you always dress exactly right for the occasion. Plus, you sound educated and—let’s face it—rich girl when you speak.”
“Yes,” Jenny agreed. “For an American, your accent is not quite but very nearly British sounding.”
She smiled. “Okay, I’ll cop to that one. Because we moved so much as kids, my brother, Kai, and I often had tutors. And when we did stay in one place long enough to go to a local school, as with our tutors, the English spoken and taught there leaned heavily toward the Queen’s version. I’ve been told I kind of retained the cadence, if not the actual accent.” She took a swig of her beer, then shook her head. “I’m nobody’s rich girl, though. My grandparents on my father’s side are quite well-to-do, and my dad did okay for himself as well, although he didn’t attain their income bracket. But me, personally? Not even close.”
“Ah, but you’re talking to a couple of girls from the wrong side of the tracks,” Tasha said cheerfully. A man passing behind her bumped her chair, and she hopped it in a little closer to the table. “Well, Jenny actually started out on the right side, but circumstances dumped her in my part of town when she was sixteen.” She flashed Harper an easy whatta-ya-gonna-do smile. “So we’re easily impressed.”
Her laid-back acceptance made Harper realize their assessment of her wasn’t a you’re-not-one-of-us judgment; it was simply a recitation of their impressions. She took a sip of her beer and leaned back in her chair. “I spent a good deal more time with adults than kids my own age growing up, so I suppose I don’t sound quite like your average American thirty-year-old. But I can start swearing up a storm if you want.”
They both flashed her unrepentant grins, and she grinned right back.
Then she sobered and gave them a curious look. “Razor Bay is small, and I haven’t seen an overabundance of hot guys our age in the short time I’ve been here. So, weren’t either of you ever even a little tempted by Max? I thought teenage girls were fascinated by the broody Heathcliff/Vampire Edward type.”
“He wasn’t around when Tash and I were in high school, and when he did come home we were both way more interested in improving our futures. So the idea of him as potential dating material never even occurred to us in our impressionable 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.
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