That last part wasn’t meant to be relevant, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Jacob was staring at the wall, tapping the fingers of his left hand against his thigh in a rapid rhythm, when the lock behind him clicked again. He had just enough time to straighten up and turn around before the door swung open to reveal Eve. There she stood in nothing but a towel—one of his towels—her shoulders bare and glistening with water, her braids piled on top of her head and dripping wet. The scent of lemon hung about her like a cloud, and something low in his gut clenched like a fist. She’d used his soap. There were three different kinds of body wash in the shower, just in case Jacob ever felt like changing things up, but he rarely did, so the lemon one was way emptier than the mint or the raspberry. She must have seen that, she must have noticed that, but she’d used the lemon anyway.

She’d used his soap.

Jacob knew there was nothing strange about that fact, under the circumstances. Nevertheless, it joined the list of things in his head that he couldn’t get rid of.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I didn’t break anything.” Which is when Jacob realized looming in the bathroom doorway wasn’t a normal thing to do.

“Sorry,” he muttered, and stepped aside. “Listen—my room is down there. I put some clothes on the bed for you. Get . . .” His cheeks heated, his voice catching on the words, though fuck only knew why. “Get dressed. And, you know, go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Um,” she said, “about that—” But she’d made the mistake of leaving the bathroom, which meant Jacob could enter the bathroom. He did so, quickly, and shut the door fast and firm behind him. Then he leaned against that door—again—and blamed the steam in the room for the fever rushing through his body. When he closed his eyes all he could see was Eve’s bare shoulders, water droplets winking like diamonds in the light.

And her smile. He could see that, too.

* * *

It took a long, burning-hot shower to scald away whatever weirdness was messing with Jacob’s head. But by the time he was clean—properly clean, his skin fizzing with it—he felt like himself again. Normal. Balanced. In control. Not in danger of fixating on any part of his employee’s anatomy. Excellent.

Then he left the bathroom, entered the bedroom, and found her sitting at the end of his bed. In his clothes. His soft, white T-shirt pulled tight over her chest, his basketball shorts practically cut into her thighs, and Jesus Christ he hadn’t thought any of this through.

He could see her nipples beneath the thin fabric of the T-shirt. Shit. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

She looked down, presumably following his line of sight, then back up at him. Without hesitation, she threw a pillow at his head.

Jacob cleared his throat, averted his gaze, and said with complete sincerity, “Thank you.”