cold air entered her lungs. “Just because we are within easy reach doesn’t mean we should automatically start touching.” She didn’t want to be a convenient outlet for him. “But what’s our story for how we met or when we met?”
“I was introduced to your father at the Met Gala. Were you there with him?”
“Of course not. Do you have any idea what a ticket costs to that event?” At moments like this she could understand how her mother might have come to believe the wealthy were living in a different universe from regular people. The Met Gala was so far beyond her price range it was laughable.
“Actually, no.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his overcoat, his profile in shadow as they walked. “I was on the guest list because I made a donation to the museum.”
Right. Which meant he’d paid more than the ticket price that was almost half her annual salary. Like her father, Quinn belonged to a world of wealth and unreality. A world she had purposely avoided.
“Suffice it to say, we didn’t meet there.” She wished she’d worn warmer clothes for their walk. Her knees were feeling the effects of the cold.
“What if we say we met here? In the park? We bonded over rescuing a kid’s toy stuck in a tree last spring.” As a bicyclist churned through the growing snow cover, Quinn slid a protective arm around her, his hand an enticing warmth through her cape before his touch fell away again. “At least we don’t have to make up something fictional. We base it on today, but say it happened when I was walking home one evening and you were taking a break in the park.”
“That could work.” She nodded, locking down the time frame in her mind and trying to envision today’s scene in a different season. “Although I would never give a stranger I met in the park my contact information.”
“Maybe I started taking that route home every day, hoping to see you. Two weeks later, bingo. There you were again. We fell in love over the next few months, and that should be all we need to fill out Jasmine’s press release.” He slowed as they passed Central Park Zoo and headed toward Fifth Avenue. “Are you all right?”
“Of course,” she answered automatically. “Why?”
“You’re limping.”
“No I’m not.” She couldn’t be. Refused to be. She excelled at hiding injuries on stage. Perhaps she just didn’t give much thought to her gait in her private time. “Just hurrying to get home.”
She couldn’t read his expression in the dark.
“I should have insisted on a car. We’re almost there.”
“I’m fine. And if you can point me to the closest subway station? I thought there was one on Fifth?”
“Come inside and warm up first. I’ll drive you home.”
“That’s not necessary. As you pointed out, we have enough for the press release. I’ll send it over to Jasmine when I get home.”
“We haven’t firmed up plans for the Fortier reception.” As they emerged from the park, he crossed Fifth Avenue at East Sixty-First. “Besides, my building is right here. I can send out that release for you, and I’ll call you a car afterward.” He stopped outside the Pierre.
He lived in the hotel?
Of course he did. It was a gracious, old New York address with five-star service. The small part of her that was still her father’s daughter could already envision the kind of food room service provided here.
“Sofia.” Quinn lowered his voice as they stood under the awning in front of the building. “We’re committed to this course now. Let’s be sure we deliver a believable performance.”
“Believable because we show up for all of those public appearances as a couple?” She lowered her voice even more in deference to the doorman who was pulling open a cab door for a newcomer. “Or believable because we’re kissing in our spare time?”
Quinn seemed to weigh the idea carefully. “If you truly think that the kiss was a bad idea, we’ll make sure all future displays of affection are strictly for show and limit them to the public sphere.”
She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved. Maybe a little of both.
“That might help.” At least then she’d be prepared before he kissed her again. She’d have her guard up. Her body would receive a warning before he stoked it to life with a mere flick of his tongue. “Thank you.”
“Will you come inside, then? We can have dinner sent up while we fill in the blanks for Jasmine and send out the statement.” Quinn had been both patient and reasonable.
Of course, he was only doing any of this for the sake of his business concerns, protecting the McNeill interests from the threats her father had made at the airport last night. She needed to remember that, even if his kisses told a different story. Quinn was simply more experienced. Worldly. Maybe even jaded. Some people could kiss solely for passion’s sake, not love, but she’d never been that kind of woman.
Or so she thought. Maybe she’d just never met a man she could truly feel passionate about? Unlike her friends, she’d never been a boy-crazy teenager. Her attention and love had always belonged to the stage.
“Okay,” she agreed, the chill in her bones making the decision for her, damn it. Or maybe it was the promise of something more delicious than the banana and crackers that awaited her at home.
It wasn’t Quinn’s fault she was far more attracted to him than she’d ever been to any man. Deep in thought as they entered the hotel, they rode a private, key-operated elevator to his floor. Even the elevator was opulent, inlaid with gold, and the deep rich scarlet carpet showed no signs of wear. The doors swished opened into a large foyer and a view through the living room to Central Park.
The apartment took up an entire floor.
She should have guessed from the engagement ring she still wore that he would live this way. His family owned a resort chain, while he himself managed a hedge fund. Exactly the kind of man she would have never envisioned herself with. But in spite of the multimillion-dollar views, his apartment was decorated with tasteful restraint. Coffee-toned walls were a warm backdrop for sleek, gray furnishings punctuated with some rust-colored accents—a vase, matched roman shades that covered the top third of the huge windows. Comfortable and attractive, the room pulled her forward as Quinn switched on the fireplace and put in a call to the hotel’s kitchen.
An hour later, picking over the remains of her chicken fricassee while seated on a giant leather couch that wrapped around a corner of Quinn’s apartment, Sofia had to admit she felt glad to be there. The snow had stopped outside the living room windows, but peering down into the park with all the street lamps lit was sort of like looking into a dollhouse with hundreds of different tiny rooms. He was putting the finishing touches on the press release on his laptop. A fire crackled in the fireplace, warming her feet and knees, and she’d even accepted a throw blanket made of the softest cashmere ever.
With silent apologies to her mother, Sofia decided that no one truly soulless would help a scrappy thirteen-year-old retrieve a toy. Or help Sofia carry off a mad scheme to pretend to have a fiancé. Quinn was an exception to her mother’s rule about rich people.
“Just confirming...when
