Nordic Heroes: In the Market and a Wholesale Arrangement (39 page)

“I worded that badly, didn’t I? My apologies. In time, I don’t doubt you’d have given your competitors a run for their money. This profession isn’t particularly kind to a woman on her own. I’m glad you have someone already in the business who can help.”

“Even if it means losing Constantine’s?”

“Even if it means losing Constantine’s,” he responded promptly. “I won’t lie to you. I’d have been delighted to get your business at a bargain price. But I’d be almost as delighted to get it at a good price. If you ever change your mind, I’d appreciate first refusal.”

The man shot straight from the hip. In each of her conversations with him, he’d been polite, blunt, and honest. She liked that. “You’re on. But I wouldn’t count on it if I were you.”

“A man can hope,” he said, and hung up.

Andrea stared at the phone for several minutes, a smile playing about her lips. As she’d known, things always worked out in the end. A few weeks ago, her problems had threatened to overwhelm her. Then Thor had appeared. If he hadn’t helped, in all likelihood she’d have sold to Jack Maxwell. And loath as she was to admit it, she’d have been relieved to do so, despite her preference to run Constantine’s herself.

She tapped the prisms dangling from her desk light, sending them spinning. Tiny lights flashed and danced off the faceted glass and her smile widened. Yes. Things always worked out in the end.

A
n
drea deliberately worked late, knowing it would force her to stay at the warehouse. She’d nearly depleted her income for the month, which meant she couldn’t afford to spend another night at a motel. Besides, why should she?

No one except Willie knew about the loft. Hartsworth had been stopped. She could only come up with one reason for not returning, and it wasn’t a very good one. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. She didn’t want to sleep at the loft. She wanted to be with Thor.

She stood and stretched.
Come on
. Procrastinating won’t do a bit of good. One night in her old bed and—her lips twitched—all her fears would be laid to rest. Switching off the desk light, she locked her office and started for the steps to the loft.

“Ms. Constantine? I mean, Mrs. Thorsen?”

Andrea jumped, stifling a cry of alarm. “Willie, you scared me.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, honest.” He frowned in bewilderment. “What are you doing here? Did you forget something?”

“Not exactly.”

He glanced around. “Is Mr. Thorsen with you?”

She hadn’t anticipated this, and should have. “Er, no.” Inspiration struck. “I’m working late tonight and have to get an early start tomorrow. I thought I’d sleep in the loft instead of driving all the way home.”

Willie appeared dubious. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, considering the break in and everything.”

“That was weeks ago,” she said with more composure than assurance. “And Thor took care of it.”

“Yes, ma’am, if you say so.” The security guard cleared his throat. “Uh, Mr. Thorsen, he doesn’t mind your being here like this?”

Her gaze slid away and she shifted uneasily. “Would I be staying if he did?”

“I suppose not.” He tapped his thigh. “Gotta tell you, though. That doesn’t sound like the Mr. Thorsen I know.”

Time for a fast exit. “I’m very tired. I think I’ll turn in.” She smiled and edged up a step.

He stopped her. “You still have that crowbar I gave you?”

“I have it.” She made it up two more steps.

“You keep it close, all right?” he continued doggedly.

“I promise.”

He turned away, shaking his head. “Don’t know about this,” he muttered. “Seems mighty peculiar to me.”

Filled with remorse, Andrea watched him leave. She hated telling fibs. It made her feel lower than low. Unfortunately, she had no choice. She climbed to the loft and opened the door, flipping on the single light bulb. Glancing around, she shivered. After Thor’s house, this place seemed pathetic, not to mention lonely.

Determined not to give in to self-pity, she crossed to the hot plate, intent on having a cup of tea. She picked up the thermos and shook it. Empty. Not having the nerve to return downstairs and refill it, she collapsed on the bed. She didn’t deserve tea. She didn’t even deserve plain old water. It served her right to go to bed thirsty.

She stripped off her clothes and pulled on her red-and-white-striped nightshirt. Bravely crossing to the light switch, she flipped it off and then scampered for her bed, huddling under the covers. A second later she threw aside the bedding and hopped up. Running to the door, she groped along the wall.

Her hand closed around a heavy metal rod. Gotcha! Racing back to safety, she shoved the crowbar under her pillow and tunneled beneath the blankets. Now if anyone came for her, she’d be prepared.

For the next hour, she tensed at every little creak and groan the old warehouse made, suspecting the worst. After an endless wait, she settled down, her limbs relaxing. Sleep. She needed sleep. If she could just calm down long enough—

A loud bang directly below jerked her awake and she scrambled upright, the crowbar clutched to her chest, her heart pounding.

It was only Willie, worrying about her. He’d decided to check on her safety. There was nothing to fear.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. The measured tread hit the landing and continued up.

Six more steps to her door. She attempted to swallow, but found her mouth had gone bone dry. If it was Willie, why didn’t he call out?

Her eyes widened. Maybe it wasn’t him.

Five more. Had she locked the door? She couldn’t remember.

Four more. Her feet hit the cold wooden floorboards at a dead run.

Three more. She flew across the room to the door.

Two more. She tested the doorknob. It turned with ease.

One more. Desperately she fumbled for the lock.

The door banged open, throwing her backward, and an enormous, dark shape filled the threshold. She screamed in terror, swinging wildly with the crowbar.

