LITMIR.BIZ

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traced a sensual path downward. “Whatever you want, whatever you need, your wildest fantasy fulfilled. Just grant me this one, teensy favor, and you can name your price.” She pressed her cheek against the cool, plastic skin. “Six measley copies, collated and comb-bound before the 3:00 meeting. Your operating manual says you can do this. Please, I’m begging you. I’ll polish your glass. I’ll vacuum your innards. I’ll stack your paper properly and double-check your controls every hour for the rest of my life.” She hesitantly pressed the Start button.

      The machine whirred, hiccuped, fell silent.

      Catrina exhaled all at once. “Or I can smear axle grease on your window, glue your gears together, and let my fingers do the walking through the office equipment pages of the telephone book. The choice is yours, fella. If you cooperate, you live. If not, there’s a screwdriver in my desk, and I know how to use it.”

      A male voice from behind startled the daylights out of her. “I don’t know about the machine, but I’m certainly convinced.”

      Catrina lurched to her feet so abruptly that she caught a heel in the hem of her swingy flowered skirt. With the sick sound of ripped fabric ringing in her ears, she spun to face a tousle-haired man wearing a pair of pleated khaki slacks, a casual golf shirt and a bemused smile.

      He stepped back, raised his hands over his head. “Don’t hurt me.” A smile of uncommon brilliance brightened sky-blue eyes sprinkled with curiosity and sparkling with humor. “Look, I’m unarmed.”

      Under normal circumstances Catrina would have appreciated the amusement factor of her bizarre situation. The circumstances, however, were far from normal.

      She was tense, feeling both pressured by the expectations of a new job she hadn’t yet conquered and embarrassed by having been caught threatening a recalcitrant office machine. “If you don’t wish to be implicated in a crime, I suggest you leave the vicinity at once.”

      The man hiked a brow. “Is there no other way? You don’t seem the type to contemplate violence against a helpless collating device.”

      “Helpless? Ha.” Her cheeks burned until she suspected she must be glowing like a neon tomato. “That’s what it wants you to believe. It suckers you with its simplistic controls, its benign operating manual, then waits until your entire career is on the line before going in for the kill.”

      “Is your entire career on the line?”

      “If I don’t get these reports to the budget committee in the next fifteen minutes it very well may be.”

      “Hmm, sounds serious.” Pursing his lips, he regarded the lumpy device as if actually giving credence to her concern. “Perhaps I can be of assistance. I have some experience with machinery.”

      “You do?”

      “I repaired a lawn mower once.”

      “How impressive.” A covert perusal of his casual attire suggested that he was either an outside vendor or one of the draftsman from the engineering department. “Do you work here?”

      The question clearly startled him. “As a matter of fact I do. Why?”

      Too exasperated to do more than take vague note of the surprised glint in his eye, she shoved a tangle of hair from her face and glanced at a nearby wall clock. “Because I doubt management would appreciate me giving a non-employee access to company equipment. If you end up destroying the danged thing, I’d personally shake your hand, but the company would either take the replacement cost out of my paycheck or out of my hide. Neither alternative is particularly appealing.”

      He cocked his head in a manner that was oddly self-effacing and arrogant at the same time. “Then I’ll have to be exceptionally gentle, won’t I?”

      Catrina smiled in spite of her tension. There was a certain charisma about this man that wormed through a person’s defenses, a mellow charm that sneaked up slowly, insidiously. Before she could stop herself, she heard herself say, “Blow in its ear, and maybe it will follow you home.”

      His pupils dilated, darkening into a pool of sensual interest that instantly put her on guard. “Is that all it takes?”

      Embarrassed and angry at herself for having fallen into a trap of her own making, she yanked her gaze away and glared at the hapless machine. “If you can make this thing work, I’d appreciate it. Otherwise you’ll have to excuse me. There isn’t much time for me to make other arrangements.”

      He recognized her request to depersonalize the conversation and respected it. “I’ll see what I can do.”

      Stepping forward, he opened the access door and peered inside the machine. He hummed, grunted, reached into a cabinet nested in the corner of the alcove and pulled out a stack of tooth-edged plastic templates.

      It took a moment for the significance of what he was doing to sink in. When it did, she was mortified. “Please don’t tell me that the binder cache was empty.”

      “All right, I won’t tell you.” He tapped the stack of plastic edging to square it, then slipped it into the binder cache. “I will simply suggest that when programming a set of instructions, it’s helpful if the machine contains all the items necessary to fulfill your request.”

      With that he pressed the start button, and the machine whirred to life. A minute later, the first neatly-bound report spat out into the holding rack.

      Catrina wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole. “Thank you.”

      “You’re welcome.”

      She didn’t have to look at him to know he was smiling. A fresh scent wafted past as he leaned to inspect the results of his handiwork, a masculine blending of soap and cedar that was well suited to his casual, outdoorsy appearance.

      Clearing her throat, she angled a glance, realized to her shock that he’d retrieved one of the budget reports from the holding rack and was idly flipping through it.

      She immediately plucked it out of his hands. “Are you a member of the budget committee?”

      He stared at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted antlers. “Not exactly.”

      “Then I can’t allow you to see this. It’s a confidential document.”

      “I don’t think the committee would mind if I took a quick look at the preliminary projections.”

      “I’m sorry, but company policy forbids the review of budget documents by anyone other than accounting personnel or the budget committee.”

      “It does?”

      “Yes.”

      “Hmm. I’ll have to give the policy manual another look-see.”

      “That might be prudent.” She stacked all of the reports, scooped them into her arms, giddy with relief. Her task was complete, and with five minutes to spare. Life was good. “I suppose I should get these to the conference room.”

      “Yes, I suppose you should.”

      She hesitated. She didn’t know why. “Thank you again for your help.”

      There was something incredibly appealing about the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “You’re welcome again.”

      After another moment, she sucked a breath, managed a smile and stepped from the copy-room alcove, nearly colliding with a gray-suited man carrying a thick document tucked under his arm. She stiffened instinctively, snapped to attention as she recognized the company finance director, her boss’s boss.

      The fellow dodged, spun, touched her shoulder to steady himself. He didn’t favor her with a second glance. Instead, his gaze darted around the bustling accounting department with preoccupied verve. “Have you seen Rick?”

      “Rick who?”

      He blinked, then laughed as if she’d cracked a joke. “That’s a good one—” He glanced

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