ian was in meetings all day, leaving Quinn to talk his brother out of his modern-day, mail-order bride scheme.
All around him, the airport seethed with activity as flights landed and drivers rushed in to handle baggage for people who never paused in their cell phone conversations.
Cameron led them toward the customs area where international flights checked in at one of two counters.
“I know her name is Sofia and that she’s Ukrainian. Her file said she was marriage-minded, just like me.” Cam pulled out his phone and flashed the screen under Quinn’s nose. “That’s her.”
A picture of a beautiful woman filled the screen, her features reflecting the Eastern European ideal with high cheekbones and arched eyebrows that gave her a vaguely haughty look. With her bare shoulders and a wealth of beaded necklaces, however, the photo of the gray-eyed blonde bombshell had a distinctly professional quality.
Quinn felt as if he’d seen her somewhere before. A professional model, maybe?
“This is probably just a photo taken from a foreign magazine and passed off as her. Photography like that isn’t cheap. And did you pay for a private flight for this woman to come over here?” Not that it was his business how his brother spent his money. But damn.
Even for Cameron, that seemed excessive.
“Hell, no. She arranged her own flight. Or maybe the matchmaker did.” He shrugged as though it didn’t matter, but he’d obviously given this whole idea zero thought. Or thought about it only when he was angry with their grandfather. “Plus she’s Ukrainian.” He stressed the word for emphasis. “I figured she might be a help once you secure the Eastern European properties. Always nice to have someone close who speaks the language, and maybe Gramps will put me in charge of revamping the hotels once I’ve passed the marriage test.” He said this with a perfectly straight face.
He had to be joking. Any second now Cameron would say “to hell with this” and walk out. Or laugh and walk out. But he wasn’t going to greet some foreigner fresh off an international flight and propose.
Not even Cameron would go that far. Quinn put a hand on his brother’s chest, halting him for a second.
“Do not try to pass off this harebrained idea as practical in any way.” They shared a level gaze for a moment until Cameron pushed past, his focus on something outside on the tarmac.
Quinn’s gaze went toward a handful of travelers disembarking near the customs counter. One of the women seemed to have caught her scarf around the handrail of the air stairs.
“That might be her now.” Cameron’s eyes were on the woman, as well. “I wish I’d brought some flowers.” Pivoting, he jogged over to a counter decorated with a vase full of exotic blooms near the pilots’ club.
Vaguely, Quinn noticed Cameron charming the attendant into selling him a few of the purple orchids. But Quinn’s attention lingered on the woman who had just freed her pink printed scarf from the handrail. Although huge sunglasses covered half her face, with her blond hair and full, pouty lips, she resembled the woman in the photo. About twenty other people got off that same plane, a disproportionately high number of them young women.
Concern for his brother made him wary. The woman’s closest travel companion appeared to be a slick-looking guy old enough to be her father. The man held out a hand to help her descend the steps. She was waif-thin and something about the way she carried herself seemed very deliberate. Like she was a woman used to being the center of attention. Quinn was missing something here.
“She’s tiny.” Cameron had returned to Quinn’s side. “I didn’t think to ask how tall she was.”
Quinn’s brain worked fast as he tried to refit the pieces that didn’t add up. And to do it before the future Mrs. McNeill made it past the customs agent.
The other women in front of her sped through the declarations process.
“So who is supposed to introduce the two of you?” Quinn’s bad feeling increased by the second. “Your matchmaker set up a formal introduction, I hope?” He should be going over his notes for his own meeting overseas tonight, not worrying about who would introduce his foolish brother to a con artist waiting to play him.
But how many times had Cameron stirred up trouble with one impulsive decision or another then simply walked away when things got out of hand, leaving someone else to take care of damage control?
“No one.” Cameron shrugged. “She just texted me what time to meet the plane.” He wiped nonexistent lint off his collar and rearranged the flowers, a glint of grim determination in his eyes.
“Cam, don’t do this.” Quinn didn’t understand rash people. How could he logically argue against this proposal when no logic had gone into his brother’s decision in the first place? “At least figure out who she really is before you drag her to the nearest justice of the peace.” They both watched as the woman tugged off her sunglasses to speak with the customs agent, her older travel companion still hovering protectively behind her.
“Sofia’s photo was real enough, though. She’s a knockout.” Cameron’s assessment sounded as dispassionate and detached as if he’d been admiring a painting for one of the new hotels.
Quinn, on the other hand,