Nordic Heroes: In the Market and a Wholesale Arrangement (37 page)

A
ndrea stirred and peered around the darkened room, not quite certain what had awakened her. A strange noise perhaps, but once awake, she found sleep elusive. She heard the noise again, identifying it this time as the muted clink of glasses. Throwing aside the covers, she padded from the room. Farther down the hallway, a lone light gleamed from an open doorway and she moved toward it.

“Thor?” she called, shading her eyes against the brightness.

“Couldn’t sleep?” His tired voice came from the depths of the living room couch. “I couldn’t, either. Why don’t you join me?” He shifted to one side, and after a momentary hesitation, she curled up next to him, using his shoulder for a pillow.

She glanced at the glass he held. “What are you drinking?”

“Orange juice. Like some?”

“Thanks.” She took a healthy sip. “Why couldn’t you sleep? Because of Constantine’s—” She hesitated, wondering if she should be pursuing this conversation. “Or because of our marriage?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” That about covered it.

He took the glass from her hand and finished it off, setting it on the table behind them. At the same time, he snapped off the lamp, plunging the room into a comfortable darkness.

“I could have killed Hartsworth for trying to harm you,” he commented in conversational tones.

She stirred uneasily. “You’re sure he’s behind it?”

“Aren’t you?”

There wasn’t any doubt in her mind. “Yes.”

“So am I.” She could feel his tension. “He won’t do it again. I’ve seen to that.”

She swallowed. “How?”

“It’s probably best you don’t know. Suffice to say I’ve sent a clear message to all comers. They’ll keep their hands off you.”

“You mean Constantine’s.”

He shrugged. “It’s all the same.”

“No. It’s not. Constantine’s is a business, I’m—”

“My wife,” he interrupted, his voice rising a notch. “I stood before a minister and promised to protect you today, and that’s precisely what I intend to do.”

“I remember the love and honor part.” She frowned, struggling to recall all the minister had said. “When did anyone mention protect?”

A long moment of silence followed her question. “It was in Norwegian,” he said tightly. “Protect and, uh, take care of. Something like that.”

A tiny smile tugged at her lips. “Right. You must have forgotten to translate that bit.”

“Must have.” He shifted, tucking her more firmly against his hip. “I’ve been thinking about our living arrangements. I want you to move in here.”

What should she say to that? Something casual. Keep her answer nice and amusing and safe. “Forget it.”

He wasn’t amused and she wasn’t nice and safe. “I won’t forget it! You stood before that minister and made a few vows, yourself.”

“I never promised to—”

“Live with me. Yes. You did.”

Yeah right. “Yeah, right. When?”

“Sometime after the beginning and before the end.”

“That’s an expedient answer, if I ever heard one. Let me guess. It was in Norwegian and another part you neglected to translate.”

“You got it. Love and honor, be protected and live with until death, et cetera, et cetera. That’s how it went.”

Of all the lying, conniving, rotten . . . “I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

“You should have warned me beforehand. You see, I already made a vow, which precludes your vow.”

He stilled. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“A vow to my dead Aunt, er, Matilda. I promised never to live with a man in a temporary relationship. Ours is a temporary relationship. Therefore, I can’t live with you. Sorry, but a vow is a vow.”

“You’re making that up.” He rolled on top of her, crushing her into the cushions. “It’s too dark. I can’t see your eyes. But if I could, they’d tell me you’re lying.”

She didn’t dare say a word, not with every inch of her in a stage-one red alert.

He exhaled gustily. “Okay. I give up, you can stay at your place. For now.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Fair warning, wife. Take all the rope you want and run as far as you can,” he advised. “Because one day soon, you’ll reach the end of your line. And then I’m going to haul you in, hog-tie you, and cart you off home.” With that threat, he wrapped his arms around her and reversed their positions.

“What are you doing?” she gasped in alarm.

“If tonight is all I’m to have, I think I’ll enjoy it. Try and sleep, sweetheart, because you’re stuck with me until morning.”

Well, of all the nerve! After a moment’s thought, she snuggled into his embrace, a secret smile on her lips. If she was stuck, why struggle? She wound her arms around his waist. She’d just have to suffer. Her smile widened. She could learn to enjoy martyrdom.

A
ndrea awoke to the rhythmic sound of rain and to the soft muted gray of morning. She blinked, her sleepy gaze roaming the living room. Against the far wall she noticed a glass case containing a huge Viking ship. It was a wooden model and exquisitely crafted. Had Thor built it? she wondered, impressed. She would have to give it a closer examination. But not just yet.

Warm and cozy, she resisted the urge to move. She was blissfully content and darned if she’d do anything to upset that. It would take something major, something along the lines of dynamite, to blast her from her current position.

The unyielding body supporting her should have felt hard and uncomfortable. It didn’t. It felt warm and accommodating. The muscular chest pillowing her head should have given her a stiff neck. Instead, it filled her ear with a steady, comforting heartbeat, lulling her toward slumber. The thick hairs resting beneath her palm should have prickled and itched. Admittedly, they did tickle a little. But mostly they teased, stirring a longing within her to caress the powerful chest they covered.

Her fingers quivered, and giving into an urgent longing, she burrowed delicately into the umber-tinged hairs.

“I like you in my shirt,” a drowsy voice rumbled beneath her cheek, stilling her roving hand dead in its tracks. “I picked it for a very specific reason, you know.”

