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The Matchmaking Machine
Judith McWilliams
li, Maggie Romer, am about to teach my new boss a lesson he won't soon forget. The minute he took over my company and fired my friend Sam, John Richard Worthington became my enemy.But this man has many sides. 'Turns out the sexy man I've been dating, whom I mistook for a plumber, is none other than Worthington! Fortunately his interest in me fits perfectly into my master plan. You see, I designed a program that will make him wildly attracted to me. And when the mighty man falls, well, let's just say Irevenge will be mighty sweet…



Richard didn’t like lying, but the idea of telling Maggie the truth appealed even less.
He’d been intrigued by her from the moment he’d first seen her. And she really did think he was the plumber, which meant the interest he could see in her eyes was for him and not his money. The knowledge sent a fizz of anticipation zinging through his bloodstream—an anticipation vaguely tinged with worry as he remembered her very unflattering opinion of him. Would that spark of interest die when she found out who he really was? And she would have to find out. Once he showed up at the office on Monday, everyone would be jostling for a glimpse of their new boss. But that was Monday, and this was Friday.
Richard wanted the chance to get to know Maggie better. Much better.
Dear Reader,
Icy winds and fierce snowstorms have nothing on this month’s heroines who all seem to have a score to settle. And you know the old line about hell having no fury like a woman scorned—well, grab a hot drink and a comfortable chair and watch what happens when these women dole out their best shots!
Alice Sharpe leads off the month with the final installment in the PERPETUALLY YOURS trilogy. In A Tail of Love (#1806), it takes one determined wire fox terrier to convince his stubborn mistress to stay with the man she left two years ago. Ever since the big man on campus jilted her in high school, a former plain Jane has wanted revenge…and now his return, her transformation and a bachelor auction provide the perfect opportunity in Teresa Southwick’s In Good Company (#1807)—the second book in her BUY-A-GUY miniseries. Realizing her groom will always put his work first, a runaway bride heads for the mountains and lands on the doorstep of a man who could give her the storybook ending she craves, in Carol Grace’s Snow White Bride(#1808), part of her charming FAIRY-TALE BRIDES series. Finally, a computer programmer devises the perfect matchmaking program to exact revenge on her new boss, but she quickly finds that even the best-laid computer program can’t account for human attraction, in Judith McWilliams’s scintillating romance, The Matchmaking Machine(#1809).
Happy reading.
Ann Leslie Tuttle
Associate Senior Editor

The Matchmaking Machine
Judith McWilliams

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Books by Judith McWilliams
Silhouette Romance
Gift of the Gods #479
The Summer Proposal #1562
Her Secret Children #1648
Did You Say…Wife? #1681
Dr. Charming #1721
The Matchmaking Machine #1809
Silhouette Desire
Reluctant Partners #441
A Perfect Season #545
That’s My Baby #597
Anything’s Possible! #911
The Man from Atlantis #954
Instant Husband #1001
Practice Husband #1062
Another Man’s Baby #1095
The Boss, the Beauty and the Bargain #1122
The Sheik’s Secret #1228

JUDITH McWILLIAMS
began to enjoy romances while in search of the proverbial “happily-ever-after.” But she always found herself rewriting the endings, and eventually the beginnings of the books she read. Then her husband finally suggested that she write novels of her own, and she’s been doing it ever since.
An ex-teacher with four children, Judith has traveled the country extensively with her husband and has been greatly influenced by those experiences. While not tending the garden or caring for her family, Judith does what she enjoys most—writing. She has also written under the name of Charlotte Hines.

Contents
Chapter One (#u2451093a-2383-5ed6-a301-c4df8f79f6c5)
Chapter Two (#uc71dc51a-4143-5463-8796-65c47f10a88c)
Chapter Three (#u327b0245-5fe3-5612-88d0-240368c546ae)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One
She was going to teach John Worthington a long-overdue lesson in humility if it was the last thing she ever did, Maggie Romer told herself as she nervously tightened her grip on the thick manila envelope she was carrying. Taking a deep breath, she punched in the security code she’d been given to get into Worthington’s apartment building. The oversized glass doors obediently slid open.
Maggie stepped into the spacious lobby and looked around, trying to ignore her feeling of inferiority in the face of such opulent luxury. She was no longer an unwanted foster kid on the outside looking in, she reminded herself. These days, she was a well-paid, highly trained computer professional.
She was also a woman on a mission. Her soft pink lips tightened as an image of Sam Moore’s haggard features popped into her mind. According to his wife, he was so depressed that he just sat around all day, staring at the wall.
Sam might be powerless, but she wasn’t, and she was determined to get revenge for him. No, not revenge. Justice.
Justice was everyone’s right. Worthington might be the company’s new owner, but that didn’t give him the right to summarily fire Sam and then refuse to give him a reference. What Worthington had done was unconscionable. Sam was great at what he did. Not only that, but he was super to work for. She didn’t know a single person in the entire company who had a bad word to say about him—man or woman. Yet Worthington had dismissed him without even so much as a reference. And without a reference and an explanation for the firing, potential employers would assume that Sam was incompetent and had only held his job as president because he was the old owner’s son-in-law. The entire office was in agreement that Worthington deserved to be called to account for his actions.
In fact, Emily, Sam’s former secretary, hated John Worthington so much she hadn’t even been willing to deliver an important report to his empty apartment, despite the fact that he wasn’t due to arrive from California until later tonight.
When Maggie had heard Emily vilifying Worthington in the lunchroom, she immediately volunteered to drop the document off for her. As far as Maggie was concerned, getting access to his apartment was a heaven-sent opportunity to check the place out for clues about his personal likes and dislikes.
Trying to act as if she belonged in this kind of setting, Maggie walked across the lobby toward the sour-faced guard sitting behind a desk near the elevators. He straightened slightly as she approached, and the furtive gleam of sexual desire that lightened his eyes sent a chill of revulsion down her spine. She bit the inside of her lip as she fought her instinctive urge to hunch her shoulders in an attempt to hide her breasts.
“I’m Maggie Romer delivering a package for John Worthington. Emily Adams from Computer Solutions should have already called to tell you I’d be coming,” she told the guard.
“She did. And I told her that I was the only one on and couldn’t leave the desk to go up with you. She said you didn’t need an escort.” He shrugged. “That’s fine by me, but tell her I said if there’s a problem not to come to me about it.”
Maggie nodded and walked into one of the open elevators. Taking out the plastic card Emily had given her that provided access to the penthouse level, Maggie inserted it into the slot in the control panel.
