What The Magnate Wants. Joanne Rock
to make that happen.
“Ballet is your passion.” Quinn let the word simmer between them for a long moment before returning his attention to the laptop. “And I think I know when we fell in love.”
He began typing.
“You do?” Her heartbeat stuttered in her chest. She forced herself to sit back down and resume normal conversation in spite of the nerve endings flickering to life all over her body.
Too late she realized she had sat closer to him than she’d been before. She told herself that was only so she could peer over his shoulder at whatever it was he was typing. She caught a hint of his male scent, something clean like soap or aftershave that made her want to breathe deeply.
“It was the first time I saw you dance.” His fingers paused on the keyboard, the sudden quiet seeming to underscore the moment and stirring to life a whole host of complicated feelings.
His words should not affect her this way. Especially since they were spinning tall tales for the media and not discussing anything remotely real.
“Name the performance. I’ll tell the whole world how your movements on the stage captured me. When I watched you dance, I saw how passion guides you and knew we were a match.”
“You toy with me,” she accused, scuttling back to her previous position on the couch. “Your words are like your kisses—all for show. But I find them confusing.”
“I’m not toying with you.” He passed her the laptop. “You should read this over.”
How could she concentrate on the words when her blood ran too hot and she kept imagining the way his eyes had followed her body while she danced?
“I’m sure it’s fine.” She set the laptop on the couch between them. “Jasmine will review it before she sends it out.”
“Sofia?” He moved the laptop to the coffee table, edging closer. “I don’t know how else to approach this to make you more comfortable. But you wanted to put on this show. I’m trying to help you.”
His voice, deep and masculine, sent a shiver through her.
“Thank you. But I would prefer if this remained a performance for the benefit of others. I don’t want to play at the game when we are alone.” She felt his nearness in the same way that she knew without looking where her dance partner would be at all times. Except that was practiced, a trick she’d learned through study and repetition. With Quinn, her cells seemed to seek out his presence, attuning themselves to him without her even thinking about it.
“The only reason I kissed you in the park is because I’m attracted to you. I won’t pretend otherwise.” With a shuddering breath, his eyes, which a moment ago blazed with heat, seemed to ember as his voice lilted with resignation. “But I can put a rein on that, and I have.”
“How? How do you put a rein on it, as you say?” She wondered if he had tricks of his own. Something she might learn for herself.
“It’s not easy. And it gets tougher the longer I’m with you.” He lifted his hand toward her face the way he’d done in the snowfall right before he’d kissed her. But then he lowered his fingers again, hand falling to his side. “We have an agreement, however, and I’ll do what it takes to see it through. If that means we play this your way, I’m going to do everything in my power to keep my hands to myself unless we’re in public.”
“The way we will be on Friday.” At the reception for Idris Fortier. Her first real public appearance with Quinn as a couple, and it would be a major moment in her career.
Butterflies fluttered through her belly at the thought of being on this man’s arm all evening. Feeling his hand at her waist or grazing her hip through a thin evening gown.
Pretending to be in love.
Her lips tingled as she wondered if he would kiss her.
“Yes.” His gaze dipped to her mouth as if he could read her mind. “I’m already looking forward to it.”
Tossing generous handfuls of Epsom salt into the tub, Sofia ran the hot water, anticipating the effects of the bath. Her muscles ached and it was only Wednesday.
As she let the water fill the tub, she pumped toning soap onto her hands and then her face, before splashing water from the faucet to wash away a day of sweat and stress. A candle flickered on the sink’s countertop, sending a soothing scent of lavender into the air. When she was a small girl, her mother would always burn lavender candles after a long day. Although only a small connection to life before her mom passed away, the fragrance still relaxed her.
And she needed that now more than ever.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
Washing the rest of the soap from her face, Sofia tried to focus on preparing for the private audition for Idris Fortier in less than a week. That should be her sole thought.
But instead thoughts of Quinn pushed into her head. It had been two nights since they’d walked through the park and a day since her interview with Dance magazine where she’d relayed the love story she and Quinn had manufactured. The details seemed all too real. And she kept replaying their brief time together. His lips, his touch. How she was attracted to him, though she knew better.
Even after her bath, she was frustrated as hell. She stepped out of the tub, water dripping from her body onto a bath mat, and tested her knee carefully. And, thank heaven, it held. It felt better if not perfect. She shrugged on a short, fluffy bathrobe and yanked the tie into a knot.
Patting her face dry with a semi-plush hand towel, she examined her reflection in the mirror. She could do this. She could nail the audition and be the star that Idris Fortier wanted for his next ballet. That connection would do so much for her. Give her career legs after her physical ones quit giving her the lift and height she needed on her jumps.
Stashed on the corner of the countertop was a collection of reviews from the most reputable critics about Fortier’s last ballet. Jasmine had sent this particular stack over to her apartment. When Sofia had an audition on her radar, she always poured over press releases and reviews, trying to glean a better sense of her audience.
Sifting through the documents once more, a headline caught her eye.
Affair.
She eased herself down onto the edge of the tub and put her feet back in the water as she devoured the article. Apparently the choreographer had had an affair with the star of his last production. The weight of that information unsettled her.
Her phone chirped, startling her. Pulling it out of the pocket of her robe, she glanced at the screen.
Quinn.
“Hello.” Heart fluttering, she felt a mixture of excitement and nerves crash in her chest.
“Hello, Sofia.” His voice incited a flush of warmth over her skin beneath the robe.
“Quinn.” His name felt like an endearment on her tongue. “Hello,” she said again. To cover her surprise.
She closed her eyes and saw him there—with her—in the tub. Her mouth went dry.
“I thought you might like an update about the matchmaker situation,” he continued.
Something that felt an awful lot like disappointment pounded in tandem with her heartbeat. Had she really just wanted him to call for no reason? If this faux engagement was going to work, she’d have to keep her emotions in check.
“Of course. Tell me.” The news clipping about Idris’s affair was still in her hand; she stared at it while Quinn’s baritone voice filled the speaker, willing her pulse back to normal.
She hadn’t called her father since announcing her engagement at the airport, despite how angry