“Relatively!”

“Relatively. No common sense, but other than that: smart.” Eve wanted to be offended, except he was wearing that tiny smile again. So she found herself trying not to laugh instead of ripping him a new arsehole.

Only Jacob could make relatively smart sound like a genuine and unreserved compliment.

“You’re also a good cook,” he went on, “and I get the sense that you try to be a nice person, when you’re not running people over. Plus, you’re . . . determined. I can work with determined. I can respect determined. I can trust determined. So, yes, I think trying will do it. That’s all I need from you.”

Trying. Just trying. She should probably still be hung up on that part, but instead she found herself echoing with obvious surprise, “Respect?”

“Yes, Eve. I respect you just fine.” He met her gaze as he gave one last, good pull.

Eve was just thinking that perhaps she didn’t hate Jacob after all—and perhaps, even more shocking, he maybe possibly didn’t entirely hate her—when she found herself free from the pond and flying through the air. That flight ended when she bumped into Jacob, knocking him backward and probably breaking several of his already bruised ribs.

“Fuck,” he barked.

“I’m so sorry!” As quickly as she could, Eve shifted her weight onto her hands and knees, hovering over him. She bent her head to . . . inspect him for damage, or something, God, she didn’t know. But at the same time, Jacob pushed himself up on one elbow, and she thought for a moment they were going to bump heads, but somehow they both managed to stop moving—

Which left their faces less than an inch apart.

She assumed that was his face, anyway. She couldn’t quite see, with the fall of her hair surrounding them and blocking all the moonlight. But she could feel his breath ghosting against her cheek. He smelled like toothpaste and fresh lemons. And pond, yes, but it was the lemons that had her attention. Something about it, or the heat of him, or his closeness, made her feel slow and stuck, like she’d just waded into honey.

“Sorry,” she repeated softly. The word was a barely there breath.

Then he pulled back a bit, or tilted his head, or something, and she could see him now. He had warm, summer-sky eyes, although he wasn’t smiling. Not at all. His mouth was a soft, slack pout, lips slightly parted as if he’d just been kissed. Such a sweet mouth, now that she looked at it, for all the sharp things it said.

“Are you sure you didn’t come here to kill me?” he asked.

“Quite sure.”

“But you’d be so good at it. You half murder me on a regular basis completely by accident.”

“Shut up,” she said. “I’m trying to admire your mouth and you are ruining it.”

“Admire my—?” He choked a little bit. Choked, and blinked rapidly, and then, if she wasn’t mistaken in the moonlight—he blushed.