Bad Influence. Kristin Hardy

      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.”

      “We keep it all in the neighborhood, apparently.” She swallowed, consciously trying to settle her pulse.

      “Convenient. I guess that means you’re going to be hanging around town after all.”

      “I guess so. You?” she asked.

      “I was already here for a couple days anyway.”

      She’d never liked men with mustaches. What was it about his that it only made her focus on the mouth it framed? A mouth that looked more tempting than a man’s should, ruddy and sardonic and entirely too intriguing. His brows formed dark, straight lines above those black eyes.

      When one of those brows rose in question, she brought herself back to the conversation with a jolt. The last thing she needed to be doing was wondering what it would feel like to kiss him.

      “So, um, how is your grandmother?” she asked.

      “Oh, sore, feisty. I’m having to sit on her to keep her in bed. How’s your grandfather?”

      “Bouncing back. I hope I do as well at his age.”

      His gaze rested on her, warm and lazy. “I think you do pretty well already.”

      Her cheeks heated. “I thought I was a Girl Scout.”

      “I always did like those cookies. Melt in your mouth.”

      And if he kept talking to her in that warm, husky voice, she’d be the one melting. She needed to concentrate on the matter at hand. Paige cleared her throat. “I was hoping to talk with your grandmother in a couple of days about the museum thing. My grandfather is in kind of a stir about it.”

      “Not right now. She needs to focus on getting up and around. Talk to me instead,” he suggested.

      “Are you a part of it?”

      “While I’m here. Try me.”

      Paige hesitated, eyeing him. “Okay, how set on this museum is she?”

      “What does it matter? It’s her house, it’s her property. What business is it of anyone else’s?”

      “A lot. It’s got the potential to really change the neighborhood. She lives in a community and what she does affects them.”

      Zach laughed. “With all the walls and gates that they have? I think the neighborhood will survive.”

      “How do you know? You’re not from this area.”

      “And you are?”

      He was baiting her, Paige realized, biting back the little twinge of annoyance. “I grew up here. People like things to stay the same. They don’t like change, especially changes like this.”

      “Changes like what?”

      “Changes like your grandmother’s museum.”

      Zach shrugged. “The neighborhood already has a slew of museums. The mission’s at our doorstep. You think one more is going to change things?”

      “Given the kind of crowd this museum is likely to attract, yes,” she retorted.

      Amused, he stuck his hands in his back pockets and rocked back on his heels. “The kind of crowd? Just what kind of crowd is that?”

      “People looking for something outrageous, something a little scandalous.”

      “Seems to me like you could do with a little something outrageous yourself,” he said.

      A car drove by, startling a flock of sparrows, which flew up out of one tree and dived into the branches of another, disappearing instantly from view.

      A faint color stained the edges of Paige’s cheekbones. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      Zach looked her up and down, studying the tidy outfit she wore. It was the same as the night before, but somehow it looked crisp and smooth again, like she was set for lunch at the country club. Classy, subtle, almost certainly expensive. There was sexuality there, but so carefully packaged you’d almost never see it. Paige Favreau, he sensed, kept everything under control.

      He smiled. “Loosen the leash. Have a little fun. That’s all Gloria’s trying to do.”

      “It’s fun at everyone else’s expense.”

      “Doesn’t have to be. She’s doing it to benefit a charity, but it could be to everybody’s benefit. It could just be that y’all will have a good time with it if you just give it a chance. Come on, don’t you think it would be fun to shake these people up a little?”

      Like it would be fun to shake