There are a variety of thoughts that filter through his mind as he watches her rifle through the chest - and none of them are pure. That train of thought continues as she strides back to the bed, and though his eyes can see that she is speaking...

...he is not listening. At all.

It is the scent of whatever is contained in one of those jars hitting his nostrils is what snaps him back into the 'present', and he looks up from her body to her face, meeting her eyes, his own dark with want.

And muddled with a little confusion.

"...what was that?"