Nothing will go wrong, she told herself, trying to ignore the feeling of impending doom that engulfed her as the elevator doors snapped shut. She’d leave the envelope on his desk in the study as Emily had instructed and then take a quick look around for any information about his personal habits that she could enter into the program she had written about John Worthington.
A sense of satisfaction filled her at the thought of the novel computer application she had come up with in her quest to teach Worthington a lesson. She’d been listening to a couple of her friends talk about their experiences with Internet dating when she suddenly realized that it should be possible to create a program that would tell her exactly what kind of woman John Worthington found attractive. After all, those Internet dating sites found potentially compatible mates all the time. And if she could do that, there was the possibility—even if it was a slim one—that she could turn herself into something close to his idea of perfection and get him to fall for her. Then, once he’d committed himself, she could laugh in his face and walk out, letting him find out what it felt like to be rejected. To be treated as if he were a thing of absolutely no value. Job, be darned.
Even though Maggie had created the program, she knew her plan was a long shot. Still, there were several points in her favor.
For one, Worthington’s electronics empire was headquartered in San Francisco, and, now that his father was semiretired, he spent most of his time there with occasional trips to the company’s offices in the far east. His presence in New York was so rare that there had been speculation in the financial press that his allocation of six whole weeks to oversee the integration of their software company into the parent company meant that Worthington was positioning himself to move into the applications side of computers.
Maggie reasoned that since Worthington was a stranger in town, he wouldn’t know anyone, and since he wasn’t planning on staying, he probably wouldn’t bother with the local social scene. That would drastically limit the number of women competing with her for his attention.
Second, as a key member of his staff, she would see him at the office on a regular basis. The opportunity was definitely there if she could take advantage of it. She’d considered the possibility that he might not be willing to date an employee, but she quickly pushed that aside. Interoffice dating was more common than companies liked to admit, and when he saw that she was the woman of his dreams, how could be resist?
Once her program had spelled out what his ideal woman looked like, Maggie had completely revamped her image to conform to it as closely as possible. Her plain brown hair now sported reddish highlights and fell to her shoulders in a sexy tumble of loose curls, and her pleasing, if unspectacular, features were enhanced by the best makeup money could buy. As for her clothes…
She winced slightly as she caught sight of herself in the mirrors that lined three of the four elevator walls. She’d started wearing her new wardrobe two weeks ago so that all the surprised comments from colleagues about her wearing something other than her usual nondescript suits and comfortable sweaters would be over before Worthington arrived in town.
Unfortunately, she’d discovered that two weeks wasn’t long enough for her to feel comfortable with her new image. She shifted uncomfortably as she studied the way her black slacks clung to her slender hips before faithfully outlining her long, slim legs. A lifetime might not be enough, she conceded.
The elevator came to a smooth stop on the top floor and the doors opened onto a discreetly lighted foyer carpeted in a soft dove-gray. There was a real floral arrangement sitting on a gilt table beside the door to the penthouse apartment.
Maggie straightened her shoulders, trying to ignore the way her action tightened her black silk shirt over her small, high breasts. She was determined to teach Worthington a lesson, and if dressing sexier was what it took, then that’s what she’d do.
With anticipation, Maggie took out the key to Worthington’s apartment Emily had given her. Unlocking the door, she slipped inside.
A soundless whistle escaped her as she took in the wall of glass in the living room that gave her a panoramic view of Central Park twenty stories below. Money might not buy happiness, but it sure could buy beautiful surroundings, she thought. The room looked like something out of a decorating book for the seriously rich.
John Worthington certainly believed in pampering himself, although…
Maggie frowned slightly as she took in the chintz prints on the sofas and overstuffed chairs. From the extensive research she’d already done on him, she would have guessed that his taste in furniture leaned more toward priceless antiques. This room seemed out of character with the image of him on her program. Maybe the taste reflected here wasn’t Worthington’s.
She knew from what Emily had said that Worthington hated living in hotels and one of the first things his advanceman, Daniel Romanos, had done when he’d arrived in town last week had been to lease his boss this apartment. Maybe Romanos had leased it furnished?
Hmm…What now? Did she enter a liking for chintz and English country into her program or put in that Worthington was adaptable enough to live with decor not to his taste? She didn’t know which was more accurate, but of one thing she was certain: the program was becoming a lot more complicated than she’d originally anticipated. The variables seemed both endless and endlessly fascinating.
Maggie walked farther into the room, wondering if any of Worthington’s personal effects had arrived yet. According to Emily, his flight wasn’t due to arrive until after midnight, but he could have shipped some of his stuff along with Daniel Romanos.
She reached down to open the drawer in the end table beside one of the sofas when she heard a loud clanging sound coming from down the hallway to her left. A shiver ran down her spine and she automatically took a step back toward the front door before common sense told her that it couldn’t be a burglar. For one thing, it was too hard to get into the building. For another, one of the first requirements of burglarizing would be quietness. And whomever it was had made no attempt to be quiet.
Maybe Worthington had sent his housekeeper from San Francisco ahead to get the place ready for him, she thought in a sudden burst of excitement. A housekeeper who might be able to give her personal facts about him firsthand. So far, all her information about Worthington had been gleaned secondhand from magazine and newspaper articles.
Eagerly, Maggie headed toward the sound. At the very least, she could ask whomever it was where the study was so she could drop off the envelope and do some snooping in his desk drawers.
Maggie quickly located where the noise was coming from. Sticking her head around the half-open door, she peered inside. Her eyes widened when she saw the bottom half of a man sticking out from beneath the bathroom vanity. Her mouth dried and she slowly ran the tip of her tongue over her lower lip as her eyes measured the impressive breadth of his chest before wandering down over his flat stomach to linger on the long, lean length of his denim-clad thighs.
I wonder what the rest of him looks like? she thought, suppressing an urge to look under the cabinet and find out. Why had she never found a plumber built like that? Her apartment building was serviced by a surly, middle-aged man with a beer belly who wouldn’t raise a lustful thought in a nymphomaniac, while this guy…
She took a deep, steadying breath as her gaze returned of its own volition to his tight jeans.
“Excuse me,” she began then instinctively jerked back when the man’s body suddenly jackknifed. There was a hollow ringing sound as what she assumed was his head hit something hard under the cabinet.
Maggie barely registered the curse that rolled out from beneath the cabinet. She was far more interested in the deep, dark, velvety tone of his voice. It lapped enticingly against her skin, nudging each and every nerve ending she owned to eager, expectant life. Her breath caught in her lungs in anticipation as the man wiggled out from under the cabinet. A powerful surge of awareness engulfed her as she got her first clear look at him.
