The Matchmaking Machine

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.”