Page 20 of Grim’s Angel

“Your turn.”

“It’s a bruise.”

“So was his graze.”

He holds out his hand but waits. “May I?”

I nod and offer him my wrist.

Razor checks my range of motion, presses carefully along the bones, and tests the sensation in my fingers. Grim watches every movement. His jaw tightens when Razor’s thumb passes over the darkest bruise.

Razor glances at him. “I’m examining her.”

“I can see that.”

“Your face suggests otherwise.”

“Finish.”

Something warm unfurls low in my stomach. Being the object of Grim’s attention is dangerous enough. Apparently, so is being the object of his jealousy.

“Nothing feels broken,” Razor says. “Ice for fifteen minutes. If the swelling gets worse or your fingers become numb, I want an X-ray.”

He activates a cold pack and holds it out.

Grim takes it, then looks at me. “May I?”

I nod.

His good hand supports my forearm while he settles the cold pack over the bruises. The same man who threatened to remove a hand for leaving those marks touches me as though too much pressure might add another.

“I can hold it,” I say.

“I know.”

“Then why aren’t I?”

His silver eyes hold mine. “Because I want to take care of you.”

My pulse trips beneath his fingers.

Razor clears his throat. “Fifteen minutes.”

“I heard you,” Grim says.

“Still under review?” he asks me.

“Your judgment?”

“Me.”

The single word lands lower than it should.

“Absolutely.”

“Good.” His silver eyes darken. “Stay close enough to complete the assessment.”

My heart stumbles.