The top half of him was even better than the bottom half, she realized in astonishment. His ink-black hair was cut slightly shorter than the present style and disheveled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it. She would have expected an olive complexion with hair that dark, but his skin was a pale honey-gold that gave his gray eyes an almost crystalline look. Her gaze slipped down over the thin blade of his nose to land on his wide mouth and all rational thought was suspended as she was instantly consumed by a desire to press her lips to his.
“Are you deaf, as well?” the man bit out.
Maggie opened her mouth to ask as well as what and then thought better of the idea. She didn’t want to start the conversation by trading insults, and she was pretty sure there was one buried in his question.
Ignoring his comment would probably be the quickest way to lower the sudden tension which had sprung up between them, she decided.
“Did you hurt your head?” she tried.
“Yes,” he snapped. “I probably fractured my skull.”
“Nonsense,” Maggie said bracingly. “All you did was smack it on something.”
“That something was a porcelain sink!” He gave her an aggrieved look that made her want to take him in her arms and kiss his ill humor away, something she didn’t recall ever wanting to do with anyone before.
“Sit down.” Maggie gestured toward the vanity seat. “I’ll see how bad it is.”
To her surprise, he obediently sat down and bent his head slightly so she could look.
Maggie set the manila envelope and her purse down on the vanity and tentatively touched his head. Her fingers sank into his silky, dark hair, searching for a lump. His hair was cool on the outside and very warm next to his scalp. It was an intriguing combination. From this close, she could smell the citrusy scent of his cologne.
Maggie swallowed uneasily as a curl of heat tightened in the pit of her stomach, making her feel edgy. Her fingertips began to tingle, and she had to fight the urge to caress the very slight bump she found.
“I think you’ll live.” Her voice came out sounding husky and not at all like her normal, even, no-nonsense tone. How could she be reacting so strongly to some strange man she had chanced upon in a bathroom? She wondered uneasily. She had never been the impulsive type about anything—and that included sexual attraction. Not only that, but she didn’t know the first thing about this guy.
No, that wasn’t quite true, she corrected herself. She actually knew two things about him. She knew he was gorgeous, and she knew he was a plumber.
He might live, but he wouldn’t do it with any degree of comfort in her vicinity, Richard Worthington thought ruefully as he struggled to control his body’s enthusiastic response to her touch. He certainly didn’t want her to realize that he’d taken one look at her and every male hormone he had had kicked into overdrive—at least, not until he figured out who she was and what she was doing in his apartment.
He was positive he’d locked the door behind him, so she had to have had a key to have gotten in. Could she have come from the office of the lawyer who was handling his sublease of the place? One thing was clear: she certainly hadn’t come to steal anything because she had no place to hide it. His gaze lingered on the small expanse of delectable-looking skin between her form-fitting sweater and her pants. The blackness of her outfit highlighted the creamy texture of her perfect skin.
“I’m Richard, and you are…” He held out his hand, seizing the opportunity to touch her.
The woman put her hand in his.
“Maggie. Do you know where the housekeeper is?” she said, looking uncomfortable, as if she wasn’t used to dealing with unknown men.
“What housekeeper?” Richard looked around the spacious bathroom as if he expected to find a strange woman hiding in a corner. “There was no one else here when I arrived earlier.”
“Oh,” Maggie said and glanced down, only to find that she was still holding on to his hand like a lifeline. Appearing to be embarrassed, she dropped it and took a step back. “Tell me, have you seen the study?”
“Why?” he said curiously.
“I’m supposed to put that on the desk in the study.” She nodded toward the manila envelope on the vanity.
“What’s in it?” Richard leaned over and began to search through the toolbox on the floor.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m just the messenger.”
“Here, hold this.” Richard handed her the wrench and went back to rummaging through his tools.
Maggie automatically accepted it, though she seemed to be rather surprised by its weight.
“Open the envelope and see what it is,” Richard ordered, wondering if it was the treasurer’s report that was supposed to have arrived earlier. Straightening out the mess Sam had created was not going to be an easy job—he felt a surge of adrenaline at the thought of the challenge—but it would be worth it. Both he and his father agreed that the company was the perfect vehicle to use to get a foothold in the software applications market.
“Certainly not!” Maggie snapped. “And why are you so interested? Unless you’re an industrial spy?”
With narrowed eyes, she studied his arrested expression. His gray eyes were blank, and his mouth had fallen slightly open, revealing perfect white teeth. Could he actually be such a thing? She wondered uncertainly. On the surface, it seemed like a ludicrous idea because, until Worthington actually arrived, there should have been nothing of any business import in the apartment for him to spy on. He could hardly have known that someone would be coming by with an envelope from the treasurer, could he? She wasn’t sure. The only thing she knew about industrial spying had been learned at the movies, which was hardly a reliable source of information.
“Are you serious?” Richard asked, studying her suspicious face, unable to decide whether to be amused or annoyed. Clearly she had no idea that he owned the company that had hired her messenger firm to deliver the package. Who did she think he was? Her next words answered his question.
“No, not really, but I think you’d better stick to the plumbing you were hired to do.”
Could she really think he was a plumber? He wondered in confusion. Or was this some clever ploy to…To do what? No one knew he was in New York yet except Daniel, and he wouldn’t willingly give anyone the time of day, let alone information about him.
“You’re very loyal to your boss,” he probed as he inched back under the sink.
“No, I’m not,” she said, allowing herself the self-indulgent pleasure of openly eyeing his body while he couldn’t see her. “What I do have is a strongly developed sense of survival. I don’t even want to think about what he’d do if he found out I’d looked at his precious papers!”
“I suppose anyone who operated a messenger service would have to be extra careful about her company’s reputation,” he said. “Hand me the wrench I asked you to hold.” Richard stuck a large hand out from under the sink.
Maggie gave it to him. “I don’t work for a messenger service. I work for a computer firm that was just bought out by a big electronics holding company from California. The son of the owner is coming to town to oversee the takeover, and, from what I’ve seen, he makes Simon Legree look like an advocate for human rights. The person who should have delivered this package was the old president’s secretary, and she flatly refused to even come near this place. That’s how bad Worthington is.”
Richard’s hand stilled as her words sank in. She was referring to him, he realized in shock. But why did she dislike him so much? Unless office gossip was responsible? Rumors did tend to be rife during a takeover.
“What exactly are you doing?” Maggie threw into the silence. She’d much rather talk about Worthington than her problems at work.
“I’m replacing the cold-water pipe to the faucet,” he said, deciding not to tell her who he was just yet.
“I need a Phillips screwdriver. Do you know what one looks like?”
“Of course I know what a Phillips head screwdriver looks like. The days of the helpless little woman are long gone.”
“Oh, I don’t know. There’s something kind of appealing about knowing more than a woman about guy things.”
