“Depends on who you ask.”

Rolling my eyes, I stepped over the threshold, my toes edging the tile work. Trent didn’t look up from where he was standing over a sink, leaning toward the mirror to apply something to his face. He’d changed out of his jeans, and I hesitated, drinking him in with my eyes. Damn.

He was in a skintight black two-piece of spandex and cotton. Not only that, but he was wearing it extremely well, and I stood for a moment and just appreciated what he usually hid behind his suit and tie, all lean muscle and long lines. His fair hair was slicked back, and the slightly darker color and flat look changed his entire appearance, making him look less professional boardroom and more professional bad boy. A utility belt rested on the counter, holding what were probably thief tools.

Hovering at his eye level and rubbing a dark smear under his eyes was Jenks. The two of them looked remarkably alike—once you dismissed the wings and size difference. Seeing him unaware, I could appreciate how slim Trent was, athletic, with just enough muscle in all the right places. A runner’s body. I tried to keep my eyes where they belonged—then gave up, letting my eyes linger where they would—then warmed when my eyes rose to find Trent watching me in amusement in the mirror.

His smile shifted as he recognized my appreciation, the slight movement of his body an invitation to look more. God, he was teasing me, and flushing, I took my eyes off him. Ellasbeth, your name is fool.

“What is that you’re putting on your face?” I asked to try to move the nonverbal communication away from how good Trent looked and how smug he was that I’d noticed. It smelled like cut grass in here—clean, refreshing, and carrying the bite of chlorophyll. I didn’t think it was the toilet-bowl cleaner.

Pulling back from the mirror, Trent capped a bottle and jauntily tossed it to me. I had to move fast, almost dropping my last two cracker sandwiches as I snagged it one-handed. My shoulder gave a twinge as I caught it. “It covers my scent,” he said, and I set my napkin down so I could open it. I gave the nondescript white stuff a good sniff to verify that this was where the cut-grass smell was coming from. My shoulders eased as the scent slipped into me, reminding me of summer. All this, and he smells good, too.

“You don’t stink,” I said as I dabbed a bit of it on the back of my hand, and from nowhere, the question flitted through me of what he had wanted to be when he grew up.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” His voice was light, teasing, and I stayed where I was as he reached for the jeans he’d had on earlier, his motions becoming tauntingly slow as he put one foot in, then the other. “I suppose I should have said it will mask any smell I’ll pick up in the ever-after,” he added, turning to give me a sideways view as he zipped up his pants.