It was difficult to miss, really. Her top was thin and kind of loose, and the armholes hung low, and the sides of her breasts swelled—

Jacob put a fast and violent stop to that train of thought. It wasn’t hard. All he had to do was look at the ducks and fury welcomed him back into its cold embrace.

“Yes,” he agreed, “Jacob. Me. Here.” Hm. Maybe he hadn’t fully woken up yet. “Which means,” he continued, trying to snatch his thoughts back from their duck-Eve-boob precipice, “you are caught.”

She blinked slowly. “Caught . . .”

“Feeding ducks!”

She blinked some more. “Should I . . . not be feeding ducks?”

“No!” he burst out, then realized he was almost loud enough to wake the dead, never mind Castell Cottage’s guests. “No,” he repeated again, more quietly.

“But they seemed so hungry,” she said, and the worst part was that Eve appeared genuinely concerned. For ducks. For the vermin of the waterfowl world. Good God.

“They’re not hungry,” Jacob scowled, “they’re wild animals who know how to feed themselves, so stop it. You’ll encourage the bastards. They’ll make a habit of returning. They’ll treat my pond like a common watering hole and bring their friends. Next thing you know, the whole garden will be duck shit and duck sex—which is an extremely disturbing event, let me tell you—and aggressive duck demands for food. Aside from which, you’re not even supposed to give them bread.”

A pause. Eve cocked her head. Then, instead of addressing the substance of his speech, she asked in tones of great surprise, “You aren’t? Oh dear. Why on earth not?”

“It’s bad for the digestion! Christ, woman, read a waterfowl blog.”

“Which you do because . . .”

“Because,” Jacob sniffed, suddenly aware that this conversation had spiraled out of his control. “Know thine enemy.”

“Ah,” she murmured. “Yes. Of course.” The moon had shifted, so Jacob could no longer see her face. But he had the strangest suspicion that she was smiling.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” he demanded. “Aside from sabotaging my garden.”

“Nothing.” Which was a nonsense answer if he’d ever heard one, but she rose to her feet and went on. “If you’re so antiduck, I’ll get rid of them. Not that I brought them here in the first place.”

Bloody ducks. They should know by now that Jacob’s property was off-limits to their foul ways.

“Well,” he muttered. “Good.” Except it wasn’t good, because Eve was still here, and he really didn’t want her to be. He was starting to find her . . . charming. Jacob usually saw charm as useless and insubstantial, but somehow, she made the damn thing stick. Made it solid and welcoming, like a well-built brick house rather than smoke and mirrors.

That was technically a good thing, but he hadn’t expected it, and so he decided to resent it. He’d always hated surprises. “What possessed you to come over here at this time of night and waste perfectly good bread? My perfectly good bread?”

“I’ll buy some more tomorrow,” she said, throwing what remained of the bag—yes, throwing it!—casually on the ground.

“You’ll fuck up my supp—”

“Supply is my responsibility now, anyway,” she cut in, and Jacob was left to wonder how the bloody hell she’d known that. He hadn’t mentioned it, because frankly, he hadn’t wanted her to do it just yet. Supply monitoring was a delicate business, and Eve seemed a bit bloody ditsy, to say the least. Plus, he’d only known her for a few days. Putting her in charge of securing sausages and whatnot seemed premature. They hadn’t even had their first post-employment meeting yet.

Because you’ve been avoiding her.

Blah, blah, blah. The point was, she knew too much. “Who told you that?” he demanded. “It was Mont, wasn’t it? I heard him come and visit you today, you know. While you were baking.”

Eve, who was windmilling her arms at the first duck with almost no effect, snorted a laugh. “Visit me? I thought he was on his way to visit you.”

“Well, yes. Wanted to check I hadn’t died while he wasn’t looking. But I don’t see how that mission took him to the kitchen.”

Earlier, it had occurred to Jacob that he’d left a bit abruptly after the Finger Licking Moment, and he’d started to feel almost . . . bad. After all, Eve was so unrelentingly earnest, she might as well be a puppy, and if you kicked a puppy, even by accident, you had to pick it up and rub its belly and say sorry. Not that he’d intended to do something so awful as apologize. Or rub Eve’s belly. He’d just planned to pop into the kitchen and say something vaguely friendly, to negate his earlier awkwardness.

So down he’d gone, only to find her laughing. With Mont.

“You should be aware,” Jacob said now, “that I think he likes you.” It would make sense, after all. Eve was technically attractive, and technically interesting, and really quite capable in a way that made Jacob’s stomach tighten, but also quite silly in a way that made his chest fizz, so, yes. He could see it. Why Mont might like her, that is.

“Everyone likes me on first acquaintance,” Eve said, then flicked a look at Jacob. “Well. Except you.”

“I—” He snapped his mouth shut before it could betray him.

“Aha! Success!” The first duck had finally taken the hint and fucked off, waddle-flying away with an affronted squawk. Eve clapped her hands and did a little jump, and Jacob thanked every god he knew that the moon was currently covered by cloud, because if he’d seen that movement in any kind of light he probably would’ve noticed something awful. Like her tits.

Or her thighs, in those tiny shorts he absolutely hadn’t been looking at.

“And by the way,” Eve went on, “Mont didn’t tell me anything. I read about it in the handbook.”

Jacob froze.

“SUPPLYING ONESELF: THE ART OF REMAINING READY,” she went on.

Jacob froze some more.

She walked toward him in the dark, her shadowy outline drifting closer. “Are you all right?” she asked. “Is this some sort of concussion thing? Do I need to reboot you?” And then she reached out a finger and tapped him on the nose.

He caught her wrist automatically, trapping her hand in front of his face. Her skin was soft—almost unnaturally soft. She must bathe in butter or milk or something because if he didn’t know better, he’d think her whole body was wrapped in satin. He could feel her pulse beneath his fingers and it was fast. Probably because she’d just been grabbed by a strange and silent man in the dark.

He let her go.

“Well,” she said cheerfully, “I wasn’t expecting that to work.” But she moved away with a speed that didn’t quite match her casual tone.

Damn. Every time they did something other than argue, he managed to fuck it up. Surprising, how tense and unhappy that made him. Jacob wasn’t in the habit of giving a shit about people who weren’t on his pre-approved list. It was complicated and it always ended badly.

Badly, as in: with him dumped on someone else’s doorstep like a bag of rubbish.