“There are no guy things. That’s…” Her voice trailed away as her eyes instinctively dropped to his groin and the muscles in her abdomen suddenly clenched. Okay, so there were some exclusively guy things, but she had no intention of amending her original statement and opening up what could prove to be an embarrassing line of discussion.
“Okay, traditional guy things, then,” Richard said. “Turn on the faucet, will you?”
Maggie obediently turned on the faucet and yelped when cold water spurted up, soaking the front of her sweater. Hastily, she jumped back. To her dismay, the heel of her shoe caught on the edge of his body and she tripped, landing on him.
The feel of his hard body beneath her soft hips had a curiously enervating effect on her. All she wanted to do was stay there and absorb the feel of his flesh pressing into hers. He felt so good. So…
“Are you all right?” Richard demanded, as Maggie winced. The man must think she was a total klutz.
Hurriedly, she scrambled off him and muttered, “Other than being drenched, I’m fine.”
“Sorry about that, but getting wet is one of the hazards of being a plumber’s helper,” Richard said in a cool tone that was totally at odds with the interest in his eyes as he moved from under the sink and noted the way her wet sweater was plastered to her breasts.
“I am not a plumber’s helper. I’m simply an innocent bystander. A wet innocent bystander.”
“I should be able to do something about the wet part. I replaced a washer in the sink in the kitchen earlier and there’s a washer and dryer in there. We’ll just throw your sweater and bra in the dryer. Since no one’s living here yet, no one will mind.”
Maggie felt her cheeks heat at his casual reference to her underwear. It appeared that even the plumber was more sophisticated than she was.
She shook her head, sending the damp ends of her curls flying. “It’s too risky. Suppose Worthington decided to catch an earlier flight. I can just imagine his reaction if he walked in and found me wrapped in a towel. Besides, I don’t make it a habit to take off my clothes in front of strange men.” Even handsome ones, she silently added.
Actually, she was pretty sure she knew exactly what Worthington’s reaction would be, she thought grimly. One of the strongest dislikes her program had registered was that he hated being chased—apparently even more than he hated publicity. Which probably accounted for the fact that the only photograph she had been able to find of him had been a grainy long-distance shot that looked like it had been taken through a heavy fog. Even the holding company’s website hadn’t included a single photo of her quarry, only of his father, the titular head of the company, John Worthington, Sr.
“We’ll hear him if he shows up, and I’ll distract him with a report on his plumbing while you retrieve your clothes. In the meantime, you can wear my shirt.”
Richard casually stripped it off and handed it to her.
“The guard downstairs told me to make a pot of coffee if I wanted to,” he lied. “Why don’t you change while I fix us some? I’m ready for a break anyway.”
Normally, Maggie would have never considered the offer, but she was due back at the office and showing up in soaking wet clothes just wouldn’t do. Unfortunately, she didn’t have enough time to run back to her own apartment to change. Spending the next fifteen to twenty minutes letting her stuff dry was her best option.
Cautiously, she reached for his shirt, her entire attention focused on his bare chest. It was covered by a thick wedge of curly black hair that arrowed downward, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.
Maggie’s breathing shortened as in her imagination her fingers followed that line of silky hair down his body, all the way down his body. She shivered as goose-bumps popped up on her arms.
“You’re chilled.” Richard misinterpreted her reaction.
“Hurry up and get out of those wet clothes.”
Stepping around her, he left, quietly closing the door behind him.
Maggie released her breath on a long, wistful sigh, then blinked when she could still see the enticing vision of his bare chest in her mind’s eye.
“Okay, so you’ve got a bad case of the hots for the plumber,” she muttered to herself. “There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re a normal woman. Why shouldn’t you respond to male perfection when you find it?”
Heat twisted through her abdomen at the thought of just how enthusiastically she’d like to respond.
Chance was a fine thing, she thought ruefully as she pulled her sweater over her head. She might lust after him, but she’d seen no sign that he felt anything at all when he looked at her.
What kind of woman would appeal to Richard? She wondered and immediately thought of her program. Unfortunately, there was no way she could apply it to a normal man. It was only high-profile ones like John Worthington that she could find out enough information about to use it on.
She frowned as she remembered why she was here in the first place. Unfortunately, her plan to check the apartment for clues to Worthington’s personality wasn’t going to get very far with Richard here. He might be taking full advantage of his boss’s offer to use the facilities, but she doubted that he’d stand by and let her snoop in drawers. He’d be afraid that she might take something and he’d get blamed.
The vexing problem of getting even with John Worthington slipped from her mind as she pulled Richard’s softly worn denim shirt on and the citrusy scent of his cologne drifted into her lungs, speeding up her heart rate and making her nerves tighten. Trying to ignore the unsettling sensation, Maggie buttoned the shirt and then rolled up the sleeves so that she could use her hands. Picking up her wet clothes, the manila envelope and her purse, she went to look for the kitchen.
She had no trouble finding it. She simply followed the tantalizing smell of freshly brewed coffee. She walked into the large room decorated entirely in white—white tile floor, white walls, white cabinets and white ceiling. Even the appliances were white.
“This place could double as an operating room,” she said as she handed Richard her wet clothes. “Make sure you use the delicate low-heat option.”
He opened a pair of white louvered doors on the opposite wall to reveal a tiny laundry room. He tossed her damp things into the white dryer, set it and turned it on.
“I think the owner is into the utilitarian look. Either that or he never comes into the kitchen, so he doesn’t care how stark it looks. Help yourself to some coffee.” Richard gestured toward the steaming pot.
Maggie set her envelope and purse down on the counter, took one of the mugs hanging from a cast-iron holder and poured herself a cup. She sat down on a bar stool at the Corian breakfast bar.
“I hope they don’t take long to dry. I want to get out of here before Worthington shows. Did whoever hired you tell you when he was scheduled to arrive?” she asked.
Maggie noticed his slight frown and assumed it was because he didn’t know whom she was talking about. “Or weren’t you told whom you were doing the job for?”
Thoughtfully, Richard took a drink of his coffee as he tried to decide what to do. He didn’t like lying, even by omission, but the idea of telling Maggie the truth appealed to him even less. If he did, she would probably walk out, and he didn’t want her to. He wanted the chance to get to know her better. Much better.
He’d been intrigued by her from the moment he’d first he’d seen her. Her gleaming brown hair with its reddish highlights and her deep blue eyes appealed to his aesthetic sense, while the perfection of her slender, long legs made him fantasize about what it would feel like to have them wrapped around him.
