Bad Influence, page 6
“Beer and whatever she’s having,” he said, nodding to Paige.
She considered her options. “Wild Turkey, please.”
Zach watched her, eyebrows raised. “Bourbon gal?”
She gave a quick smile. “Not really. I usually drink wine, but I figure when in Rome…”
“Careful. The Turkey can nip at you if you’re not used to it. Besides, you don’t want some guy trying to get you hammered and taking advantage of you.”
“Really? Would that be you?”
“No.” He gave a wolfish smile. “I’m going to sleep with you when you’re sober. I think it’ll make the whole experience a lot more rewarding.”
Time seemed to pause for a beat, and for just that time she hadn’t a coherent thought in her head. “Yes. Well…” she managed and cleared her throat. “So this is what you do?”
The look he gave her was one of pure amusement. “When I can get paid for it. This is just a pickup gig I worked out while I’m here in town. What did you think?”
What she thought was that the height of the stool put her eyes at the level of his mouth, and she was finding herself increasingly conscious of it.
“Extended silence is never a good sign,” he observed.
“I liked it. A lot. I don’t know much of anything about the blues, but I think you are seriously good.”
“Tell that to my record label.”
“What?”
“Nothing. How’s your grandfather?”
Her grandfather? She struggled to organize her thoughts. “Um, upset, actually. That’s why I’m here.”
“I thought maybe you were here for me.”
The silence stretched out as she stared up at him helplessly. She’d come here for a purpose, but right now all she could think about, with his thigh pressing against the outside of hers, was of him. When he began to lean his head fractionally toward hers, panic vaulted through her chest, jostling with exhilaration, anticipation, delight.
“Beer and a shot,” the bartender said, startling them both.
Paige reached out, grateful for the distraction, feeling like she’d slipped on ice and righted herself before falling. “The variance application,” she said, her voice stronger. “My grandfather’s organizing a meeting to fight it.”
“A lynch mob?”
“I don’t know. It just seems like a bit much.” The bourbon had a sharper bite than she’d expected; the heat it sent through her, instant. “I don’t want things to get ugly. I thought maybe you and I could work it, instead.”
“I’d be happy to work—”
“You know what I meant.”
That white smile flickered.
“Yeah. So you’ll call off the dogs?” He raised his beer and took a swig.
Paige frowned. “No, actually I was hoping you’d talk with Gloria about putting the museum somewhere else.”
Zach threw back his head and laughed.
“What?” she asked, taking another drink and sitting a bit taller.
“I like your compromise—Gloria backs down.”
“All she has to do is change the location.”
“I have a better idea—your grandfather and the rest of the people in the neighborhood let her do what she wants with her property. The parking will all be on-site. It’ll only operate during daylight hours. The signs will be small. How do you like that compromise?”
“I want my grandfather’s estate to stay a nice place to live.”
“And I want to see Gloria get her museum.” His eyes twinkled. “I guess we have to be enemies, Wild Thing.”
She flushed. “Don’t call me that.”
“What do you want me to call you? Princess?”
“Princess,” she echoed as though it were an insult.
“Didn’t think so. Still, you’ve said your piece and this hardly looks like your kind of place. Your grandfather should appreciate the fact that you came all the way down here. So I guess that means you’re on your way.” He eyed her. “Unless you’re just looking to see how the other half lives.” He raised his glass. “To Paige’s first dive bar.”
“You don’t know that,” she countered. “I could go to places like this every night of the week.”
He scanned her up and down until her cheeks heated. “Nope, not seeing it.”
“Shows what you know.”
He rested one hand on the bar and leaned in toward her. “Stick around and I’ll show you what I know,” he murmured.
There wasn’t enough air, Paige thought in a panic. She couldn’t breathe, her heart was ready to jump out of her chest and, above all, most of all she wanted to kiss him. No, that wasn’t precisely true—she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted someone else to take control of things, because it didn’t make sense—he wasn’t her type, they were so wrong, wrong, wrong, but God, the thought of it had the breath backing up in her lungs.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the woman on the next stool leave. Relief made her exhale. If she could just get him to move away and sit, maybe she could think straight again, maybe she could focus on something besides how it would feel to press against that hard, rangy body and have his mouth on hers. “Why don’t you sit—”
She turned her head to him—that’s all it was, simply turning her head to talk to him—but his mouth was just there, and suddenly it wasn’t simple anymore. Suddenly his mouth was hot and hard on hers, the feel of it, the heat of it sucking her down and in until for the first time in her life Paige Favreau couldn’t think.
She could only feel.
Heat. It blazed through her, the rush of it like a wildfire. In self-defense, she closed her eyes. And then Zach was all there was, Zach and the wanting, Zach and the promise, Zach and all that good heat. And she gave herself over to it.
He didn’t bother with teasing or clever seduction. He just took. Hands hard on her, he kissed her with lips and teeth and tongue the way no man ever had before. He dived fearlessly into it and he dared her to come with him, sliding one arm around her waist, the other up into her hair so that he was all around her, all she could taste, all she could feel.
And all she could do was want more.
