Millie Criswell - Asking For Trouble

No Strings Attached

“The popular and funny Criswell turns in an enjoyable light romance.”

—Booklist

“Criswell offers another great blend of romance and laughter.”

—The Best Reviews

Body Language

“For an amusing and heart-warming story, be sure to check out Body Language.”

—Romance Reviews Today

“An entertaining…second chance at romance starring a delightful protagonist….

Readers will enjoy this love at the UN tale.”

—Harriet Klausner, reviewcenter.com

“Simply a joy to read.”

—Kathy Boswell, The Best Reviews

Everyone loves Millie!

“For charming, outrageous fun, read Millie Criswell!”

—New York Times bestselling author Carly Phillips

“A book by Millie Criswell is better than chocolate. Don’t miss it!”

—USA TODAY bestselling author Leanne Banks

“Romantic comedy has a new star, and her name is Millie Criswell.”

—New York Times bestselling author Janet Evanovich

From HQN Books

No Strings Attached

Body Language

Other Millie Criswell books from Harlequin

Suddenly Single

Staying Single

A Western Family Christmas

“Christmas Eve”

The Pregnant Ms. Potter

The Marrying Man

The Wedding Planner

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To Karen Solem

Thank you for your kindness, generosity of spirit, support and most of all, your brilliance!

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

IVY SWINDEL WAS ADDICTED to porn.

While most seventy-eight-year-old ladies were crocheting afghans or sipping tea from china cups, Beth Randall’s great-aunt was viewing Internet pornography. The fact that the spinster’s father had been a Methodist minister and the old lady still referred to sex as “matters of the flesh,” made her behavior seem outlandish, if not downright abnormal.

But then, no one ever accused Ivy or her younger sister, Iris, of being normal. And at any rate, Beth considered normal to be highly overrated.

“I found the most interesting Web site this morning,” the older woman stated at breakfast, blue eyes sparkling, and grinning like a naughty schoolgirl. “It’s called ‘Balls of Steel.’ Isn’t that colorful?”

Since Beth assumed the Web site had nothing to do with bowling or baseball, or any other kind of vertically played sport, she smiled tightly. Her focus shifted to her great-aunt Iris. She felt somewhat relieved that the woman’s only addiction seemed to be Earl Grey tea, though she did harbor a worrisome fascination with witchcraft, which had the gossip-mongers in town working overtime. But even that didn’t seem nearly as disturbing as the one Ivy had for naked men.

Her great-aunt had never admitted the reason she was so fascinated with male genitalia, but Beth suspected it had something to do with her desire to recapture her youth. The old woman had been the wild child of the Swindel family, and the bane of her father’s existence. She had never lacked for male companionship, or so she claimed. Ivy had admitted in a roundabout way that she’d sown her share of wild oats—a shocking concept in her day and age, when women were expected to be circumspect and ladylike—but had never found a man she deemed worthy enough to marry.

Apparently, Ivy was still looking.

Since that fateful day last year when Beth had given Ivy her old computer and she’d discovered the Internet, Ivy had become fascinated, then obsessed, and finally incorrigible, not to mention unrepentant, about visiting pornographic Web sites. And no matter how many times Beth had teased, cajoled and begged her not to, Ivy hadn’t listened. Fortunately, she seemed interested only in naked men, nothing more sordid.

One had to be grateful for small favors, if one had an elderly aunt into porn.

Beth placed a plate of hot scones, fresh from the inn’s kitchen, on the small round mahogany table in her aunts’ suite of rooms on the fourth floor. Sipping the hot tea, she felt lucky to have these wonderful ladies in her life.

The Two Sisters Ordinary, named in honor of her aunts, had been the Swindel sisters’ former home. Iris and Ivy had encouraged Beth to turn the historic Victorian into an inn so that others might enjoy it. She, in turn, had given them a life estate.

As was her usual custom, Beth proceeded to fill her aunts in on the day’s upcoming events. “We have a new couple checking in today. The Rogers are from Columbus, Ohio. He’s a dentist. They’re coming to celebrate their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.”

“How wonderful! Will they be staying long?” Aunt Iris asked with no small amount of enthusiasm. Her aunt was an intriguing mixture of Mary Poppins and the Wicked Witch of the West and was quite possibly the most upbeat person Beth had ever met, though she was a stickler for the proprieties. Good manners were expected, as was circumspect behavior, which usually created problems where Ivy was concerned.

Ivy Swindel didn’t know the meaning of the word circumspect.

“Just two days, possibly three,” she replied, hoping for three because she needed the extra money.

“Is the man well endowed?” Ivy wanted to know, leaning forward to stare intently at Beth, who bit her lower lip to keep from laughing. “All the young men on the Web sites I visit seem to be. I do hope so. Maybe we can get those Chippendale dancers to come stay at the inn. Wouldn’t that be lovely? I’ve been saving my dollar bills, just in case.”

Iris gasped. “Sister, shame on you! What kind of talk is that, and in front of your niece? Children have very impressionable minds. I’ve told you that numerous times.”

At thirty-four, Beth didn’t think her mind was all that impressionable—warped, maybe; confused, at times; filled with self-doubt, always—she had her ex-husband to thank for that.

Greg Randall’s constant criticism and verbal abuse had taken its toll. “You’re so stupid, Beth! Why the hell did I ever marry you? If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”

“I haven’t met Mr. and Mrs. Rogers yet,” Beth explained. And she certainly had no idea about any of her male guests’ physical attributes, nor did she want to know. “This is their first visit to the inn.” And would probably be their last, if Ivy started staring at the poor guy’s…um…equipment, and she wasn’t referring to dental drills. It was hard to believe that this male-nudity-addicted spinster was the same sweet old lady who used to read bedtime stories to her.