What The Magnate Wants. Joanne Rock

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      “That is kind of you, but definitely not necessary.” Still, she imagined what he would choose for her. What it would be like to slide on a garment handpicked by Quinn?

      “I’ll take you shopping anywhere you’d like.”

      She tried not to think about the beautiful things a man like Quinn McNeill could afford.

      “You are thoughtful, Quinn, but I can’t accept more gifts.” She felt guilty enough about wearing that massive diamond on her left hand, but he’d convinced her the ring was a necessity. “And I already have something in mind.” She didn’t mean for her voice to sound so clipped.

      “Are you nervous?” he pressed, the deep tones of his whiskey-rich voice warming her moist body.

      Her instincts kicked in; she could tell he was interested. He actually wanted to know.

      “A bit. I... I just...” Her voice trailed off. Social gatherings and big parties were not her thing. She disliked superficial small talk, preferring meatier conversations.

      Music.

      Dancing.

      “Yes?” he prompted.

      “I’m terrible at galas. And around large masses of humanity in general.”

      “Seriously?” Surprise colored his voice. “But you dance in front of large audiences.”

      “Yes, seriously. I have stage fright in social scenarios where I’m forced to talk. But when I’m on stage, ballet feels like poetry, like breath. It’s different. Completely different.” Chewing her lip, she felt a ball of anxiety begin to form.

      Deep breath.

      “Luckily for you, I’m quite the pro at these galas. I’ll be there to guide and help you, if you want to follow my lead, that is.”

      “If you can speak in coherent sentences, you’ll be one step ahead of me. I’m notoriously awkward in interviews. Jasmine has tried to coach me, but I get very tense.”

      “I hope that having me there helps. But either way, we’ll get through it. And if you want to leave early, I’ll give everyone the impression that it’s my fault because I can’t wait to have you all to myself.”

      The images that came to mind heated her skin all over again. So much so, she needed to pull her feet out of the hot water.

      “How generous of you,” she observed, feeling tongue-tied already but for a very different reason.

      “I do what I can.” The smile in his voice came right through the call. “So can I ask what you plan on wearing?”

      A playful tone from him? Now, wasn’t that a surprise. Smiling, she glanced out of the bathroom and into her bedroom, eyeing her closet where she had exactly nothing appropriate.

      While her father would have loved to write her monthly checks or set up a trust fund for his sole heir, she’d resisted all of his efforts to share his wealth with her in any way. Her mother had always blamed him for his refusal to focus on the things that really mattered in life. Like love. Family. Art. All the things that mattered most to Sofia.

      She would do without a dress.

      “Something stunning,” she told Quinn finally, wondering if she could get something on loan from the costume department.

      “Something sexy?” He pressed and she heard his smile through the phone.

      “Extremely,” she said, forgetting that she was supposed to keep herself in check around him.

      Chuckling, his voice was low like a whispered promise. “I look forward to seeing every sexy inch of you on Friday.”

      And before she could close her gaping jaw, he’d hung up.

      * * *

      Quinn stepped from the limo outside Sofia’s apartment building shortly before seven on the night of the reception for her big-deal choreographer.

      He hit the call button near the door and waited to be buzzed in before heading inside and taking the elevator to her floor. They’d spoken by phone the last two nights and their conversations had allowed him to get closer to Sofia without the in-person surge of attraction getting in the way. She seemed more at ease on the phone, as if she needed that cerebral connection before she’d allow herself to admit the physical chemistry that had been apparent to him since the first moment he’d seen her.

      He’d even talked her into letting him send her a gown for tonight, a feat it had taken him a lot of effort to pull off. He’d only gotten his way by arguing that it would make their engagement more believable. He would absolutely want his fiancée to appear at such an important event for her career in an unforgettable, one-of-a-kind dress. Especially since this would be their first formal public outing as an engaged couple.

      Now, as he rang the bell outside 5C, he mentally reviewed the game plan. Let the attraction build. Don’t rush her. But once they were in the spotlight and she needed to sell their relationship as a stable, happy union that wouldn’t detract from her dancing, he planned to deliver. She would be in his arms as often as possible to prove it.

      And he looked forward to that more than he’d anticipated any date in a long time. So much for the idea that all this was for show or to smooth over relations with her father. Quinn wasn’t going through with it just to ease those European deals and to save his brother from embarrassment.

      When the door opened, the sight of her hit him in his chest like a physical blow. Not because she was beautifully dressed, although she damn well looked incredible in her navy-silk gown with subtle, breezy feathers covering much of the skirt to the floor-length hem, her blond hair artfully arranged so it was half up and half down, the tendrils snaking along her neck. He would have been affected if she’d been in a T-shirt and shorts.

      He’d missed her. And that realization rocked him.

      “You look incredible, Sofia.” She looked like the woman he wanted more than any other. Her wide, smoke-colored eyes picked up hints of silver when she wore navy. Diamond roses glittered in her ears.

      “You clean up rather nicely yourself.” She reached to touch him, surprising the hell out of him in the best possible way, but in the end she merely rubbed the fabric of his tuxedo sleeve appreciatively. “That’s a gorgeous tux.”

      “Thanks,” he answered absently, his mind on stun at a simple brush of her fingers. He wanted her touching all the rest of him that way. But he breathed deep and stuck to the game plan.

      “Are you ready to go?” He stepped inside her apartment, following her while she retrieved a beaded purse.

      “Almost. I couldn’t get the hook at the top.” She presented him with her back. A soft scent like vanilla mingled with musk drifted up from her hair as he swept aside some of the blond tendrils to find the clasp.

      What was it about the nape of a woman’s neck that drove a man insane? The vulnerability of it? The trust in exposing it? Quinn wanted to lean closer and lick her there, kiss his way to the back of her ear and then down the column of her throat again.

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