Bad Influence. Kristin Hardy

care,” she said softly. “I’ll be back for you tomorrow.”

      “’Bye, sweetie,” he mumbled. “You have the key to the house, right?”

      “I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Sleep well.”

      His eyes drifted closed and she walked away.

      Pushing open the door to the lobby, she gave a jaw-creaking yawn. Her grandfather wasn’t the only one who was nodding off. Maybe it was the worrying or the drive, but despite the fact that it wasn’t even ten yet, she was exhausted. All she wanted to do was get to her grandfather’s house and tumble into bed.

      It wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, though, she saw with a sinking heart. There was a line of people waiting for processing. A long line. Clearly getting through the emergency room required a Zenlike sense of calm and more endurance than she was entirely sure she possessed. She gave her name and went out to the seating area.

      The families of the kids were gone, probably upstairs in the surgery unit, waiting for word. The Frito Bandito was there, though, in practically the same position as when she’d left, an open magazine in his hands. He glanced up, dark-eyed, as Paige walked toward the chairs. One black brow rose. “Still here?”

      “Still here.” She sat with a sigh, wondering if the chairs were really as uncomfortable as they seemed or whether all chairs just felt that way after so many hours.

      “I figure it’s medical research,” he said. “They’re trying to see how long they can keep us waiting around before we go nuts.” He grinned and she felt the flip in her stomach. She blinked. Dangerous, this one. When she’d first seen him, he’d merely looked disreputable. Now she saw the hollow cheeks, the dark eyes, the careless confidence that set something in her blood to simmering.

      The bandito set his magazine aside with a thump of finality and rose to walk to the rack on the wall. He flipped through the various issues for a while, and she indulged herself by studying him. Just because she didn’t want to touch didn’t mean she couldn’t look. And he was something to look at, in a rough-edged kind of way. Long and lanky, stripped down to nothing but muscle. Lean, not brawny, a man who looked as though he could handle himself in a street fight. Not the kind of guy you’d take home to the parents, maybe, but something about the way he looked standing there was enough to make her consider revising her policies on one-night stands and unstable men.

      He turned from the magazine rack before she realized his intent. Caught looking, she realized with a flush. His teeth gleamed and she felt the flutter again in her stomach. Definitely dangerous. No romance, no sweetness, just pure, hot sex. He wasn’t a guy who’d bring you flowers or hot soup in bed when you were sick, but he looked like the kind who could make you come so hard you forgot your own name. He was the sort Delaney would go for in a heartbeat.

      He wasn’t Paige’s type at all.

      He hadn’t grabbed a magazine from the rack—maybe because the content ran more to Women’s Day than Chopper Monthly. That didn’t discourage him from checking out the glossies stacked on the tables. He prowled the room like a big cat, restless, powerful and just a bit threatening. Finally he grabbed a magazine and dropped down into a chair.

      Two seats away from her.

      Paige swallowed and glanced over at the registration desk, but the clerk was still busy. Then she glanced over at what he held. “Highlights?” she asked before she could prevent herself.

      That killer smile flickered again, easy, assured. “Hey, after four hours, things are getting desperate.”

      “If you’re looking to ‘Hidden Pictures’ to keep you from going over the edge, you might be expecting a little too much.”

      “Looks like I need something else, then, doesn’t it?”

      Unaccountably she found herself sucking in a deep breath as though she’d been suddenly deprived of oxygen. “So what are you doing here?” she asked.

      “Waiting, mostly,” he said. “How about you?”

      “The same. Exit paperwork.”

      “Trust me, you could grow old and die first. You can read my Highlights if you want.”

      Without thinking, she glanced at the magazine he held and then found herself staring instead at his hands. Like the rest of him, they looked long and strong, as though they knew how to touch a woman.

      And she could imagine how they’d feel. Hot and a little rough on her skin. He wouldn’t ask, he’d take—and he’d bring a woman to the point she didn’t care.

      Paige felt an involuntary shiver run through her and glanced up to see him studying her. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing the puzzle?” she asked.

      “Maybe I already am.” Again the smile. “So who are you here for?”

      “My grandfather. He got into a car accident.”

      “No kidding. My grandmother just got knocked around in a fender bender herself.”

      Another surprise. No biker buddy, no bar fight. “Is she all right?”

      “Nothing she won’t survive. She’s a tough one. How about yours?”

      “A little dinged up. They’re keeping him overnight for observation.”

      The clerk called out a name.

      “How about that?” The bandito rose. “And just when things were getting interesting.”

      “That you?”

      “Looks like I’m getting out of purgatory.”

      “I guess I’ve got a few more sins to work off.”

      He stopped and looked at her. “Now there’s a thought that’ll keep me up tonight.” He started to walk away and turned back. “Hey, listen, I play Thursday nights at Eddie’s on the waterfront. Maybe you could come by.”

      Paige blinked. Not a biker, not a bandit. A musician. She looked again at those hands and, despite herself, she was intrigued. Too bad it wasn’t possible. “I’ll try to do that if I’m still in town,” she said.

      “Here’s hoping you wind up with a reason to stick around, then.” And he grinned, stuck his hands in his pockets and walked away.

       2

      M ORNING GENERALLY had a way of making things feel better, even if they didn’t look it. Paige studied her grandfather from a chair in his room. A purplish-red bruise blossomed on his left temple, but the blurry, unfocused look was gone from his eyes. Under protest, he’d stayed in his hospital gown and in bed, tapping his fingers impatiently as they waited for the doctor, the hot-pink cast gaily incongruous against the white coverlet.

      “Your idea?” He nodded at his arm.

      Paige’s lips twitched. “I thought you could grow to love it.”

      “I’m never taking pain medication again. God only knows how I’ll wake up next time.”

      “Look at it this way—it could have been argyle.” She grinned, relieved to have him back to his old self.

      “I spoke with your father this morning,” he said.

      “I called him last night before I went to bed. I thought he ought to know.”

      “I suppose you’re right,” her grandfather said grudgingly. “But it’s not like I’m really hurt. Now he’s making plans to come over in a month or two.”

      “Is he?” she asked, pleased. “It’ll be good to see him.”

      “No sense in him leaving his work. I’m fine—or I would be if they’d let me out of here.”

      Paige grinned. “I don’t think U.S.-Czech relations are going to be destroyed if Dad leaves for a week, Granddad.