by Day Leclaire
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.
Chapter 7
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 l
icked 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.”
“But I did not mention the cucumber,” Joe protested.
“You keep your cucumbers away from my wife.” With that, Thor hustled Andrea out of the cooler.
“You are not jealous, Thorsen?” Joe’s laughing voice followed them. “I would not like you to be jealous of me.”
Andrea stopped dead in her tracks. Jealous? Thor? Could he be? Grinning like a fool, she ran to catch up with her husband. That possibility hadn’t occurred to her, but recalling his frequent clashes with Joe gave her cause for hope.
“We’ll talk in your office,” he announced over his shoulder.
“I take it I don’t have any choice?”
“None.”
The minute they arrived, Thor slammed the door closed and snatched her into his arms. “I’ve changed my mind about a few things, starting with this.”
He cupped her head in his two hands and kissed her, a hungry, angry kiss. She fought him for a full five seconds—she did have her pride—before gracefully giving in. The kiss went on and on, his mouth ravishing hers as though he’d missed her with as much desperation as she’d missed him. Clearly, fifteen days apart was fifteen days too long.
“The next time Milano so much as touches your fingernail, I’m going to break his face,” Thor muttered, his teeth nipping at the lobe of her ear.
“He doesn’t mean anything by it.” She stumbled to a halt at the touch of his tongue grazing her neck. “He . . . he’s like that with everyone.”
“Not with me, he isn’t. And not with my wife.”
“Temporary wife.”
He pulled away, glaring at her. Dark red color suffused his lean cheekbones, his eyes glittering with a dangerous blue light. “Did you tell him our marriage is temporary? Is that why he’s here?”
“No—”
“He’s not to know. Ever.”
“He’s bound to find out eventually.”
“How?”
She sighed. “When we divorce.”
A strange smile touched his mouth, and he bent to kiss her again, gently, tenderly, with a sweet passion that left her clutching his shirt to remain upright. “So long as it’s not before then, I’m satisfied.” He gave an impatient groan. “My house is empty without you. When are you moving home?”
She stared up at him in confusion. “What are you talking about now?”
“I’m talking about changing the rules. I’ve missed you, and if that kiss is anything to go by, you’ve missed me. There’s no reason we shouldn’t enjoy our marriage, however long it lasts.”
“Forget it.” She stepped free of his arms, furious at him for assuming so much, but even more furious with herself. For a minute, she’d almost believed in the possibility of dreams becoming reality. “If that’s the only reason you’re here, you can leave. I have work.”
He hesitated, clearly preferring to argue. “It’s the most important reason I’ve come, but not the only one. If you insist, we’ll discuss our other problem.”
Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good. “Other problem?”
“You got it. This other problem.” He pulled an invoice from his pocket and handed it to her.
She glanced at the pink slip of paper and shrugged. “It’s our bill.”
“I know it’s your bill.” A muscle jerked in his cheek. “Why is it still so high? As Milano mentioned, the quality has been fantastic.”
She grinned. “Great.”
“Not great,” he contradicted. “The prices have been even more fantastic. Or perhaps I should say exorbitant.”
Her grin faded. “Not great? I don’t get it. I give you a standard markup over cost. How can I be so far out of line?”
He inspected her office. “I think I’m beginning to understand,” he muttered.
“Understand what?”
He gestured at her stacks of paper. “Look at this place. It’s total chaos. How can you run a business with all your records piled six feet high on every available surface?”
For the first time, she saw her room the way he did. Thor had a point, she conceded. An outsider could easily get the wrong impression. “I know where everything is,” she explained. “Tell me what you want and I’ll get it.”
He checked the bill. “Cauliflower. Let me see your bill of lading for cauliflower.”
In three seconds flat she had it in his hand. “Well?” she asked with a superior smile.
He compared the two papers. “I’ll admit you’ve given us a reasonable markup. So that’s not the problem. How do you order your produce?”
“We have set farmers and brokers we deal with, depending on the time of year and where the item originates. When we’re low, we call and order. Sometimes they call us with a special deal.”
“And they tell you the price?”
“Yes.”
“Do you dicker with them?”