She gave a huge yawn, stretching as though she’d just awakened. “Thanks. You have my undying gratitude.”

“Aren’t you going to ask why I picked it for a very specific reason?”

“No.” She shifted closer, hoping he’d go back to sleep so she could continue her surreptitious explorations. How often would this chance come along?

“I’ll tell you, anyway. It’s see through.”

She froze. “Say what?”

“Mmm-hmm.” He wound his arm around her, tracing a line down her spine. “I can see the most delectable little mole square in the middle of your back. Right . . . there.”

“Stop that!” She squirmed beneath his finger. “I’m ticklish.”

“Tell me about it. Not that I’m complaining. Feel free to squirm around like that anytime.”

Understanding dawned an instant later and she went rigid in his arms. “I think I’ll get up now.”

He choked on a laugh, his finger drifting lower. “Did you know you also have this tiny star-shaped scar right on the curve of your—”

With an outraged yelp, she leapt off him. Slapping her hand to a rounded cheek, she raced into the bedroom and slammed the door shut. She lifted his shirt and peered over her shoulder at her backside. Sure enough, she found a tiny star-shaped scar. The rat. She glared at the door. “Go ahead. Yuk it up. We’ll see who laughs last, Mr. Hammer Ear.”

The rest of Sunday passed quickly and pleasantly. As though by mutual consent, they kept it light, never once broaching the subject of Constantine’s or the break-in. Knowing she loved him and aware of how short a time they’d have together, each moment became precious. She played with the idea of trying for a more permanent marital arrangement. But something stopped her, some inner protective fear.

Later that day, she asked him about the Viking model and learned Thor had indeed built the longship by hand. Such care and attention, she realized in awe, so much patience and determination. It was a true reflection of the man.

As evening approached, he suggested she stay another night, and she didn’t argue. She still couldn’t face returning to Constantine’s. She did, however, insist on picking up her car. Monday meant work, and she didn’t want to depend on Thor for everything.

Curled up in bed Sunday night, she reviewed the events of the past three days, surprised at how well their marriage seemed to work. The ceremony had gone without mishap. Thor’s family was a delight. And they’d met their first business crisis head on. Or at least, Thor had. So far, she decided with satisfaction, so good.

T
he next two weeks passed with amazing speed. Andrea insisted on moving “home.” To her surprise, and secret disappointment, Thor didn’t protest. Because her nerves weren’t quite up to living at Constantine’s, she checked into a motel. That provided her with a temporary solution, but with funds running short, only one option remained—to return to the loft.

She grimaced, exiting the wet room and continuing on to the fruit cooler. She didn’t have further burglaries to fear, she argued with herself, checking her inventory sheet. Thor had taken care of that. Which meant she could sleep here again, starting tonight. So why did she dread the idea? She kicked a pallet board loaded with d’Anjou pears. She dreaded it because she was still a little frightened.

Arms closed around her and she shrieked in panic.

“Ah,
cara,
I
 
find you.” Joe planted a smacking kiss on each of her cheeks and grinned. “I scare you good, huh? How you been? You look great. I like your wedding very much.”

Her heart rate slowed from the speed of light to something approaching the speed of sound. “You certainly got into the spirit of things,” she managed to joke.

“Yes, I ride very good on the horse.” He leaned closer, whispering in her ear. “I blow kisses to many women and make them blush.” He ran a finger over his mustache and waggled his dark brows in an exaggerated manner.

Her mouth curved upward. “I don’t doubt it.”

“Don’t doubt what?” a voice interrupted them.

With a guilty start, she turned around. “This is getting to be a habit,” she complained to her husband.

“A bad habit. Perhaps if you didn’t have so many intimate conversations with Milano, it wouldn’t happen as often.”

Joe cleared his throat. “Why, Thorsen. Good to see you. I congratulate you on your marriage.”

Thor folded his arms across his chest and stared at the shorter man. “Are you here on business or just here?”

“I think if I am very smart, I should say business.” Joe’s dark eyes twinkled irrepressibly. “Business.”

“Which is?”

“Ah,
cara.”
Pointedly Joe turned his back on Thor and snatched up Andrea’s hands, refusing to relinquish them despite her insistent tugs. “The produce this week has been
magnifico
. I come to tell you how much I love your, er, grapefruits.”

“That tears it!” Thor started for Milano.

Joe, with an agility born of long experience, danced sideways away from the enraged husband, still clinging to Andrea’s hands. He spoke fast. “Your peaches, so pretty and sweet. Your apples, they are fat and crisp and juicy—a little tart, true—but I quite like the tarts.”

“Out! Before I make applesauce of your face.”

Joe grinned mischievously. “And your vegetables, sheer heaven. Shall I tell you about the tiny flower of your broccoli?”

Thor grabbed Andrea around the waist. “You do and your nose will resemble tomato paste.”

Joe kissed Andrea’s fingertips. “I tell you, anyway. I love them very much. Then there is the carrots, so long and firm and . . . and orange. And the baby radish.” He licked his lips. “They sting my tongue like a lover’s bite. How about—”

“This is not a tug-of-war,” Andrea objected, the pull on her hands and at her waist becoming a tad too strong. “And I am not a piece of rope.”

“Maybe not,” Thor announced in no uncertain terms. “But you’re almost at the end of one. Be careful you don’t hang yourself. In the meantime—” He forcefully disengaged her fingers from Joe’s. “We’re gone.”