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and make her decision for her. And as a week passed, then two, and then three, she got to know Mike even better, and admire him more. He was quite a man.
    She wanted him to look at her like a woman, but although she thought at times maybe he did, there was no overt thing she could point at to be certain. She cursed her stupid disguise. If she could break out the heels and make-up she knew he’d take notice. Men always did.
    The only things he seemed to register from her were her brilliant programming solutions. Which reminded her: she had an idea based on the software she’d been working on all week. She rather thought he’d like it.
    Of course officially she was supposed to talk to his secretary Amanda first, as the small woman had carefully explained to her as soon as she caught Cathy banging on Mike’s door. But Mike himself never drove her off, so until he stated Cathy must go through Amanda she was just going to ignore the officious woman.
    Anyway, his door was wide open in what was tantamount to welcome. He probably wanted to be interrupted with some interesting news. She bounced over and stuck her head through the doorway with her best ingenuous schoolgirl impersonation. But he was totally absorbed in whatever he was doing so she stole the chance to stand and check him out.
    He was just so damned sexy; all dark hair and broad shoulders and so masculine. And that habit he had of focused attention was riveting. It made a woman wonder what it would be like to have that formidable intellect and masculine power totally focused on her.
    It made Cathy quiver, actually. Made her want to curl up in his lap and ask for a stroke. She sighed lustfully, and he looked up.
    “Yes?”
    “ Hiya. I just have something to show you on your timetabling software, if you have a minute. I’ve got an idea for a new feature. Can I show you?”
    “Good timing. I’ve just finished this so I do have a minute.”
    “Great. If you just go into the H directory,” she hurried across the floor to stand beside his shoulder, feeling that same thrill of awareness as always, and trying to ignore it, “and open the folder marked ‘Décor’. Just there,” she indicated it on the screen, and he selected it. “I’ve taken the base timetable and I’ve added some options for color coding days or specific times on the schedule. But I wasn’t thinking just block colors. I was thinking more something like this. Here, if I can just call it down?”
    H e shifted over to give her space, then changed his mind and vacated his chair, offering it to her. She took it without hesitation, her thighs feeling the warm spot he had left on the fabric, a quiver travelling up her spine at the odd intimacy of it.
    She forced herself to focus, to shuffle the chair forward to the desk and get comfortable as if she hadn’t experience that disorientating thrill.
    “Thanks. Now I don’t know if you’ve heard of . . . er . . . of . . .” she’d lost her train of thought. “Um . . . scrapbooking , but it’s quite a fad amongst a certain, large group of women. Basically it’s all about prettying up photo spreads and journals with bits and pieces of pretty paper and doodads.” She fell into a more comfortable rhythm as she got going. “It’s not really my thing but my sister is crazy for it. Anyway, I thought of offering a selection of themes, with coordinating colors, patterns and details, so the user can customize it and make it pretty with just a few clicks.”
    On the sample she had opened, she demonstrated the features she was describing, enjoying the impact they made. She thought it impressive, even as a rough guideline to what might eventually be achieved .
    “ See, you can do the background like this, and then this detailing so it looks like it’s held together with pieces of ribbon. Or click here and it becomes string. And add a tag like this, or gems, or whatever. I mean these are just some basic options so I could show you, but there’s an