by Day Leclaire
Her eyes widened. “Wait one little minute here—”
“There seems to be some doubt in your mind about the genuineness of our marriage.” He smiled tightly. “I thought I’d end those doubts once and for all.”
She choked. “I don’t doubt it anymore. Honest, I don’t.”
He ignored her. “What was it you said?” His brows drew together. “Something about my not being a real husband?”
“You must have misunderstood,” she claimed, desperate. “The acoustics are terrible in here.”
He continued without pause. “I thought I’d prove to you how real a husband I can be.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Believe me, it’ll be my pleasure.”
She yanked free of his arms. “The hell it will!”
“Not quite, sweetheart,” he corrected in a husky voice. “With any luck, it’ll be closer to heaven.”
Ignoring any further protests, he took her by the hand and marched from the loft. Downstairs, she caught Willie and Marco peeking from behind a board of oranges. She rubbed her backside and sniffed, satisfied by the look of horror the men exchanged. Served them right, finking on her the way they did.
“Cut it out,” Thor growled. “I won’t have people claiming I’m a wife beater.” He stopped in his tracks and kissed her, not satisfied until she clung to him. “There. That’ll give them something else to think about.”
“Unfair tactics.”
“Whatever it takes.”
He bundled her into his car, and they drove out of the city. Neither spoke. Twenty minutes later, they arrived at his home. The sight filled her with equal parts relief and delight. She’d never wanted to return to the loft to begin with. If there hadn’t been a vague sort of principle involved, she would have stayed here from the very first night. Compromise could be good. But in this case, giving in was infinitely better.
He opened the front door and ushered her through. “You know where to put your things. It’s late and we both have work tomorrow, so I suggest we go to bed.”
She stood in the hallway, motionless, reluctant to move any farther. Did he seriously expect her to sleep with him? She could handle having him at the same workplace. She could handle having him in the same house. No way could she handle having him in the same bed. She had to draw the line somewhere. If only he’d stop erasing it every time she figured out where.
He glanced at her, his gaze softening. “What’s wrong?”
“I, ah . . .” She studied the parquet flooring. “I won’t sleep with you.”
His footsteps came closer. He tilted up her chin and stared at her. “Yes, you will,” he informed her calmly. Before she could say another word, he added, “Not tonight. And not tomorrow night. And I doubt we will the night after that. But one of these days you’ll be my wife in fact, as well as name.”
“Says you,” she muttered for lack of a more intelligent response.
“Says me. For now, go to bed. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
And that summed it up to a tee. Feeling utterly at odds with him, herself, Willie, Marco, and the rest of the world, she went to bed. But she wasn’t happy about it.
T he next four weeks proved the most difficult of Andrea’s life. Giving up control to another person came hard. She’d lived under Nick’s thumb for enough years to be unable to find any advantage in replacing a father’s domination with a husband’s.
Not that Thor dominated precisely, she hastened to correct herself. He more analyzed and decided. Unfortunately, if his decisions ran contrary to her own, she lost out. She was tempted to complain about his taking over so thoroughly. She would have, too, if she could find something reasonable to complain about.
But with business booming, it didn’t pay to gripe. Besides, how could she argue when he was always right? Right, not eight times out of ten, or eleven times out of twelve, but every single time.
It wasn’t fair. Her employees all adored him. She’d learned more about the business in the past four weeks than she’d learned in the past four years. The quality of the produce continued to be top-notch. And costs were at their lowest point ever. Everything ran so perfectly it made her want to hit something—or someone.
That wasn’t even the most annoying part. Worse still, he hadn’t kept his promise to make their marriage real.
She glared at an innocent box of green peppers, and to add injury to insult, gave it a good swift kick. She sighed in exasperation. Nothing like creating your own distress sales from perfectly good produce.
“Uh-oh. Looks like trouble in paradise,” Rainer called from the loading dock.