She looked at him in bewilderment. “Dicker?”
“Bargain, haggle, negotiate. You know, dicker. Everyone does it. That’s how it works.” He eyed her with suspicion. “I thought you’d been brought up in this business.”
She flushed at his unwittingly discovering her major weakness. “I was.”
Unfortunately, she’d never learned how to dicker because her father hadn’t bothered to teach her. He hadn’t anticipated the need. Nor, she admitted honestly, had he wanted to give a woman that much control. Nick had always believed in keeping his hands firmly on the business reins, which included the buying and stocking of inventory. Could she help it if her specialty leaned toward PR and bookkeeping?
In the past seven months, she’d given it her all. Since her father’s death she’d spent every waking moment playing a massive game of catchup. Unfortunately, every time she thought she had the game nailed, someone came along and changed the rules.
“Well?” he asked impatiently.
“I know what dicker means.” She just didn’t know how to do it.
“She knows what dicker means.” Thor closed his eyes, swearing beneath his breath. “Let me guess what the real problem is here. You’re flying blind and too proud to admit it.”
“That’s not true, I—”
“I assumed you were at least familiar with this business. More fool me.”
“I am. I do—”
“I also assumed your problem was with greedy suppliers and competitors taking advantage of a woman.”
“It is, but—”
“It never once occurred to me that you stink at your job.”
“I don’t!” It took every ounce of determination to tell him the truth. “I’m inexperienced, not bad at my job.”
“Inexperienced?” He shot the question at her. “Why?”
Boy, did it hurt to explain how little her father trusted her, or anyone, for that matter. “Nick always handled the purchasing end of things,” she admitted reluctantly.
“That’s not customary, is it?”
She shook her head. “Other wholesale houses let the salesmen take care of it. I have Marco supervising the inventory, but since purchases were Nick’s job, I’ve handled that end of things.”
“Regardless of whether you’re capable.” It was a flat statement. “What else is there?”
She stirred uneasily. “What do you mean?”
“You’re being evasive,” he snapped. “The eyes, sweetheart, remember? They’re a dead giveaway. What else have you neglected to confess? What other problems should I know about?”
>
The loan. She’d kept very, very quiet about that. It wasn’t really a problem. True, she owed the money. But with the Thorsens’ help, she’d have no trouble meeting her monthly obligation to the bank. Perhaps she should mention it. For her father’s sake and for her own peace of mind, she’d use a wee bit of tact when explaining.
“There are some minor outstanding bills,” she conceded, stretching the truth more than a little. “As a result, Constantine’s isn’t as profitable as before. But we can meet all our expenses if we’re careful. With the Thorsens’ backing, we should be able to rebuild to where we were a few years ago.”
“What outstanding bills—”
Thor’s cell phone rang, and murmuring a quick apology, he checked the caller ID. “It’s Rainer. I need to take this,” he said. “What’s up?”
Andrea studied him while he spoke, smiling despite herself. He ran a distracted hand through his hair, ruffling the tawny waves, which gave him an impatient demanding edge, an aspect she’d experienced more than once. He answered his brother’s questions with brisk efficiency, his shrewd intelligence fascinating to observe.
She’d always enjoyed watching him. The very first minute he’d strode onto Constantine’s loading dock, she’d felt an inexplicable tug of desire. He’d experienced it, too. Even after she’d broken their engagement, she’d known he still wanted her. He’d just never allowed passion to overrule his common sense.
It was the same now. The moment something threatened his business he’d moved rapidly to counter it, willing to do whatever necessary to correct the situation. If there’d been another, easier solution to their current problem, his ring wouldn’t be on her finger.
She balled her left hand into a fist and shoved it into the pocket of her jeans. What she couldn’t change, she’d ignored. Her gaze sought Thor. Well, if not ignored, at least held at a safe distance.
He hung up and glanced at her. “Where were we?”
Discussing her outstanding bills. Not that she intended to remind him. She changed her mind about confessing all. Thor wasn’t the only one capable of putting business first. “You were analyzing my professional failings,” she informed him coolly. “You decided I’m lousy at my job which is responsible for Constantine’s downfall, rather than unscrupulous suppliers.”