The Matchmaking Machine

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.