Richard studied her over the rim of her coffee cup. She really did think he was the plumber, which meant that the sexual interest he could see in her eyes every time she looked at him was for him and not his money. The knowledge sent a fizz of anticipation zinging through his bloodstream—an anticipation vaguely tinged with worry as he remembered her very unflattering opinion of him. Would that spark of interest die when she found out who he really was? And she would have to find out. There was no way he could keep his identity a secret from her indefinitely. Once he showed up at the office on Monday, everyone would be jostling for a glimpse of him. But that was Monday, and this was only Friday. He had a little time before he had to tell her the truth—time enough to convince her that the nasty rumors circulating in the office about him obviously had no basis in fact.
He frowned as Maggie’s eyes suddenly widened in shock.
“Ugh!” she gasped and set the mug down with a thump. “What is this?” She stared into the stygian depths of the cup with disbelief.
“Just coffee,” Richard said. “I made it myself.”
“I certainly wouldn’t advertise the fact,” she shot back. “You might be held responsible for the results. This stuff could double as paint remover.”
“I can’t stand it weak.”
“And I can’t stand getting my week’s allotment of caffeine in one shot.” Maggie got up and poured half the brew down the sink. Then she added water, a large spoonful of sugar and a hefty dose of milk.
“Milk and sugar ruin the flavor of good coffee,” he said.
“This is not good coffee,” Maggie said, cautiously taking a sip of the resulting mixture. “Strong, yes. Good, no. And don’t tell me it’s a guy thing. Bad is bad.”
“Ha, you probably make instant. Your taste buds need educating.”
“If I drank much of this stuff, my taste buds would be more likely to be dissolved than educated. It…”
She tensed as she heard the chimes from the front door.
Was that Worthington? She wondered in dismay as Richard got up to answer it. But Worthington wouldn’t knock on his own apartment door, would he? Surely, he’d have a key.
She didn’t know, but she had no intention of guessing—and guessing wrong. She didn’t want to meet him yet. She wanted their first meeting to take place on ground of her choosing, not his. Hurriedly, she grabbed the envelope and rushed after Richard, catching up with him at the front door.
“Don’t open that,” she whispered to Richard.
He paused, his hand halfway to the doorknob. “Why not?”
“I don’t want to meet anyone wearing your shirt.”
“How about if I just call through the door and tell them to come back when the dryer goes off.”
“Don’t be silly,” she muttered.
“Me?!”
“I need to put this envelope on the desk the way I was told to. Stall whomever is out there while I find the study.”
The person rang the bell again.
“Wait a minute. We’re stalling,” Richard yelled through the door.
“Honestly!” Maggie gave him an exasperated look. “This is important. That could be Worthington.”
“It can’t be Worthington,” Richard said. “The guard at the front desk was specific about him not arriving until after I was finished.”
“Then if you know so much, who is it?”
“Who are you?” Richard yelled through the door.
“Daniel Romanos,” the voice called back.
“Damn!” Maggie scowled. “It’s almost as bad. That’s Worthington’s hatchet man. Stall him.”
She raced down the hall and pulled open an oak door. To her relief, it was the study. She pitched the manila envelope onto the middle of the bare desk and hurried back to the living room and Richard.
“Is the evidence hidden?” Richard asked.
“I wasn’t hiding it. I was just putting it where it belongs.” Where she should have put it the minute she arrived—and would have if she hadn’t been distracted by him.
Her eyes lingered on the firm line of his dark jaw. And it had been fatally easy to get sidetracked, too, she conceded honestly. There was something about Richard that made everything else fade into the background. It was a reaction she’d never had before, and it worried her. This was not the time for her to finally discover a man who appealed to her sexually—not when she had everything in place to launch her plan of revenge against Worthington.

Chapter Two
“So tell me, Sherlock, what am I supposed to do about our visitor?” Richard asked.
“Why ask me?”
“Because you’re the one who told me not to open the door.”
“I didn’t mean permanently,” she said and then hastily lowered her voice, having no idea just how solid the door was. She most emphatically didn’t want Romanos to know she was here. He couldn’t report what he didn’t know to Worthington.
“Maybe if we just ignore him, he’ll go away?” she suggested hopefully.
Richard frowned as Daniel suddenly got more insistent and began to pound on the door. Normally, he appreciated his personal assistant’s dogged determination to get things done, but in this instance, it threatened to mess up his plans for Maggie.
“Impatient soul, isn’t he?” Maggie said. “You sure can tell he’s Worthington’s right-hand man.”
Richard ignored the pounding. Daniel could wait. For what he paid the man, he could wait quietly, too.
“Why do you say that?” Richard asked curiously.
“Because according to office gossip, Worthington is a real mover and shaker in the business world. That type never waits patiently, so it makes sense that he would surround himself with the same kind of people. And with Worthington due to arrive in New York tonight, it also makes sense that his assistant would want to report in as soon as possible. I’m just surprised he isn’t camped out at the airport.”
Impeccable logic, Richard thought. As smart as she was, it would be impossible to fool her for any length of time, but he hoped keeping his identity a secret from Maggie would be possible for at least one night.
Maggie winced as Daniel attacked the door again.
“He clearly has no intention of going peacefully into the night she said regretfully. “We’re going to have to let him in.”
“I could try telling him to go away and come back later,” Richard suggested. Whether Daniel would or not depended on whether or not he recognized Richard’s voice through the distorting effects of the wood.
“I think we’ve tried his patience enough,” she said with a glum look at the entrance. She could almost feel the hostility bristling through it.
“Why don’t you go see if your sweater and bra are dry while I let the guy in. I’ll give him my best ain’t-nobody-here-but-the-plumber routine.”
Only too happy not to have to face Daniel, whom she’d met Monday when he’d arrived from San Francisco and disliked at first sight, Maggie hurried back into the kitchen. This had been the most unsettling day. And meeting Richard had been the defining point. Who would have thought that she would find the most appealing man she’d ever met under a cabinet in a strange bathroom.
Not that she’d met that many men, she conceded. Mostly, she just avoided them. It was safer that way. Men were a huge complication that she hadn’t been able to afford in her life. She had been too busy, first studying and then working to establish her career. Too busy proving to herself that she wasn’t the least bit like her mother. Or her father. The acid burn of anger that thoughts of her father always engendered overwhelmed her and she briefly closed her eyes, took a deep breath and resolutely banished him back to oblivion, where he belonged.
Stepping into the minuscule laundry room, she pulled the louvered doors closed behind her before yanking open the dryer door and pulling out her sweater and bra. They were still damp, but she put them on anyway in case she needed to make a quick escape. If Daniel was here, Worthington wouldn’t be far behind. And she didn’t want to meet Worthington now. She intended to orchestrate their first encounter very carefully. She would project the image of a bright, confident, sophisticated woman. The only kind of woman likely to attract his interest, according to her program. At the moment, she felt—and undoubtedly looked—like a frazzled refugee from a hectic day at the office.
