Andrea looked away, her spine rigid with defiance.  She'd told Thor that if he solved her business problem with Hartsworth, she'd marry him.  It was a promise she'd honor just as she honored all her business commitments.  But first, they'd discuss the terms of surrender.

Her mouth turned down.  "All right.  I need you.  There, I've admitted it."

"That's big of you," he said dryly.

"Do you still insist on marriage?"

"I do."

"Do you object to a prenuptial agreement keeping our two businesses separate?"

"No.  I prefer it."

"Okay.  I'll marry you."  She glanced at him, and froze in her chair.  Triumph glowed deep in his eyes, turning the color a brilliant sea blue.  So he'd beaten her after all.  He must be very pleased.  Foreboding filled her, teasing her with what lay ahead -- a marriage based on desire and business, not on love.

"About time," he muttered in a rough voice.  He stood and she followed suit, backing away.

"I want a few marital ground rules set up first," she spoke hastily.

He smiled and his resemblance to a huge, hungry lion grew.  "Such as?"

"We divorce in three months."

He shook his head and came around the side of his desk.  "Six.  Minimum.  It'll take at least that long to get Constantine's shaped up."

"Okay, six," she agreed, edging away.  "But I can't marry you for two more months.  Things are too hectic at work right now."

"We marry in four weeks."

She put the chair between them.  "That's too soon!"

"Tough."

"The wedding," she gasped, as he hooked a foot around the chair leg and booted it to one side.  "It's to be small and intimate."

"Try large and public and at my church."  He kept coming.  "The whole purpose of this ceremony is to broadcast it to as many people as possible, not keep it quiet.  I'll take care of the wedding arrangements.  All you have to do is show up.  Any more conditions I should know about?"

"Yes!  I . . . I won't share a home with you."  She took several quick steps backward.  "There's no reason to.  It isn't like this is a real marriage or anything."

He grinned in amusement.  "I think we'll leave that question open for future negotiation.  Anything else?"

She nodded, speaking fast, aware she'd soon run out of retreating room.  "And I won't have . . . be . . ."  Her eyes widened in alarm as he reached her.  "No touching!"

"Trust me.  There will be lots of touching.  Starting now."

The bright glitter from his hammer earring flashed like a warning beacon before his gentle yank sent her tumbling into his arms.  He slid one hand around her waist, the other up her spine to the nape of her neck.  His fingers eased into her hair, becoming entangled in her short blond curls.  He studied her upturned face, his expression serious, almost thoughtful.

"I've waited a long time for this, " he murmured, and lowered his mouth to hers.

She stiffened against him, part of her desperate to fight him off.  The other, more insidious part wallowed in the mind-splintering sensations he aroused.  She'd forgotten -- heavens, how's she'd forgotten! -- the impact of his kiss.  It was like soaring over one of her rainbows straight into a miracle.  Hope and faith and promises abounded.

It was impossible to resist.  With a tiny sigh, she relaxed, taking the momentary joy offered.  She'd worry about the consequences later.  Much later.

"There's your touching rule taken care of," he muttered against her mouth, satisfaction heavy in his voice.  "Shall we lay odds on how long we maintain separate living accommodations?"