Maybe it was the liquor, maybe it was the hour, maybe it was the temptation that he’d presented from the start. She’d always been the good girl, the one who went for the smart, presentable boys. Ambassadors’daughters didn’t get caught making out in bars. But, oh, his hands felt so good sliding over her hips, and his mouth was doing mind-bending things to her that made it impossible to really worry about it. She was a grown-up and a woman and for once she just let herself feel and take without a thought for the consequences.
On the sound system, a woman sang about a thing called love. The seconds dragged by, but neither of them pulled away.
Zach Reed had kissed plenty of women in his time, had had hot, sweaty sex with plenty more. He’d had women whose bodies and mouths sent him into bliss, orgasms that were religious experiences, but always—always—he could walk away. Always he was the master of himself.
Suddenly he was in the middle of something he couldn’t even remotely control, something that had exploded with power. It had started when he’d looked up to see her, leggy and lovely and dark-eyed, staring at him with eyes that said yes.
And if he hadn’t been onstage, he’d have gotten her somewhere dark and quiet and private so fast it would have made her head spin.
Instead he’d waited, made love to her with the music. Until she’d kissed him. He felt the ruthless punch of desire, tasted the bourbon on her tongue as it slicked against his. That scent of hers wound into his brain until he was dizzy with it, that scent that had him thinking of touching her, warm and naked in the moonlight. And she didn’t just take, she demanded, pressing up against him, making that little growling sound in her throat that spoke to every inch of him.
He’d had no idea. He’d speculated that there was something uninhibited, hidden, under that controlled exterior, but now he was sure of it, and the reality had him granite-hard and struggling for control. It was impossible to say what was more arousing—the intensity of her response or the fact that it was so unexpected.
“Uh, dude, you want another?”
It took a moment for Zach to register the words, then he broke the kiss and glanced over to see the bartender looking steadily at him.
“’Bout time for your last set, isn’t it?”
Eyes on Paige, Zach let out a long breath. “Yeah, I guess it’s that time.”
He heard the bartender walk away, but he didn’t bother to look. Paige stared at him, her eyes dark, her lips swollen. From his, he realized, and the thought had the want blazing through him again. She sat there so calm and composed, but he knew what was in her, knew what he could do.
Knew where he could take her.
“This set ends in half an hour. You sticking around?”
She rose. “I should go. Definitely.”
“So you’re just going to walk away? After that?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I think it’s time.”
“Not quite,” he said. Not before he had one more taste. It was quick, hard and blindingly memorable, sort of the jolt and heat of a lightning flash maybe. And then he was letting her loose to walk away without even a word.
If they’d been somewhere else, anywhere else, he’d have taken it further. Standing in the middle of a bar where he had a gig probably wasn’t the best venue for tearing off her clothes and going at it.
Just as well; a few minutes more and he’d be whimpering for her—and he still had some dignity left.
He hoped.
Before, he’d been entertained, a little challenged. He’d speculated about her, but now he knew.
And knowing that was going to keep him awake for a very long time.
5
T HE AUTOMATIC DOORS swept open as Paige wheeled Lyndon into the clinic.
“I don’t see why you couldn’t just drop me off in front,” he groused. “I can still walk, you know. I could make it if I took it slow.”
“I’m sure you could, but the doctor wanted you to stay off your feet, and I don’t think he’d be thrilled if you hurt yourself walking right before your checkup.” She steered him past the waiting-area chairs and stopped at a clear spot.
“They’re only doing this to protect themselves.”
“Hey, the last thing I want is a smackdown from Dr. Patterson about not watching out for you. It was my assignment, remember?”
“Which is ridiculous. I’m a grown man.”
“I’ll refrain from stating the obvious,” Paige said drily.
He snapped his head around to stare at her. “You watch that, missy.”
“Who, me? I didn’t say a thing.”
“Hmph.” He subsided, folding his arms over his chest.
“I’m going to leave you here and go stand in line to check you in,” she said, setting the brakes on his chair. “You going to be okay?”
At his nod, she headed over to the counter. She shouldn’t have been even remotely surprised at once again finding herself standing in line. At least this time she knew where her grandfather was and how he was and that everything was going to be all right. Waiting was easier when she wasn’t worried sick.
Paige turned to glance around the lobby. It was amazing how things could change in a matter of days. Monday, she’d been living in L.A., blithely unaware that life was going to go on a detour. Then she’d driven north in a panicked frenzy to sit in this very room with a man who alarmed her, the same man who would wind up half seducing her with his guitar just two days later.
Because—she had to face it—if they hadn’t been interrupted and they hadn’t been in public, she had no idea just how far they’d have gone.
And the thought still gave her butterflies in her stomach.
She heard a metallic chunking noise and the door from the examining rooms opened. And out stepped Zach Reed, pushing the person she assumed was Gloria before him.
Paige had expected someone blowsy and hard-edged, bone-deep tacky. Instead Gloria looked bright-eyed and feisty and more than a little fetching. With a glance that looked very close to devilish, Zach pushed her to a stop near Lyndon and turned toward Paige.
