Kristin Hardy - Bad Influence

“Right now you need to forget about the museum,” Paige told him. “The only thing you should be worrying about is healing.”

“We’ve got to stay on top of her. There’s no telling what that woman will do.”

“Later,” she said.

“We don’t have time for later.”

“I’ll take care of it,” she soothed.

“Tomorrow, then,” he said drowsily.

Paige sighed. “We’ll see.”

“I’ M TELLING YOU , I DON ’ T need to be in bed. I’m not made of glass, you know.”

Zach Reed looked at the flustered woman on the bed in all of her platinum-blond, buxom splendor and resisted the urge to grin. Gloria Reed was no one’s idea of how a seventy-eight-year-old grandmother should look and act. Fresh back from the hospital, she had still found time to put on fresh lipstick—fire-engine-red, to match her acrylic nails. Maybe her days as a pinup and burlesque superstar were over, but she still kept up her image. And she might roll on satin sheets, but that didn’t mean she took to being coddled.

“The doctor said you had to take it easy.”

“Easy means having a houseboy feed me peeled grapes while he fans me, not having my grandson put me to bed. I can still paddle you, you know.”

Zach did smile then. “I bet you can, but let’s not put it to the test.”

“All I did was get shaken up a little bit.”

“Is that why you’ve got your knee wrapped up?”

She scowled at him. “This time tomorrow I’ll be fine.”

“Then tomorrow you’ll be up. But not today. You don’t just walk away from a car getting smacked around like yours did.”

“My poor Bentley,” she mourned. “Was it bad?”

“Not if you look at it from the passenger side.”

“Cute.”

“So people tell me. Let’s see…he basically T-boned you as you pulled out of the gate, so the front driver’s-side quarter panel is pretty much toast. You’re lucky you weren’t really hurt.”

“Good engineering. Those air bags do their job.”

“The problem is that he went right into the wheel, wrecked the bearings, bent the axle and did a number on your engine.”

“Can I get it fixed?”

He shrugged. “You probably could, and for less than the car costs, but it’s not ever going to be the same.”

“Sounds like it’s time to go shopping, then,” she said, rallying. “Do we need to get a new van for you while we’re at it?”

It was his turn to scowl. “You’re not going to buy me a van.”

“Yours is falling apart.”

“I’ll get one when I’m ready.”

“You’re stubborn, you know that? Right down to your core.”

Zach leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms. “Can’t imagine where I got that from.”

She looked at him in reproof. “Disrespectful, too.”

“Can’t imagine where I got that from either.”

Gloria threw her head back and laughed. “It’s good to have you here, kiddo. And it was worth a few bruises and losing my Bentley to see the expression on the face of that old geezer next door.” A smile of satisfaction spread over her face. “You should have seen him, staring at the sign all pop-eyed, even when the paramedics were trying to get him out of his car. He was having fits over the museum, and they thought he was spluttering because he was hurt.” She gave a contented giggle.

“You’re a bad girl, Gloria Reed.”

“Kiddo, that’s been the source of my fortune. Now are you going to let me up from here or not?”

Zach considered. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll let you up if you can get out of bed on your own and walk over here.”

“Fine.” She flipped back the covers. Underneath, she wore cream silk lounging pajamas, to go with her silvery blond hair. “Okay, up and across the room.” She swung her legs around with a grimace to dangle off the edge of the bed. “Okay?”

Zach merely watched her.

She put her feet down, her toenails a vivid red against the white of the carpet. Her mouth tightened, then she pressed her hands on the mattress and made as if to rise.

“Okay. Done.” Zach moved forward quickly.

“You didn’t even let me try.”

“I saw enough. You’re hurting.”

She glowered. “What of it? It’s just bruising. You heard the doctor—it’s nothing serious.”

“It will be if you don’t leave it alone.”

“Yes, Mother,” she muttered.

“The mind boggles,” Zach said.

“Mouthy,” she shot back but lay down with a sigh.

Zach flipped the covers over her. “Okay, you’ve got your Pepsi and your magazines, and the remote’s right here. Is there anything else you need?”

She pouted. “A grandson who isn’t a tyrant?”

“Out of luck there. I’m going to go get your prescription filled. I don’t want you out of this bed, understand? Now are you set?”

She relented and pulled him down so she could kiss his cheek. “Kiddo, I am as set as I can be. Thank you.”

She was no one’s idea of a grandmother, Zach thought, squeezing her hand—except maybe his.

T HE PHARMACY WAS close and amazingly well stocked. Paige had never really thought before about what you could pick up in a drugstore. So it wasn’t exactly Estée Lauder, but she had the basics to tide her over, including a Santa Barbara T-shirt to swap for the camisole and silk shirt she’d worn to the restaurant the night before. It seemed aeons ago now, with all that had gone on. The fact that she’d washed her things out the night before and ironed them that morning didn’t help. Maybe in the afternoon she’d take a quick run to the mall and get a few things to wear.

In the meantime, she’d deal.

She rounded the corner of the building carrying her bags, heading absently toward her car.

And saw him.

The impression punched into her before she could take a breath—hot, sexy and just a little bit dangerous. Knowing he wasn’t an outlaw biker made him no less disconcerting. If anything, it made him more so, because now she couldn’t dismiss those careless dark looks. This time he simply wore Levi’s and a white T-shirt, looking lean and stripped down and purposeful as he headed across the parking lot. He’d shaved, she saw, and combed his hair back. When their eyes locked, she felt it as an almost physical sensation. Breathe, she reminded herself.

He stopped before her. “Looks like you survived the E.R.,” he said.

“Just barely. I think they should give out merit badges for it.”

His lips twitched as he looked her up and down. “Yeah, you probably were a Girl Scout. I bet you had a million merit badges. You look like you’d be good at collecting them.”

She didn’t bother asking him about merit badges. He didn’t look like the type who’d ever been a Boy Scout. “So you’re Gloria Reed’s grandson?” she asked instead.

“And you’re Lyndon Favreau’s granddaughter.”

“Ten points for you,” she said.

“Do you have a name or should I just call you the granddaughter?”

“Paige,” she said. “Paige Favreau.”

“Zach Reed.” He offered his hand.

Not taking it would have been silly, so she shifted her bags and reached out.

And heat flushed through her. The contact felt startlingly intimate, the skin of her palm more sensitive than she’d had any idea it was.

She’d been right about the strength, the hardness, the purpose in his hand. His fingers slid against hers, curved around. Somehow, he felt more immediate than just about anyone she could think of. There was a vitality about him, an energy that hummed through him and into her. Something like butterflies skittered through her stomach.

She let go as quickly as possible.

“Nice to meet you, Zach.”

“My pleasure entirely,” he said. “So I hear the deal is your grandfather ran into my grandmother.”