Not at all, apparently.

If she was smart, she would end this conversation now. After all, she wanted him, which meant he couldn’t possibly be good for her. Eve’s wants, Eve’s choices, were always mistakes.

But she did have a habit of making those mistakes. So it was no surprise, in the end, when she opened her mouth and gave in.

“I think you fantasize about me.” She’d seen it in her mind’s eye a thousand times, now. Had heard the shower turn on from down the hall, and imagined his grip harsh and punishing over his flushed cock. Imagined him gritting his teeth as he came in his own hand and breathed her name.

She’d just never expected, in a thousand years, to say as much to him. And she’d never expected to have him reply—“Yes.”

He came even closer to her in the semidark, and then the knees of their crossed legs were nudging together, and his good hand created a dip in the mattress as he leaned on it, and his forehead bumped hers. Eve’s eyelids fluttered shut as his breath, still biscuit-sweet, ghosted against her mouth. “Yes,” he said again, “I think about you. I’ve been trying to stop. I haven’t—I haven’t even touched myself because that would make it wrong, Eve, really wrong, but I’ve been thinking and I haven’t been able to stop.”

Her breaths were quick and so, so loud over the background hum of the music, but his were quicker and louder and that turned her frenetic, nervous lust into something slower and more sure. He’d pushed out his words as if his throat was thick with this forbidden need, as if he didn’t even want to say them—like he was clinging to them desperately with bloodied hands but they escaped on an uncontrollable wave anyway. She was being wanted, if not completely then too passionately to deny, and it settled over her like a blanket of snow and a wall of midsummer heat all at once: bright and fresh enough to suck the air from her lungs, but languorous and sensual, too.

“We should do something about this,” she said.

“No.” But he didn’t sit back, didn’t stop touching her. He touched her more. He leaned an elbow against the high sofa cushions, because his wrist couldn’t support him, and then he used his other hand to—to touch her cheek, a barely there caress.

She shivered.

“It would be a terrible idea,” he went on steadily. “I’m too hard, at present, to remember why it would be a terrible idea, but I feel certain that it would.”

“Probably because we’re trying to be friends,” she supplied, “and because of the whole employ—”

“Don’t say it,” he cut in. “At least, not before I kiss you.”

“You’re going to kiss me?” She swallowed, a heavy swirl of pure want spiraling out from her pussy to skate through her entire body.

“I don’t know,” he said softly. “I shouldn’t. I didn’t intend to. But look at your face.”