The Magnate’s Mail-Order Bride
Joanne Rock
A mix-and-match mock engagement?
Ballerina Sofia Koslov’s career is on the line when she’s accosted at the airport by a rich, reckless playboy who thinks she’s his mail-order bride! But the playboy’s levelheaded brother, Quinn McNeill, solves the media snafu with a switcheroo. He’ll pretend to be her legitimate fiancé to protect her reputation—and to protect his family’s business deals from her father’s wrath. Sofia’s one condition: they’ll share the spotlight as a loving couple but won’t share a bed. But soon Quinn’s gentlemanly ways strike a chord, and Sofia’s dying to renege on that condition and have a real fling...
To Maureen Wallace, the empathetic and efficient
property manager on-site at the vacation rental where
I finished this book. When construction work outside
my rental made writing impossible, Maureen listened
to my tale of woe and found another spot for me,
making sure I could get work done the next day
and have a gorgeous water view to boot!
Thank you for going above and beyond to help.
“It’s no wonder her performances lack passion. Have you ever seen Sofia date anyone in all the time we’ve known her?”
Normally, Sofia Koslov didn’t eavesdrop. Yet hearing the whispered gossip stopped her in her tracks as she headed from the Gulfstream’s kitchen back to her seat for landing.
A principal dancer in the New York City Ballet, Sofia had performed a brief engagement with a small dance ensemble in Kiev last week. Her colleagues had been all too glad to join her when her wealthy father had offered his private plane for their return to the United States. But apparently the favor hadn’t won her any new allies. As one of the most rapidly promoted female dancers currently in the company, Sofia’s successes had ruffled feathers along the way.
She clutched her worn copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream to her chest and peered toward her father’s seat at the front of the jet, grateful he was still engrossed in a business teleconference call. Vitaly Koslov had accompanied the troupe on the trip to the Ukraine, his birthplace. He’d used their rare time together as an opportunity to pressure Sofia about settling down and providing him with grandchildren who might be more interested in taking over his global empire than she’d been.
“That’s not fair, Antonia,” one of the other dancers in the circle of four recliners snapped, not bothering to lower her voice. “None of us has time to meet people during the season. I haven’t had a lover all year. Does that make me passionless when I go on stage?”
Sofia told herself she should walk back to her seat before the pilot told them to buckle up. But her feet stayed glued to the floor. She peered down at her notes on Shakespeare’s play, pretending to reread them for an upcoming role as Titania if anyone happened to notice her.
“But Sofia’s been with the company since ballet school and have we ever heard her name connected romantically with anyone?” Antonia Blakely had entered ballet school at the same time as Sofia, and had advanced to each level with the company faster than her. “Actually, her dad must agree that she’s turning into a dried-up old prune, because—get this.” She paused theatrically, having relied on showmanship over technical skill her entire career. Now, she lowered her voice even more. “I overheard her father talking to the matchmaker he hired for her.”
Sofia’s stomach dropped even though the plane hadn’t started its descent. She gripped the wooden door frame that separated the kitchen from the seating area. For over a year she’d resisted her father’s efforts to hire a matchmaking service on her behalf. But it was true—he’d stepped up the pressure during their visit to Ukraine, insisting she think about her family and her roots.
Marriage wasn’t even on her radar while her career was on the upswing. Would Dad have signed her up with his matchmaker friend without her approval? Her gaze flicked back to the proud billionaire who made a fortune by trusting his gut and never doubting himself for a second.
Of course he would proceed without her agreement. Betrayal slammed through her harder than an off-kilter landing.
“Seriously?” one of the other dancers asked. “Like a private matchmaker?”
“Of course. Rich people don’t use the same dating web sites as the rest of us. They try to find their own kind.” Antonia spoke with that irritating assurance shared by know-it-alls everywhere. “If Papa Koslov gets his way, there’ll be a rich boy ready and waiting for his precious daughter at the airport when we land.”
Sofia lifted a hand to her lips to hold back a gasp and a handful of curses. She wasn’t wealthy, for one thing. Her father might be one of the richest people in the world, but that didn’t mean she was, too. She had never even spent a night under his roof until after her mother’s death when Sofia was just thirteen. She’d followed her mother’s example in dealing with him, drawing that financial line and refusing his support a long time ago. Her father equated money with power, and she wouldn’t let him dictate her life. Ballet was her defiance—her choice of art over the almighty dollar.
Her father knew he couldn’t control her choices. Not even Vitaly Koslov in all his arrogance would arrange for her to meet a prospective date in front of twenty colleagues. Not after an exhausting overseas dance schedule and nine hours in