Andrea glowered until she saw who he’d brought. “Jordan!” She grinned, delighted. “I can’t believe the old ball-and-chain let you come.”
The petite brunette crossed the dock, Rainer keeping his arm around her the entire way. “I didn’t give him any peace until he agreed. He has business to discuss with Thor, so I hitched a ride.”
Rainer paused by the steps. “She’s allowed to walk to your office, sit, then return to the car. And she’s to be accompanied at all times,” he stated explicitly. “No exploring and no sneaking off.”
As much as it went against the grain to acquiesce to any terms a Thorsen dictated, Andrea had to agree. “It isn’t safe,” she told her pregnant friend. “If something happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.”
Jordan made a face. “I know. But I’m going crazy. I’m not even allowed to work at Cornucopia these days. My own produce market! Can you believe it?” She brightened. “Do you have any gooseberries? I have such a hankering for them. Maybe if we checked your specialty room real quick—”
Rainer blocked his wife’s path. “You will walk to the office.”
She chuckled. “I know. I know. I will sit. I will not explore. I will not sneak off. You’re no fun anymore, Viking.”
“Not when it comes to the safety of my wife and child.”
Jordan glanced at Andrea, mischief dancing in her gray-blue eyes. “Notice he doesn’t say ‘son’? He doesn’t dare for fear I’ll spite him with twin daughters.”
He put an arm around her ample waist and helped her up the stairs. “I’d love twin daughters,” he argued cheerfully. “They’d keep you too busy to get in any more trouble.”
Andrea watched them, envy bringing a wistful smile to her mouth. She walked over to Marco. “Make sure a flat of gooseberries finds its way into Rainer’s car. My treat.”
Marco beamed. “My pleasure.”
By the time she joined them upstairs, the door to Nick’s—no, Thor’s —office was firmly shut. Trying not to feel left out, she joined Jordan. Her friend stood in the middle of the nearly empty room, looking around in astonishment.
“Good grief,” she said faintly. “You’ve been robbed.”
“Bet you never knew the color of my rug, did you?”
“I didn’t even know you had a rug. Or a desk.” Jordan pointed. “Or that chair.”
“Impressed?”
“I should say so. What happened to all the papers?”
Andrea grimaced, sitting behind the desk. “Thor. Who else? He decided I needed organizing. He sent me on an errand one day, and when I came back this is what he’d done to my office.” She shook her head in disgust. “Can you believe it?”
“The animal!”
She wished. “I wish.” She buried her face in her hands and prayed her desk—her empty organized desk—would swallow her whole.
Jordan collapsed into a chair. “So, Rainer is right. There is trouble in paradise.”
“Let’s just say you’re a long way from winning that pallet of grapefruit. All Thor ever thinks about is business.” She shifted in her chair, restless and unhappy. “I know that’s why we married, and it’s important to get Constantine’s whipped into shape. But sometimes it’s not enough
. I want more out of life.”
“I understand completely.”
Andrea winced. Jordan probably did, too. Business had been a major cause of disagreement in her relationship with Rainer. When the Thorsens bought her market, it nearly ended their involvement.
“Why does business always come first with the Thorsens?” Andrea demanded.
Jordan sighed. “With Thor, it’s because of his father.”
That gave Andrea pause. “His father?”
“Didn’t you know? No, I guess not,” Jordan said, answering her own question. “I can’t imagine it’s something Thor willingly discusses. It took me practically forever to drag it out of Rainer.”
“What? What is it?”
“Thor blames himself for his father being in a wheelchair.”
Andrea gazed at her friend, stunned. “Why? What happened?”
“An accident about sixteen years ago.”
Thor would have been twenty, Andrea figured. “The accident was Thor’s fault?”
“Not in my opinion. He’d come home from college for the summer to work at Thorsen’s. His dad called. He needed help unloading a truck. Thor had an appointment he couldn’t break and promised to help the next day. His father wouldn’t wait. A pallet-load of apples fell on him.”
