Judith McWilliams - The Matchmaking Machine

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.