"What's a divorce moon?"

"It's the trip you take after your divorce . . . you know, like a honeymoon. You didn't have one?"

I remembered lying in Gage and Liberty's apartment with a rib brace and a concussion, and I smiled grimly. "Not exactly."

"Well, Beebe did. She went to Galveston, and there was this great party, and Hardy Cates was there. So after they talked for a while, they went to her hotel room. According to Beebe, they had sex all night in every possible position, and by the time it was over she felt like a cheap whore. She said it was fabulous."

I put a hand over my midriff, where nerves were jumping. The idea of Hardy ha**ng s*x with someone I knew was strangely upsetting.

"Too bad he's straight," Todd said. "Heterosexuality is so limiting."

I gave him a dark glance. "Do me a favor and don't pull anything with Hardy."

"Sure. You calling dibs?"

"No. Not at all. I just don't want you to make him nervous. He is definitely not bipossible."

As we got out of the elevator and went to the apartment, I wondered what Hardy would make of Todd. My friend wasn't in the least effeminate, but he still gave off the vibe of being able to play it any way. People usually liked Todd — he had a sense of effortless cool, of being comfortable in his own skin.

"I think you'll get along with Hardy," I said. "I'll be interested to hear your opinion of him later."

Todd had an unerring ability to read people, to ferret out the secrets they gave away without even knowing it. Body language, verbal hesitations, the minute changes in expression . . . Todd saw it all with an artist's sensitivity to detail.

As we got to the door, we saw that it was already open. "Hello?" I said tentatively as we went inside the apartment.

Hardy came to meet us, his gaze flicking over me, then settling on my face. "Hi." He smiled and reached for my hand. He held it a little too long, his thumb sliding into the cup of my palm before I tugged free.

He was wearing a designer suit, a beautiful dress shirt, a good watch. His tie was a little loose, as if he'd been tugging at it, and his hair fell in mink-brown layers that practically begged to be touched and played with. He looked good in the civilized attire, but there was still a touch of the bruiser about him, a sense that he was not meant be bound up in a suit and tie.

"Can I help you with that?" he asked Todd, who was burdened with a stack of materials including a portfolio, sample books, sketches, and folders.

"Nope, I've got it." Todd set the stack on the gray quartz countertop. He gave Hardy a pleasant smile and extended a hand. "Todd Phelan. Great place you've got here. I think we can come up with something really spectacular for it."

"Hope so." Hardy shook his hand firmly. "I'll do my best to stay out of your way."

"You don't have to stay out of the way. I intend to take your likes and dislikes into account." Pausing, Todd added with a grin, "We may even be able to work in the cowhide sofa if you're attached to it.

"It's damn comfortable," Hardy said with a touch of wistfulness. "I have some good memories of that sofa."

"We'll all be better off if you keep those to yourself," I said crisply. Hardy grinned at me.

"In the absence of furniture," Todd said, "this will have to be a kitchen counter meeting. If you'll come around here, Hardy, I'll show you some ideas I've already come up with. I have a copy of the floor plan, so I'm familiar with the layout . . . "

As Hardy walked around the counter to join him, Todd turned to me and mouthed a silent Wow, his turquoise eyes sparkling with glee. I ignored him.

The two men bent over the sample book. "See this color palette . . . ? Todd was saying. "Earth tones, caramels, botanical greens, some pumpkin orange here and there for pop. This would be a really comfortable environment. And it would definitely soften the sterility of the finish in here."

They agreed on natural textures and tones, and furniture with tailored lines. The only preference Hardy had was that he didn't want a lot of little tables and chairs scattered around. He liked solid furniture that wouldn't make him feel cramped.

"Of course," Todd said. "Big guy like you . . . what are you, six one, six two . . . ?"

"Six two."

"Right." Todd slid me a glance of bright mischief. Clearly he found Hardy as delicious as I did. But unlike me, Todd was not at all conflicted about it.

"What do you think?" Hardy asked me as they pulled some sample pages from a book and laid them side by side. "Do you like the way this looks?"

As I moved next to him, I fell the gentle brush of his hand on my back. Heat raced along my spine, up to the base of my skull. "I do," I said. "I still object to the cowhide, however."

"It adds a touch of whimsy," Todd protested. "It'll work. Give it a chance."

"No cowhide if she doesn't like it," Hardy told him.

Todd arched his brow sardonically as he looked at me. "What about orange, Haven? Can we have orange, or is that too much for you to handle?"

I studied the palette and touched a sample of chocolate-colored velvet. "I like this brown, actually."

"I'm already using that for the chair," Todd argued.

"Then make the chair orange and the sofa brown."

Todd considered that and made some notes.