Page 26 of Grim’s Angel

“You keep a two-bay garage hidden in the mountain but put flowers beneath the windows.”

“My priorities are complicated.”

“So I’m learning.”

He carries my suitcase into the bedroom.

The room contains a wide bed, one heavy dresser, and another stone fireplace. A faded quilt covers the mattress, and thick curtains frame the windows.

The humor leaves me when I notice there is only one bed.

“Where will you sleep?”

“Couch.”

“Your shoulder needs support.”

“I’ve slept in worse places.”

“That isn’t the medical triumph you think it is.”

He opens a dresser drawer and takes out a change of clothes. “The bed is yours. The door locks from the inside. There’s another gun in the nightstand, but you don’t touch it until I show you how to use it without ventilating me.”

Embarrassment burns through my face. “I said I was sorry.”

“I know.”

“You keep mentioning it.”

“Your guilty face is adorable.”

Adorable.

Nobody has ever made the word sound indecent before.

Grim leaves me alone to change.

I open my suitcase and find the pale-blue pajamas I packed for my wedding night with a stranger. The soft camisole and matching shorts had seemed modest in my bedroom. Here, the top stretches more tightly across my breasts than I remember, and the shorts leave most of my thighs bare.

I add a thin robe and tie it loosely around my waist before spending several minutes lecturing my reflection about common sense.

The woman in the mirror has flushed cheeks, wide hazel eyes, and no interest in listening.

When I return to the main room, a fire burns in the stone hearth. Grim has changed into a black T-shirt and gray sweats.

Without his cut, he should appear less dangerous.

The black cotton stretches across shoulders powerful enough to carry violence without effort, while the sleeves strain around his arms. Ink winds over his skin, and his bare feet make the room feel unexpectedly intimate.

My attention drifts lower.

The gray sweats are a terrible contribution to my decision-making process.

Grim looks up from the stove and catches me staring.

Heat rushes into my face.

He says nothing, which is somehow worse.