Andrea closed her eyes, horrified. “That’s how he ended up in a wheelchair?”
“Yes. Thor went crazy. He dropped out of college and took over the business. Rainer says things were really rough for a while. They kept Alaric in the hospital for over six months and the business suffered while Thor learned the ropes. Eventually, he turned things around and rebuilt it to what it is today.”
“He never returned to college?”
Jordan shook her head. “No. And ever since, he’s always put business first. Rainer thinks he’s afraid not to. Of course, it’s ridiculous. Nothing like that will happen again. Thor is careful to delegate responsibility and train future replacements for all the key positions.”
Andrea couldn’t believe it. It was almost identical to her own situation. Her father dying and leaving her to figure out the business couldn’t be that much different from Thor’s taking over before Alaric could train him. They’d both struggled to prove their worth to fathers preoccupied with business. Why hadn’t he told her?
Not that it explained his avoiding her for the past four weeks. He’d promised they’d . . . She froze. Surely she didn’t want their marriage to be a real one? Surely she did. She loved the man. She wanted to share with him on all levels, not on a business one alone.
“I don’t know what to do,” she confessed. “I don’t know how to get through to him.”
“Just love him,” Jordan suggested gently. “He’s been the responsible one for so long. He’s taken care of his family, of the business, of every problem that’s come along. He needs a partner, not another dependent.”
Another dependent. That certainly described her role, and until she learned the ropes, she couldn’t do a damn thing about it. “Thanks, Jordan. You’re a good friend.”
“Ain’t I, though?” Then on a lighter note, she added, “I’m usually the one who requires all the advice. It’s funny having the tables reversed for a change.”
“Not from where I’m sitting, it isn’t,” Andrea retorted with feeling. “Why don’t we find our husbands?”
They went into Thor’s office and discovered the two men poring over several sheets of paper. Both wore identical expressions of frustration.
“We’ve tried everything I can think of,” Rainer muttered. “He won’t give an inch. Could we have missed something?”
“What’s wrong?” Jordan glanced over her husband’s shoulder at the papers they were studying. “Oh, trying to entice a new account.” She wrinkled her nose. “Though why you’d deal with that Captain Alexander is beyond me.”
“Alexander?” Andrea repeated. Where had she heard the name before?
“Tugboat account,” Thor filled her in. “He operates a whole fleet of them, and the reason we’re willing to deal with him is he’s worth twice the Milanos.”
Andrea’s eyes widened, suddenly remembering the old sour-faced man at her reception. How could she forget him? He’d spent most of his time pigging out on Joe’s cannoli. “He’s turned you down?”
“Flat,” Rainer groused. “We’ve tried wooing him with everything in the book. We’ve stressed quality.”
Thor’s eyes narrowed. “And price.”
“Fast service?” Jordan added her two cents’ worth. “That’s important to the tugs, isn’t it? Don’t they often have to leave on the spur of the moment?”
“Tried it,” Thor and Rainer said in unison.
“So what’s left?” Andrea asked.
Her husband sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but . . . giving up?”
“That’s our cue to leave,” Rainer announced, and patted his wife’s stomach. “Our second Lamaze class is in an hour. Our instructor’s going to teach us how to breathe. Thought I’d nailed the basics on that ages ago.”
“Idiot,” Jordan said with a laugh. “You’re lucky she’s letting you return after last week. You nearly caused a riot with those tomatoes.”
“I thought juggling them would be a great distraction technique,” Rainer said in a wounded voice.
“It would have,” Jordan agreed dryly. “If you knew how to juggle.”
Andrea watched them go, her gaze pensive. They made such a happy, loving couple. She glanced at Thor. He continued to analyze the papers spread across his desk. Would she ever experience anything similar in her life?
A nother ten days passed and Andrea couldn’t seem to break through Thor’s wall of reserve. He worked from dawn until dusk and then some. She knew why, and could see no way of preventing what she suspected would follow.
