Nordic Heroes: In the Market and a Wholesale Arrangement (6 page)

“Don’t be snide,” he admonished. “You should be grateful. I even managed to sell her some bananas.”

“How did you pull that off?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. “Not more love potions or cute legends, I hope.”

He grinned. “No sex, no politics, just plain, old dry-as-dust fact. I told her bananas were like people. They improved with age.”

Jordan nodded, secretly impressed. “I like it.”

“I’m glad. Because if you continue to give the produce away, you’re going to need every extra sale I can drum up.”

“Try minding your own business.” She smiled sweetly. “It’ll save your poor nose another crook.”

He didn’t look at all intimidated. “So. Come to give me my marching orders, have you?”

She chuckled. “How did you guess?”

“It wasn’t difficult.” He glanced toward the curtained-off section at the back of the store. “You shouldn’t have told your uncle my identity. You scared him.”

She wouldn’t ask how he knew Cletus was her uncle, or what she and Uncle Cletus had discussed. Clairvoyance, telepathy, omniscience, nothing seemed beyond him. “Does he have reason to be scared?” she asked instead.

He didn’t answer, which was answer enough. Darn! Every time she got within arm’s length of the man, she somehow forgot he meant trouble. Well, she wouldn’t forget again. She’d engrave it on her forehead, if necessary, but she wouldn’t forget.

Jordan lifted her chin. Game over. It was time to get serious. She’d thought of exactly three angles of approach to use in her dealings with him, admittedly all less than brilliant. She could charm him. She could physically eject him. Or she could force him to admit what he wanted.

She’d already tried charm, it hadn’t gotten her anywhere. But then, she’d never been very good at charm. Tossing him out, presuming she could, would only bring a temporary end to their conversation. That narrowed her choices a whole heck of a lot. Like down to one. Somehow, forcing this man into a confession seemed the poorest and most ludicrous choice of all.

Maybe she could beg.

“Would you care to tell me what you want before you leave?” She almost sighed aloud. She never was much good at begging.

He smiled then, his ruthless, Viking I’m-going-to-win-no-matter-what smile. “I don’t want much,” he said gently. “Just your store.”

R
ainer reached out, his finger nearly brushing her cheek. “Your eyes have gone from blue to gray,” he commented conversationally. “Does that mean something?”

Jordan jerked her head back. “Consider it a storm warning and stand clear.”

“Really?” He cocked an eyebrow. “It’s typhoons I need to watch for, not volcanoes?”

“What the hell does the weather have to do with this discussion?” She reacted like a tigress defending her young. “Are you crazy or something? You come into my store, bother my customers, rearrange our displays, throw out blatant threats and warnings, and then have the unmitigated gall to say you want my store?”

“Your uncle’s,” he interrupted softly.

“What?”

“Your uncle’s store,” he repeated.

He took a step closer and she fell back. How ridiculous to feel such instinctive fear when people hemmed them in on all sides. Yet she did. Something about his determined gaze and purposeful stride reminded her of a stalking predator. He cornered her against a huge bin of watermelons.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

“Clarifying a few things. For your information, I did not bother your customers, I showed you the appropriate way to handle a troublemaker.”

“Gee, thanks. I’ll try romancing Mrs. Swenson next time she comes in, though I doubt I’ll get the same results.”

He grinned. “I’d worry if you did. Moving right along, if I rearranged any displays, put it down to an irresistible compulsion to touch things I like. There’s a lot in this store I feel an irresistible compulsion to touch.” His gaze swept over her. “But lucky for you I’ve limited myself to the produce.”

“Congratulations. Have a raspberry.”

His look hinted at retribution. “Next point. I never make threats or warnings, blatant or otherwise. I make promises. And I always keep my promises.”

“Like you always get what you want?” she taunted. What had gotten into her? Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut? She must have some fatalistic death wish that caused her to spout words guaranteed to bring a fast end to a short life.