Oh, hell, was her first thought. She should have realized that they’d be here on the same day. She should have figured out a way to be sure they wouldn’t overlap, because the last, absolutely last person she wanted to see just then was Zach Reed, not when she still hadn’t managed to figure out what she thought about the night before. It had been a good kiss—okay, a great kiss—but, really, she’d been out of her mind. With all that lay between them, what the hell had she been thinking of, sticking her tongue down Zach Reed’s throat in public?
Then he walked up and looked at her with those hot, dark eyes, and suddenly she knew exactly what she’d been thinking.
“Hey, Wild Thing,” he murmured.
She glowered at him. “I told you not to call me that.”
“Yeah, but I like the way it makes you grind your teeth.”
“You’re a sick man,” she muttered.
“Good thing I’m in a hospital. I take it you made it home safe last night?”
“Once I got out of the bar, I was fine.”
His grin widened. “I thought you were pretty fine inside the bar. I thought we both were.”
“Yeah, well, there was that.” And the sober, intelligent Paige was ready to leave it alone—appallingly bad judgment, interesting memories. The problem was that there was another part of her that wasn’t so ready to let it go. A part of her wondered, oh, pretty well incessantly, what would have happened next. If she were going to live a fantasy, she supposed that now, when she was on a vacation of sorts, was the time to do it.
If she were going to.
Paige cleared her throat. “So are you guys here for the checkup or is there something wrong?”
“Nope, Gloria’s okay.” He turned back to survey his grandmother where she sat beside Lyndon. “At least I think she is. I don’t know about your grandfather, though.”
Lyndon, in fact, looked distinctly dyspeptic. The sooner Paige could separate the two of them, the better. “How long until you can get my grandfather in?” she asked the admitting clerk. “I think something is disagreeing with him.”
I N ACTUAL FACT , G LORIA Reed was disagreeing with him, but that was no surprise. She couldn’t imagine anyone the humorless old geezer did agree with, except maybe the contrarians. “I was trying to accept your apology,” she protested. “I don’t know what you’re all het up about.”
“Because it wasn’t an apology.” Lyndon sat straighter, looking for all the world like an aggrieved rooster.
“Didn’t you say that you regretted that I’d been hurt?”
“Yes.”
“And I said, ‘Thank you, but there’s no need to apologize. Things happen,’ which I thought was a perfectly pleasant response. I’m sorry you got hurt, too.”
“But I wasn’t apologizing,” he insisted. “An apology implies fault and wrongdoing.”
“My poor Bentley’s dead,” she sniffed, “and if that’s not wrong, I don’t know what is. Maybe you deserved what you got.”
“It was your fault, too, you know. If you hadn’t come barreling out of your driveway—”
“How was I supposed to know you were going to come flying along?”
He drew himself up, affronted. “I drive at a very measured pace, I’ll have you know.”
“Not on Tuesday, bub.”
“It was your sign.”
She stared at him. “My sign? What, you read horoscopes?”
“Don’t be absurd,” he snapped impatiently. “Your sign about that ridiculous museum idea of yours, of course. It distracted me.”
She folded her arms. “I think you like ranting about things, Lyndon Favreau. I did you a favor with that sign. Otherwise you’d have to go back to my bougainvillea and let’s face it, you’ve already used up your best material on that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m always looking out for your welfare,” she said sunnily.
He looked at her as though she were part of a zoo exhibit. “You’re a loon,” he decided. “That bougainvillea of yours makes a god-blessed mess on my side of the wall, which, by the way, is too danged low.”
“Make it higher if you want it. Why’s it my responsibility?”
“It’s your wall.”
“And it’s also my bougainvillea.”
“Not when it encroaches on my property.”
She gave a little snort. “Encroaches? Encroaches?” The snicker turned into a giggle, which grew to a throaty chuckle before she gave in to the deep belly laugh.
“You’re making a scene.”
She tried to stop it, she really did. She almost had it under control and then the laugh broke out again and she was done for. She lay back, chuckling helplessly, letting it come and come. Finally she stopped, gasping and wiping her eyes. “Oh, Lyndon, you do talk. That did more good for me than all the medicine I got here. You and your ten-dollar words.”
“I fail to see what you’re laughing at.”
“I’m sure. I’ve got news for you, you stiff-necked old fool—if you’d just leave the bougainvillea, it would add a foot to the height.”
He bristled. “The bougainvillea makes a mess, and I want my privacy.”
She nudged him. “Why, are you afraid I’m going to peek and see you doing something you shouldn’t?”
“I wouldn’t put anything past you.”
“Watch out or I might start encroaching. Nice cast, by the way,” she said, nodding at a patch of hot-pink showing where his hand poked out of his sleeve.
He flushed. “I’m told this is all they had. I was indisposed at the time. I intend to get it rectified today.”
“Rectified? I think it suits you,” she told him, beginning to laugh again as Zach and Paige came up.
“Are you causing trouble again?” Zach demanded as he reached for the brakes on her wheelchair.
Gloria grinned. “I’m always causing trouble. Lyndon Favreau, Zach Reed, my grandson. Who’s your friend, kiddo?”
“Paige Favreau. The granddaughter.”