Soon Thor would feel confident enough in her abilities to switch the daily running of Constantine’s over to her. Once that happened, there’d be no further call for him to work in Nick’s office, so he’d return to Thorsen’s. After another few months, he’d regain confidence in her financial stability. Slowly, but surely, he’d distance himself until . . .
Until he ended their marriage. Tears flooded her eyes.
“Mrs. Thorsen?” Marco stuck his head in the door. “Lumpers are unloading that shipment of lettuce. We’ve got slime. Will you come and look?”
“I’ll be right there.” She turned away and discreetly wiped her cheeks. Business first, she reminded herself. She mustn’t give Thor undue cause to stick around. She hurried to the loading bay, despite the tears nearly blinding her.
She stood at the rear of the forty-foot tractor-trailer, watching a dockworker, or “lumper,” pull off the first stack with a hydraulic pallet jack. She’d placed this order, and she’d be very upset if someone pulled a fast one on her. With luck it wouldn’t be slime at all, only a little mud from the recent rains. She stood on tiptoe, trying to catch a glimpse inside one of the cartons.
“Andrea! Look out!”
She moved. Fast. Thor moved faster. He slammed into her, knocking her to one side just as the top layer of boxes tipped and crashed to the cement floor.
“Thor!” she shrieked. She rolled over, expecting to see him crushed beneath a load of lettuce. Instead, she found him on his knees beside her. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
“Yes. No. Are you . . . ?”
She burst into tears. “Which is it?”
Through blurred eyes, she saw the blood staining his jeans and the arm of his shirt. She lifted a shaking hand to her mouth. Oh, Lord, don’t let me get sick. Not here in front of all my employees. Not when Thor needs me. She wouldn’t be dependent and clingy. She wouldn’t.
“Where were you hit?” Thor asked, his hands sweeping over her.
She fought for equilibrium. “Nowhere. I’m fine, but you’re not.”
She gave up the battle, wailing. “Oh, Thor, you’re bleeding.”
“Skinned knees and shoulder. Nothing serious.” He stood and helped her to her feet.
Only then did she notice the silent, horrified crowd surrounding them. “It’s all right,” she called. “No real damage done.”
“Mr. Thorsen, Mrs. Thorsen, I’m so sorry.” The lumper wrung his hands. “I didn’t realize the stack was unbalanced.”
“Forget it.” Thor cut in. “It’s not your fault.” He turned to Andrea’s head salesman. “Marco, take over, will you? We’re going home for the rest of the day.”
“You got it.”
Thor practically carried Andrea off the dock. “You’ll make the bleeding worse,” she tried to protest, seeing the dark stain growing at his shoulder. “I can walk.”
“Tough. I’m not letting you go.”
The taut, white line about his mouth kept her from saying more. She understood how he felt. She needed the reassurance of his touch, too. He settled her into the car before climbing in himself. The worst of the shock wore off during their drive home, allowing her to feel the bruises and aches emanating from every muscle in her body.
He parked in the driveway and they sat motionless. She sighed. “You can’t get out, either?”
A wry smile touched his mouth. “Nope.”
She pushed open the door and cautiously lifted one leg at a time. Several contortions later, she exited the car. “You’d think we were ninety, the way we’re creeping along.”
Thor groaned, inching out of the bucket seat. “Huh. Aunt Gerda’s ninety and she can still do handsprings.”
“Good for Aunt Gerda.” She massaged her aching hip. “I couldn’t do handsprings at sixteen. I’d be hard pressed to manage even a somersault right now.”
“A hot bath for you, sweetheart.”
“Sounds great.”
In her room, she eased off her shirt and jeans and peered in the dresser mirror. She’d bruised her shoulder and hip when Thor threw her to the concrete. A huge purple blemish showed above the edge of her bikini underpants. Carefully she slid her bra strap to one side and winced.
“Ah, sweetheart,” Thor murmured from the doorway. “That looks painful.”