He moved even closer, edging her up against the bin. “I’m so glad we understand each other.”

She wiggled away from him in the only direction available, up and onto the watermelons. Not only did she feel ridiculous, she undoubtedly looked ridiculous, too. The crowning glory would be for him to say so.

“Comfy?” he inquired in a polite voice.

She gritted her teeth. “Exceedingly.”

“Good. Final point. Correct me if I’m wrong. I understand this store belongs to one Cletus Roberts, not a Ms. Jordan Roberts. Are my sources mistaken?”

Alarm flared through her. “How do you know that?”

“Was it a secret?”

She shook her head. “Of course not, but—”

“That means any business discussions I have regarding Cornucopia Produce should be with him, not some overly protective wisecracking, impertinent employee.”

Overly protective? Of course, she was overly protective! Family tended to make a person that way. Fury took hold. She placed the palms of her hands square on his chest and shoved with all her might. He didn’t budge. She stared at him, both surprised and dismayed. Good grief. This man was built like a rock, with the stubborn immobility to match. Well, stone could be chiseled. She might not be Michelangelo, but she’d be delighted to give it her best whack.

“Look, Mr. Thorsen. This store is a family business. Any decisions made about this store are family decisions. So whether you like the idea or not, you’re stuck dealing with me. Those are the facts. Deal with them, or deal yourself out.”

“Volcanoes, typhoons, and now fire and brimstone. I like it,” he murmured.

Jordan glared at him in exasperation. The man’s elevator definitely stopped shy of the penthouse. “In the meantime, move your carcass, or you’ll be wearing watermelon on that Viking head of yours instead of horns!”

For a minute she thought she’d gone too far. His eyes narrowed, the blue as chilly as an arctic glacier. Then a small rumbling began deep in his chest, spreading and growing. He tilted his head back and laughed, the sound rich and full and attractive, turning the heads of the shoppers.

“Yes! Now I understand,” he said. He caught hold of her chin, tilting it up, his firm grip curbing any resistance. “So, you’re a Valkyrie. I should have known.”

“What’s that?” she demanded suspiciously.

A smile edged the corners of his mouth. “A warrior maiden. In old Norse legend, they swept fallen heroes off to Valhalla. Is that what you want? To carry me off?”

“And dump you in some mythical never-never land? It would be my pleasure!”

“Mine, too,” he assured her. “With you by my side, I’d go willingly. But first I have a battle to fight—and to win. So ante up, deal me in, and prepare to lose.”

He stepped back and for the first time in what seemed like hours, Jordan took a breath. Her jaw burned from his touch, while fury mixed with confusion burned within. A picture of his fingers stroking the plump red tomatoes flashed through her mind, adding to her confusion and banking her anger. She’d been right. His touch truly was exquisite . . . .

She struggled to spark her anger anew, fearful of the strange emotions sweeping through her. She didn’t want to feel this way about Rainer. Dangerous didn’t begin to describe it. He wasn’t interested in romancing her. He wanted something more, something she’d fight tooth, nail, and big left toe to keep him from having.

“I think you should leave,” she said in a low voice.

“And I think we should find your uncle and get down to business. Where’s he hiding?”

She hopped off the watermelon bin. “You have a very abrasive way of doing business. I’ll assume your family’s produce markets are successful in spite of you, not thanks to you.”

His expression grew amused once more. “Assume anything you want. It’s to my advantage to have an opponent underestimate me.”

One thing she’d never do was underestimate this man. He’d shown her all too clearly just how much charm and ruthlessness he possessed. He’d revealed as much at the wholesale market. And then, in case she’d misunderstood, he’d proved it again in her own store. Uncle Cletus’s store, she corrected herself grimly. It wouldn’t do to forget that small, though pertinent, detail.

“Uncle Cletus isn’t hiding anywhere. He’s in the back, probably playing checkers with Walker.”

A single eyebrow shot up. “He plays while you work? Curious setup.”