Richard opened the front door, catching Daniel with his fist raised to pound on the door again.
“Be quiet,” Richard ordered with a quick look over his shoulder to make sure Maggie was still in the kitchen. “Pretend you don’t know me.”
“Hell, Richard, in this mood, I’m not sure I do know you.”
Richard grinned. “I’m doing some undercover work. The report from the treasurer’s office is in the study, second door on the right.” He gestured toward the room Maggie had entered. “Make a copy of it and send it by courier to Baxter at the San Francisco office. Don’t fax anything,” Richard said.
“Will do. Oh, and Wilton called. He said he’d located a man named Zylinski in Washington, D.C., who’s a wizard at tracing embezzled funds through computers. I have a call in to him. I hope to hear from him tonight, or tomorrow morning, at the latest.”
“Promise him anything, but get him here immediately to trace the movement of the money Moore embezzled. Wright’s widow might have been willing to eat the losses to avoid sending her son-in-law to jail, but I want to know if Moore had any accomplices that are still with the company. Two million dollars in just three years is a hell of a lot of money for one person to lose playing poker even if he is a compulsive gambler.”
Daniel shook his head. “It’s a damn shame. Moore was one helluva salesman. He practically revitalized that company single-handedly after Wright had his first heart attack.”
“Yeah, and then he bled it dry. I still think Mrs. Wright was wrong. Son-in-law or not, she should have pressed charges against Moore.”
Daniel looked into Richard’s hard gray eyes and shivered. He sure wouldn’t want to cross Richard. He was not a forgiving man.
“Lock the door behind you and let me know as soon as you hear from the computer expert,” Richard said.
“Will do.” Daniel hurried down the hallway to the study while Richard went back into the kitchen. A sound from behind the closed laundry-room doors told him where Maggie was.
“I got rid of him,” Richard addressed the doors. “It’s safe to come out.”
Maggie opened the door and emerged, giving him a repressive look. “I wasn’t hiding,” she lied. “I was changing my clothes. Here’s your shirt, and thank you.”
She watched regretfully as he slipped into it and his magnificent, hairy chest disappeared from view.
“You can express your thanks by helping me connect the faucet back up again.”
“If you’ll remember correctly, that’s how I got wet in the first place,” she pointed out as she followed him back to the bathroom. Somehow, she seemed unable to resist the temptation of being around him. Maybe her makeover had changed more than just her outward appearance, she considered. Maybe wearing an up-to-the-minute hairstyle and sexy clothes had changed her outlook. Maybe dressing sexy made a woman more likely to act sexy. Kind of a variation on form following function? It was an unsettling thought.
“That was an accident,” Richard said.
“I still got wet.”
“It won’t happen again. All I need you to do is hold the faucet in place while I attach it.”
She looked at him wryly.
“I’ll buy you dinner if you help me,” he coaxed when she didn’t respond.
Maggie felt anticipation surge through her at the thought of going out to dinner with Richard, of spending the evening with him. And afterward, they could go back to her place and…Her mouth began to water as images of exactly what she would like to do with him flashed through her mind.
No, she hastily clamped down on her imagination. She didn’t know him well enough to invite him back to her apartment. He might look respectable, but looks could be deceptive. Look at her. New looks aside, she was as clueless about men as it was possible to be and still lay claim to femininity. But there was no reason to stay clueless. Not with Richard around…
The thought of Worthington and her plans for him briefly crossed her mind. Going out with Richard wouldn’t jeopardize those plans, she assured herself. Richard was a plumber who happened to be doing some work in Worthington’s apartment. It was highly unlikely that the two of them would even meet, let alone exchange confidences about the women they’d dated. Besides, going out with Richard would give her a chance to practice feeling comfortable around a man. She stole a quick glance at him and a shiver of awareness slithered down her spine. Somehow, comfortable and Richard were not mutually compatible concepts.
“It’s a deal,” she accepted, hoping the eagerness she felt wasn’t apparent in her voice. “I’ll help you plumb and then we can have dinner.” Never mind the work back at the office she was completely blowing off. Another reaction that wasn’t like her.
It didn’t take long to hook up the faucet, and Maggie stepped back with a pleased smile on her face when water gushed out with no sign of leakage. “I can see where you’d like plumbing. When you’re finished, you see positive results.”
“Most jobs are like that.”
“Not always,” she said ruefully. “I like my job, but sometimes I can work for days chasing a bug and still have nothing to show for it.”
“What exactly do you do?” Richard asked, curious as to what her role was in the company.
“Mostly, I liaison with customers, helping them figure out what they want and what kind of program can best help them do it. Sam Moore, our ex-president, used to say he sold the idea and it was up to me to translate it into something practical.”
Richard felt a slight chill at the warmth in her voice as she mentioned Moore. Just how friendly was she with Moore? Obviously friendly enough to resent his no longer being there. But had she been friendly enough to know what he’d been up to? The thought jarred, and he shoved it to the back of his mind because there was no way he could answer it now. He’d have a better picture of what the situation was after the computer-fraud expert had done his work. Until then, he’d assume Maggie was exactly what she seemed to be: a gorgeous, sexy woman who found him interesting.
“And do you make it practical?” he asked.
“About ninety-nine percent of the time. I find programming fascinating, but then I’m a bit of a computer fanatic.” Maggie kept her answer brief for fear of boring him. As more than one of her girlfriends had told her, not everyone was as interested in computer applications as she was.
“What time do you want to eat?” she asked.
Richard checked the gold watch on his wrist and Maggie frowned slightly as she noticed it. It was an odd watch for a plumber to have. She would have expected him to own something in stainless steel with lots of gadgets. Instead, he was wearing a thin dress watch that didn’t appear to do anything other than tell time.
“Seven?” he suggested. “How about if I get a couple of tickets to a Broadway show for after dinner?”
“No.” Maggie hastily refused his offer. She wanted to spend the evening talking and getting to know him and she could hardly do that if they were at a performance. It would be better to keep the first date unstructured so that she could cut it short if the pressure got to be too much for her.
“You don’t like live theater?” he asked curiously.
“Yes, but it’s been a long week and I’m tired,” she improvised. “I’d probably fall asleep in a darkened theater.”
“Okay, I’ll pick you up at seven. What’s your address?”
“How about if I meet you in front of the restaurant?” Maggie remembered her earlier reservations about giving out her home address to a stranger. Even a fascinating stranger.
“Do you have a favorite?”
