Nordic Heroes: In the Market and a Wholesale Arrangement Read Free

you?” Terry brightened, the idea clearly appealing to him. “Now why didn’t I think of that? Imagine, stealing your bananas just to get your attention. You’ve got to admit it’s a novel approach.”
    “Yes, imagine resorting to theft,” Jordan mocked dryly, “when all he had to do was walk over and introduce himself.”
    Despite Terry’s romantic view of the incident, Jordan suspected the lifting of her bananas had nothing whatsoever to do with romance, or even bananas. The man wanted to instigate a meeting and this was his clever way of going about it. It also forced her to approach him—giving him the advantage. Shrewd, very shrewd.
    Jordan appraised the situation. As far as she could tell, she had two choices. She could stand up to him and demand the return of her bananas, or she could shrug it off and walk away. She struggled with her conscience, resisting the part of her urging a hasty retreat. Why for once couldn’t she simply turn tail and run? Dogs did it all the time. She liked dogs. They were insightful, intelligent creatures.
    Of course, a dog didn’t have the responsibility of a business. If she didn’t keep Cornucopia a successful money-making operation, no one else would. She suspected if Terry’s high roller didn’t succeed in forcing a confrontation this time, he’d dream up another scheme tomorrow. Better to find out what he wanted now and end it.
    If only she didn’t have this overwhelming urge to roll over and play dead.
    She handed Terry his receipt book. “Write up the bananas. I’ll be back in a minute. Probably headless, but I’ll be back—and with the bananas.”
    The distance to traverse never looked so long. Jordan blew out a slow breath. No matter how appealing the idea of doing nothing, she couldn’t stand around all day like a coward. She gazed at her adversary, refusing to be intimidated. It was now or never. Head high, she crossed the cement loading dock. Perhaps it was sheer imagination, but it seemed as though every last man jack at the market stopped working to watch.
    Stay calm. Maybe there’s a logical explanation for what the banana snatcher has done.
    Or maybe she’d found a modern-day Viking with plunder and pillage bred into his blood and bones.
    She skirted a pile of ice chips, a container of green onions, and an unhappy-looking Marco. She stopped directly in front of the stranger.
    He dwarfed her with his impressive size, not that his height bothered her. Working on the docks for so long, she’d learned to handle the occasional disparity her five foot five frame caused. It was the rest of him that proved so disturbing.
    His chiseled face, tanned a deep golden brown, sported a squared-off jawline, a determined chin creased by a slight cleft and high, prominent cheekbones. Thick blond brows, several shades darker than his hair, set off the pale ice-blue of his deep-set eyes—eyes, she fancifully imagined, filled with the aggressive spirit of his ancestors.
    A bright glitter caught her attention and she glanced at his left ear, astonished and intrigued by the tiny gold lightning bolt earring he wore. The symbol of Thor, she realized with a momentary qualm. A Viking in fact, as well as in appearance.
    Her gaze skittered lower. She took in the broad well-muscled shoulders and chest, the lean waist and hips, and finally the thick powerful thighs encased in form-fitting jeans. She swallowed and her gaze flew back to his face. It took every ounce of self-possession to meet those cool mocking eyes with anything approaching equanimity. She braced herself for a similar visual examination, an examination that never came.
    Instead he fingered the bridge of his nose, which had obviously been broken at some point in his life, undoubtedly in a brawl, and grinned knowingly. “I see you got my message and decided to come over,” he murmured. “Very wise.”
    Jordan balled her hands into fists, suppressing the temptation to add another crook to his nose, and