It never connected. A huge hand caught it mid-arc.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, you crazy woman?”

“Thor!” she gasped, and toppled over in a dead faint.

A
ndrea awoke to find herself resting on her bed, surrounded by Thor, Willie, and Marco. Two wore identical expressions of concern. The third appeared flat out furious.

“Are you all right?” demanded the furious one.

How unfortunate he was also her husband. “I guess.” She frowned in resentment. “You frightened me.”

“Consider yourself lucky if that’s all that happens to you. What the hell are you doing here?”

She sat up, tugging her nightshirt to help protect her modesty. “Er, sleeping?”

“Just the night, she said,” Willie muttered, shaking his head. “A little tiff, I figured. Wouldn’t hurt to make a phone call to my cousin and mention where a certain husband could find a certain wife. If he had a mind to, that is.”

“He had a mind to,” Marco confirmed.

“And how.”

“If you two would excuse us,” Thor said, interrupting their running commentary. “My wife and I need some privacy. Lots of privacy. A whole warehouse worth of privacy.”

Willie scrambled backward and made for the door. “Fireworks time. I’m gone.”

“Ditto,” said Marco, right on his heels. The door slammed behind them and their footsteps echoed a rapid tattoo down the steps until they faded away.

“Who speaks first?”

Not her. Forget it! “Not me. Forget it!”

Thor’s smile would have done a shark proud. “Good. Then I’ll begin.”

“Look,” Andrea broke beneath the strain. “It’s not as bad as it seems. I got tired of the motel, so I came back here. It isn’t forever, only six months or so. I’ll find someplace else after that. You don’t have to worry. I’m perfectly safe. Willie’s around to guard me and . . .” She gulped, her words drying up as completely as a raindrop in the Sahara.

He appeared very, very angry.

“You’ve been living here? How long?” Thor fired the questions at her.

She squirmed. “Not long.”

“How long?”

It took two seconds for her to cave beneath his cold, unrelenting stare. “If I don’t count the night at your parents’ house and the Saturday and Sunday at your place and the two weeks at the motel—” She calculated rapidly on her fingers. “Thirty-two days, eighteen hours and forty-six minutes. I don’t know how many seconds. Honest, I don’t.”

“You’ve lost me. Though why that comes as any surprise, I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s try this one.
Why
are you living here?”

“Because I sold Nick’s house.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “Why?”

She grabbed her pillow, clutching it to her. Not that it offered much protection. Feathers didn’t stand a chance against Thor’s razor-sharp gaze. “I had to pay off a few debts. It was the only way to keep Constantine’s afloat.”

“Son of a—” He broke off and rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Let’s start from the top.”

“Let’s not.”

His eyes glittered a warning. “I’m not in the mood for games, sweetheart. So answer my questions. Nick left outstanding debts, correct? You didn’t have the money to pay them off, so you sold your house. With no place to live, you moved in here.”

Her chin jutted. “If you know all that, why are you asking?”

He stood up, dodged the hanging prisms, and moved across the room as far from her as possible. “What’s the current status of those debts? Are they all paid off?”

“Not quite.”

“How much, not quite?”

“There’s one final loan with the bank. It’s large.” Her belligerent scowl dared him to ask how large. “I won’t be able to settle it for some time, but we can meet the monthly payments without too much trouble.”

“You can meet the payments.” He closed his eyes in disbelief. “But you can’t afford a roof over your head. Is that it?”

“That’s it,” she admitted.

“I warned you what would happen if you took too much rope.” He moved from his position in the corner of the room. “You’ve just hanged yourself, my love. Get up and get dressed. We’re leaving.”

“Now?”

“Right now.”

Not daring to argue, she did as instructed, yanking her clothes on over her nightshirt. “Okay, I’m dressed.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Bring along something to change into tomorrow. You’ll need it.”

She turned on him. “No, I won’t. I can change here.”

Only after the words left her mouth did she realize the extent of his fury. He started across the room, not stopping until he towered above her, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He glared down, his eyes wild with barely tempered rage. She didn’t dare move.

“Within the hour this room will be stripped and padlocked,” he bit out in a voice that sent shivers down her spine. “You will not step foot in it ever again, not as long as you’re my wife.”

“You can’t,” she protested. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“I say it has!”

“You have no right to tell me where to live!” Hurt overcame discretion, the words flooding from her. “You aren’t really my husband. We only married to save your precious Milano account. It’s not like you care about me or anything.”

“Don’t care?” He grabbed her. For an instant she thought he’d shake her. Instead, he swept her into his arms, hugging her close. The fury seemed to drain from him. “Dear Lord,” he whispered. “Are you insane? Of course, I care. Don’t you realize what Hartsworth’s men would have done if they’d found you here? Alone?”

“You fixed all that,” she murmured, cradled within the security of his embrace and unwilling to budge. “You said they wouldn’t bother me anymore.”

“And they won’t. Because you’re moving in with me. Period. No compromises. No discussion. No more arguments. You’ll stay right where I can keep an eye on you, where I’m sure I can protect you.”

Protect her, not the business, he’d said. Hope stirred. Maybe he was concerned. A little. “All right.” She gave in gracefully, trying not to sound too happy about it. “But I get my own bedroom.”

“Fine. The room’s all yours. We’ll share the bed.”