“There’s a good restaurant over by the Museum of Natural History that serves an excellent blackberry salmon,” Maggie said.
“What’s the name of the place?”
Maggie searched her memory and came up blank. “I can’t remember. How about if I meet you in front of the museum. The entrance that faces the park?”
Richard squashed the spurt of anger he felt at her refusal to trust him with her address. This wasn’t San Francisco, he reminded himself. New York apparently had its own set of dating rules. Besides, he thought with satisfaction, one phone call to personnel on Monday and he’d have her file, complete with her home address. He could wait until then.
“The entrance in front of the park,” he repeated.
“Did Romanos say when his boss was due in?” she asked.
“No, he didn’t say much of anything. He just left some papers and took that folder you brought.”
Maggie frowned slightly.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, wondering if she would make an excuse to go back into the study to look at the papers Daniel had left.
“Did you ask to see any ID? I saw Romanos in the office so I’d recognize his face, but you wouldn’t know him,” she added at Richard’s blank look. “All jokes about industrial spying aside, our company does some highly sensitive work for some pretty high-powered financial institutions.”
Richard resisted the urge to reassure her, knowing that the only way he could was to admit he was Worthington, and he didn’t want to do that until he’d had a chance to get to know her. And for her to get to know him. “Was there something confidential in what you brought?” he said.
“I don’t actually know but probably not. If it had been highly confidential, Emily would have brought it herself.” At least, she hoped Emily would have been professional enough to put aside her animosity long enough to do it.
“I’ll see you at seven, and thanks for your help with the faucet,” Richard said as he walked her to the door.
“You’re welcome.” Maggie stepped out into the hallway and heard the door close behind her with a restrained thud. The flash of loss she felt at the sound caught her off guard. She’d just met the man, for heaven’s sake. She couldn’t miss him already.
Stepping into the elevator, she automatically pushed the button for the lobby. Her mind was fully occupied with trying to make sense of her unusual reaction to Richard. She couldn’t. She had no idea why her response to him had been so strongly sensual. Granted, he was gorgeous, but gorgeous men were a dime a dozen in a city the size of New York. It was as if her emotions had recognized him on some level that her rational mind didn’t even know existed.
She gave Emily a quick call to let her know she wouldn’t be returning to work and then made her way to the front entrance. She shivered as she stepped out of the apartment building and a cool gust of spring wind pounced on her, making her damp sweater feel cold and clammy. She hurried toward the bus stop. She needed to get home and into dry clothes before she came down with something.
Thirty minutes later, she let herself into her apartment and, after making herself a cup of apricot coffee, powered up her computer, bringing up her dating program. She hadn’t learned as much as she’d hoped about Worthington from her visit to his apartment, but every little bit helped. The more facts she entered, the more accurate the responses would be when she asked it questions.
Maggie caught her lower lip between her teeth as she wondered what kinds of things the program would tell her if she had a way to use it on Richard.
On the other hand, it might be more fun to delve into Richard’s personality the old-fashioned way. Slowly. Taking her time to learn his likes and dislikes. Discovering all the little quirks that made him the unique individual he was. A shiver ran over her skin at the thought. She didn’t have the slightest doubt that it would be worth every second it took.
The chime of her clock reminded her of the passing time, and she hurriedly finished keying in the information about Worthington’s apartment. The information she had garnered so far about what made John Worthington tick was still sketchy at best, she thought with frustration. Hopefully, that would improve once she actually met the man and was able to observe him in action. Then she could fine tune her program, and begin to ask it questions more complicated than what his ideal woman looked like and how he would respond to general situations.
A sense of anticipation mixed with dread roiled through her at the thought of using it. Anticipation over Worthington being held accountable for his ruthlessness. Dread of the possible consequences of her actions, of setting events in motion that might be hard to control.
Wealthy men tended to think of themselves as outside the normal rules of civilized behavior. Her one and only meeting with her biological father had graphically proved that to her. And, according to her research, Worthington was far wealthier than her father had been.
But even if she failed in her attempts to make Worthington pay, it couldn’t backfire, could it? She tried to look at the situation logically. He couldn’t hurt her emotionally. She would never be dumb enough to fall for the guy. Not only did she have good reason to dislike Worthington personally but also her mother’s experience had taught her to avoid wealthy men like the plague. Besides, her intense attraction to Richard was almost like being inoculated against John Worthington. No, emotionally she was safe.
And what else could he realistically do to her? Fire her? That didn’t matter because she fully intended to leave just as soon as she found another job anyway. She didn’t want to work for a man who treated his employees the way Worthington had treated Sam.
A second chime from the clock galvanized her into action and she hurried to get ready.
Once she had showered and liberally sprayed herself with the light floral scent she preferred, she hurried into the bedroom to get dressed.
Opening her closet, she automatically grabbed one of her pre-Worthington outfits. Catching herself, she hastily put it back. Like the rest of her old wardrobe, it was in earth tones and bought two sizes too big to successfully disguise the shape of her breasts and the curve of her hips. It was designed to make men’s eyes skim over her without lingering.
A shudder of distaste churned through her stomach as she remembered the feel of her first foster father’s eyes on her. Remembered the feeling of contamination, as if her body were somehow responsible for his licentious thoughts and the whispered filth he’d subjected her to every time he’d caught her alone.
That wasn’t your fault, she said to herself, slicing off the insidious memories. He was the archetypal dirty old man, but that was his problem, not yours, Maggie reminded herself, remembering what the psychologist had told her. Her mind might believe it, but somehow her intellect had never been able to convince her emotions. Every time a man looked at her, she didn’t see honest appreciation of her femininity; she saw unclean lust.
Face it, woman, she told herself. You allowed a dirty old man to dictate your relationship to your feelings for the past fourteen years, and it’s long past time to stop it!
She nodded decisively. Getting revenge on Worthington would serve a dual purpose. Beyond the obvious one, it would be the opportunity to learn to dress so that she looked like what she wanted to be inside—a thoroughly modern professional. And after she’d finished with Worthington, maybe she could hang up her emotional baggage in the back of the closet with her unflattering wardrobe. Maybe she could risk looking for someone to share her life with. There had to be some men out there who would enrich her life instead of hopelessly complicating it. All she had to do was to find one.
A shiver of pleasure skittered over her skin as an image of Richard filled her mind. What would it be like to wake up in the morning next to him? The intriguing question crossed her mind. On the surface, Richard seemed like he could be the ideal man for her. He was built like the living embodiment of every sexual fantasy she’d ever had. He was easy to talk to, with a sense of humor that appealed to her, and he was perfect financially.
The sound of the clock as it struck half past the hour jerked her out of her thoughts. If she didn’t hurry up, she’d be late, and he might not wait.
