Some Like It Hot. Susan Andersen

years. Besides, I like guys who make me laugh,” Jenny said.

      Tasha nodded. “Same here. And Max just isn’t my type.”

      Harper studied her. “What is?”

      The strawberry blonde grinned. “I like ’em tall, charming and fun,” she said slowly. The words had no sooner left her lips, however, than her gray-blue eyes darkened as if a thick cloud had suddenly blown across the sun. And her mouth, with its exotically fuller-than-its-counterpart upper lip, tightened. She made an erasing motion. “No, I take that back—I’ve sworn off a type. I have awful taste in men.”

      “No, you don’t,” Jenny said firmly. “You had awful taste once. One time, Tash.”

      “Well, considering that one time landed my ass in a Bahamian jail,” Tasha retorted coolly, “I think it’s probably enough, don’t you?”

      Hello! Harper straightened. That sounded wildly intriguing. But one look at the rigid set of Tasha’s shoulders—not to mention the other woman’s blind-eyed attention to the wineglass in her hand—and Harper knew better than to pursue the conversational bomb that had just rolled onto the table between them. Not even the crystal green and blue waters of the canal at low tide were clearer than the vibe Tasha was putting out that she’d spoken unthinkingly—and this was not a subject she cared to discuss.

      So Harper gave the other woman a cocky smile to lighten the mood. “I guess this means my Hunky Deputy and The Handcuffs fantasy is all mine, then, yeah?”

      Her new friends laughed, and the tension that had hovered like a noxious mist over their table for a moment dissipated. “Oh, yeah.” Tasha gave her a lopsided smile. “Which is not to say I don’t wish you the best with it.”

      “Absolutely,” Jenny agreed. “And should it ever come true for you...well. We expect details.”

      “Lots and lots of details,” Tasha said. “Because Jenny’s right. Max is far from asexual, and I for one would love to know if he’s one of those tell-a-girl-exactly-what-he-wants-from-her-in-bed kind of guys.”

      Harper stilled. Oh, hell. Like her imagination wasn’t active enough.

      That was the last image she needed planted in her brain.