“Uncle Cletus works very hard,” she leapt instantly to her only relative’s defense. “He isn’t a young man anymore, and what with his stroke . . .” She trailed off, shrugging.

Satisfaction played across the appealing terrain of his face. “Then perhaps he’ll find my proposal of greater interest than I thought.”

Jordan hesitated. He moved as though to head for the back of the store, and she grabbed his arm to restrain him. “Wait.” She licked her lips. “Please—” Lord, how the word came hard to her tongue. “Could you tell me what this is about? What do you intend to propose?”

His gaze softened. “I think you know already, Jordan. Don’t make it any harder on yourself than necessary. Come on. I know all about family businesses. Since this is a family business, you should be there.”

As she’d predicted, they found Uncle Cletus in the back with Walker. This time mangoes and kiwifruit littered their checkerboard, the game once again in progress. Jordan went to tap her uncle on the shoulder, but Rainer caught her hand, drawing her off to one side.

“We’ll let them finish,” he whispered and lowered himself onto a nearby stool. He became instantly absorbed in the progress of the game.

Jordan sat perched on the edge of a lunchroom chair. Unease filled her. Why the delay? Why didn’t he get on with it? Stretching out the wait like this was pure agony. Perplexed, she glanced at him.

He seemed totally relaxed, as though he had all the time in the world. He templed his fingers beneath his chin, his arms resting on his knees. A lock of curly white-gold hair lay across his furrowed brow and she knew a moment’s regret for the might-have-beens.

An attraction existed between them, honesty forced her to admit it. Under different circumstances, she would have enjoyed exploring that attraction. She sighed, acknowledging the impossibility of it all. Even if Rainer hadn’t taken such an adversarial position, the produce business didn’t leave her much time for a social life.

She glanced his way again, sensing his growing tension. Curious, she studied him, realizing in dismay he’d focused his full attention on her uncle. What was he up to?

It hit her like a class-five hurricane. He observed Uncle Cletus in order to analyze his moves and method of play. Rainer could care less about the game. He simply used the opportunity to evaluate her uncle. Just as he’d spent the morning watching her, figuring her out, now he watched her uncle, figuring out an angle to use against him.

Her eyes widened. An angle. Good grief, precisely what she always did. She sized up the competition, figured out an angle and moved in for the kill. Of course, she’d always thought of it in slightly different terms. She’d get a general impression of her customers, figure out their needs and try to give them what they wanted. Her angles were . . . nicer, rounder, smoother. Whereas Rainer’s were all sharp points and rough edges. But what gorgeous points and edges!

The game ended rapidly, but then, it always did. The only thing more certain than her uncle’s winning a checker match was the chance of rain in a Seattle forecast.

“Walker,” she said, “Andy needs some help sorting the oranges.” Her uncle’s friend took one look at Rainer and beat a hasty retreat. Jordan crossed to her uncle’s side and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Thorsen wants to talk to us about Cornucopia.”

Uncle Cletus appeared startled to discover someone seated behind him.

“Make it Rainer,” he said and stood, approaching with hand outstretched.

Cletus looked at it as he might a coiled rattlesnake and reluctantly stuck his gnarled hand into harm’s way. “Since we’re being sociable, call me Cletus,” he muttered less than graciously.

“My father says he knew you and your brother years ago.”

This seemed to cheer Cletus some. “Quite right. The community was smaller back then, more tightknit. In those days you knew everybody in the business. Not like now. Your father and Jordan’s father, Jake, and I even socialized on occasion. I guess you could say we were the next best thing to kin.” He gave a weak chuckle. “Welcome to the family, my boy.”

A smile crept across Rainer’s mouth. “Thanks.”

“Nice of your pop to send you over to do the neighborly thing,” Cletus said a trifle nervously. “How’s Alaric feeling these days?”

“Just fine, thank you. He’s looking forward to his sixtieth birthday this month.”