After dressing, she grabbed a cab. She had the driver drop her off a block from the museum so that she could casually walk up. She didn’t want Richard to think she had been standing around, waiting for him.
To her relief, Richard was already there when she arrived. She paused slightly behind a woman pushing a double baby stroller and studied him as he stared out into the street, clearly waiting for a taxi to pull up.
Compulsively, her eyes ran over him. He was wearing a pair of cream chinos, a pale blue T-shirt and a white linen jacket that made his shoulders seem even broader. His dark hair was slightly disheveled from the wind and her fingertips tingled with a compulsion to touch it.
Richard turned, tensing when he caught sight of her. He felt the impact of her presence in every cell of his body. On the way over he’d told himself that his memory had exaggerated her appeal, but clearly it hadn’t. He still found her physically fascinating. She drew him in on some instinctive level that totally bypassed rational thought.
Okay, so he was sexually attracted to her. There was nothing wrong with that. He was a free adult male. There was no reason for him not to explore that attraction. Especially considering that his interest had to be reciprocated or she wouldn’t have accepted his invitation to dinner. And she’d accepted it without knowing who he really was. Normally, he never knew if a woman liked him or his considerable bank balance, but with Maggie, he knew he didn’t have to wonder. She didn’t have a clue as to his net worth and she still wanted to go out with him. He was looking forward to the novel experience of just being an average man.
“Hi,” she said when she reached him.
“Good evening.” He took her arm and started down the steps toward the street.
“Did Worthington show before you left?” she asked.
“No one came before I left,” he said honestly.
A block away from the museum, he paused in front of a restaurant. “Is this the place you were talking about?”
“No, I’ve never been here.” She read the menu posted beside the door and barely suppressed a wince. There were no prices listed.
“See anything you like?”
Maggie stared blankly at the menu as she tried to decide what to do. Business lunches with clients had taught her that restaurants that didn’t post their prices were expensive. Very expensive. And she most emphatically didn’t want Richard to remember their date as one that had cost him an arm and a leg. On the other hand, she didn’t want to imply that he couldn’t afford it. If the dating articles she’d read were right, men tended to have surprisingly fragile egos when it came to money.
To her relief, Richard provided the answer himself. “Don’t you like French cuisine?” he asked.
“No,” Maggie lied without a qualm. “They eat some very strange parts of animals, and I’m always worried about what might show up in a sauce. That place I mentioned is only a little farther and it’s…” She scrambled to come up with an acceptable synonym for cheaper and failed.
Richard stared at her with a feeling of unreality as he suddenly realized what the problem was. She was actually worried about what this place would cost. He couldn’t ever remember any woman trying to save him money. On the contrary, they were usually trying to separate him from large chunks of it.
Should he tell her who he really was now? That would certainly take care of her worries. But it would also change the way she responded to him, and he was enjoying being treated like a normal man too much. Not only that but also he needed more time to convince her that he wasn’t the ogre that office gossip had painted him.
No, he’d stick to his original plan and tell her his real identity when the evening was over, he finally decided. After he’d thoroughly kissed her good-night.

Chapter Three
“Here’s that place I mentioned,” Maggie said.
Richard peered inside. It was only half-full, so getting a table wouldn’t be a problem. “Looks good to me,” he said.
Opening the door, he ushered her inside. The man at the bar gestured them toward the tables, and Maggie chose one well away from the door so that she wouldn’t get hit with cool air every time it opened.
“May I get you something to drink?” The waitress who had materialized by their table was staring at Richard as if she’d suddenly hit the jackpot.
“A glass of white wine,” Maggie said, feeling a gust of anger when the woman’s attention never wavered from Richard. She wanted to post a sign on him that said Taken—Keep Your Hands Off! And Eyes, Too. Maggie watched the waitress literally devour him with her gaze.
But to Maggie’s surprise, Richard didn’t even seem to notice the woman’s obvious interest. Was it because he was so used to attracting feminine attention or because he had the good manners not to flirt with one woman while he was out with another? She didn’t know, and it was hardly the kind of question she could ask. It would appear that there were some pitfalls to dating a fabulous-looking man, she thought. But in Richard’s case, it was worth it.
After the waitress had brought their drink orders, Maggie stole a quick look at Richard over the rim of her glass of wine. He was eating the appetizers the waitress had left with a single-minded concentration that bespoke imminent starvation.
A twinge of tenderness flashed through her at his absorbed expression. He was so gorgeous, and yet he seemed totally unaware of his looks. Was it normal for a man to be that oblivious to his physical appearance? She didn’t have enough experience to tell. She’d only had one date with a man who couldn’t even approach Richard for looks, and that had been a total disaster.
The man had been a coworker who, after ignoring her for the six months he’d been with the company, had suddenly asked her out. She’d spent the incomprehensible concert on modern music he’d taken her to trying to figure out why. She’d found out afterward when he’d mentioned, with elaborate casualness, that he had this design problem with his program and asked if she could help him solve it.
Strangely, finding out that he only wanted to use her hadn’t even hurt that much because the whole evening had had a surrealistic feel to it. As if he were some celluloid character from a bad movie who had been temporarily animated.
Richard glanced up and asked, “Why the pensive look?”
“Just thinking,” she muttered as she frantically searched her memory for something to say. Something that would capture his interest and convince him that, if she wasn’t exactly a brilliant conversationalist, she was, at least, a passable one. A sense of frustration filled her as her mind refused to come up with a single idea from all those articles on dating that she’d consumed for the purpose of fascinating Worthington, if she could ever get him to ask her out.
Finally, one bit of advice rose to the surface of her muddled thoughts. People, be they men or women, liked to talk about themselves, so ask a leading question.
“What made you go into plumbing?” she blurted out. It might not be scintillating conversation, but it was a start. Anything was better than a pregnant silence.
A flush of heat poured through her at the thought of pregnancy of any kind. Of being in Richard’s strong arms. Of being held close to his broad chest. Of…
“My father was in construction and he got me my first job when I was thirteen.” Richard told her the absolute truth. His father was in construction. He owned one of the biggest firms on the West Coast, and from the time Richard had turned thirteen, his father had demanded that he earn all his spending money by working on various construction projects in the Bay Area.
“Thirteen?! That was awfully young to be around all that heavy equipment.”
“Illegal, too.” Richard chuckled. “I used to have to disappear when the building inspectors showed up.”
“You could have been hurt.” The very idea appalled her. What kind of man would allow his son to do anything like that? Apparently, one who was no more caring than her own father had been.
“It wasn’t dangerous. I worked on one-story homes. Dad took good care of me.”

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