The Millionaire She Married. Christine Rimmer

over her skin, a shiver of awareness, of sensual recognition.

      He straightened from his slouch and folded his arms over his chest. “It’s about time you showed up.”

      She paused on the threshold. He was blocking the doorway. “May I come in?”

      “By all means.” He stepped aside.

      She entered warily, into a front sitting room decorated in Victorian style, with lace curtains at the windows, glass-shaded lamps and a sofa and love seat with carved claw-footed legs. Most of the furniture had been pushed against the wall to make room for two desks, set at right angles to each other. One desk had a laptop, a fax machine and telephone on it, the other a full-size computer, complete with mammoth monitor. At the moment, the monitor was running a screensaver of planets, stars and moons hurtling endlessly through deep space.