Bad Influence. Kristin Hardy

he’s God’s gift to women and I’ll just roll over for him. Trust me, I’ve got better things to do than to stand around in parking lots while he acts as if he can just play me like putty.” She shoved the stack into the tote.

      “Whoa. Okay, wait a minute. Start the story from the beginning,” Delaney ordered. “This I’ve gotta hear.”

      Telling the tale made her angry afresh. And it made her remember just how hot it had been. She dug in her desk for her memory stick.

      Delaney watched her speculatively. “So when did this happen?”

      “Yesterday.” Paige slammed the drawer shut.

      “Have you kissed him yet?”

      “Delaney, please.” Exasperation sparked in her voice. “I want nothing to do with the man.”

      Delaney began to laugh. “I’m not sure that’s going to matter, sweet pea.”

      Paige scowled. “This is me, remember? I don’t go looking for bad boys to rock my world.”

      “Talk to me after you’ve been sleeping fifty feet away from him for three weeks. Better yet, call me after you’ve slept two inches away from him.”

      “Never going to happen,” Paige said.

      “Twenty bucks says it will. In fact, I’ll pay you twenty bucks to have sex with him. It’s just what you need. He can be your vacation fling.”

      Paige rose and picked up her laptop and tote bag. “Just what I don’t need. Quite aside from the fact that it would send my grandfather around the bend, I don’t have any desire to sleep with a grown-up juvenile delinquent. I like men with brains, remember?”

      “So date them when you get back home. Come on,” Delaney begged. “This is perfect.”

      “I am so not listening to you,” Paige said, walking to the door.

      “Okay, don’t blame me. I tried.” Delaney rose and followed her. “Where’s your luggage?”

      “Already in the car.” Paige handed her a set of keys. “That’s the spare set. I’ve already cancelled the mail and newspapers and put timers on the lights. You know which plants to water when.”

      “Got it,” Delaney said and looked back at the room with a broad smile. “Okeydoke. Par-tay.”

      “No red wine on the white sofa,” Paige ordered. “And if I find one potato chip crumb between the cushions, you’re toast.”

      “Toast?”

      “Toast, melba.”

      I T WAS EARLY AFTERNOON by the time Paige walked through the door of Lyndon’s house. “Granddad? Where are you?”

      “In here,” he called from the living room.

      “The mailman was out front.” She handed him the stack and set down her laptop. “Do you need anything? How about if I make us some lunch?”

      “I won’t say no to a little feed, but why don’t you sit down and relax first? I’ll keep.”

      “I might not, though.” She put a hand to her stomach. “I’m fading away even as we speak,” she said with a grin and headed toward the kitchen. As she got out the bread and cold cuts, she heard the sound of envelopes ripping open. And then a noise of explosive frustration.

      “I’ll be damned.”

      “What?” Paige stepped swiftly out to the living room to find Lyndon staring at a sheet of paper, his face red.

      “I can’t believe they did this.”

      “What?”

      He stared at the sheet. “It’s from the planning commission. They’re having a meeting on a variance for that damned museum.”