Page 28 of Grim

A rough, strained sound. Not words, just pain.

She stepped into the hallway.

Grim was on her couch, sprawled on his back, one arm thrown over his forehead. His jaw was clenched, breath uneven, chest rising too fast. His fingers twitched like he was reaching for something that wasn’t there.

A nightmare. A bad one.

She’d soothed a hundred patients through fear and pain, but something about his struggle tugged at a place she didn’t let people touch.

Sophia’s heart squeezed.

For a split second, fear flickered through her, raw and instinctive. Not fear of him, but fear for him. Grim didn’t seem like a man who broke easily. Seeing him like this, struggling and trapped in something she couldn’t see, hit her harder than she expected. It made him feel human in a way that unsettled her. Human was dangerous. Human meant she could care, and caring had always cost her more than she could afford.

She approached slowly, careful not to startle him. “Grim?”

Nothing.

His breath hitched, body tensing.

She tried again, softer. “Grim…”

Still nothing.

She swallowed, then whispered, “Maddox.”

He flinched. His eyes snapped open, wild and unfocused for a second before they locked on her. His breathing slowed, but only barely.

Sophia stepped closer. “Hey. You’re okay.” He blinked hard, dragging himself out of whatever hell he’d been trapped in.

She hesitated, then reached out and touched his cheek.

She’d touched patients before, soothed them through panic and pain, but this was different. This was a man who carried violence in his bones, leaning into her like she was the only solid thing in the room. She shouldn’t have touched him. Not like this. Not when she wasn’t sure she could pull her hand back once she did. It shouldn’t have made her chest tighten. It shouldn’t have made her want to touch him again.

Wanting him felt reckless. Wanting him felt like stepping off a ledge she’d spent years avoiding.

He jerked at the contact, then, without meaning to, leaned into her palm. His stubble scraped lightly against her skin, warm and rough. The tension in his shoulders eased by a fraction, like her touch reached a place nothing else could.

Sophia froze, breath catching as she felt the shift, small and unintentional and deeply intimate. He didn’t even seem aware he’d done it, which somehow made it worse.

“Sorry,” he muttered, voice rough. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” she said softly. “I heard you.”

His gaze flicked over her, then froze.

Her light pink nightshirt had slipped higher on her thigh. The hem barely covered anything. Her bare legs were stretched out in front of him, warm from sleep. His eyes dragged up slowly, like he was trying not to look but couldn’t stop himself.

Heat shot through her. Her balance shifting in a way she didn’t recognize. She wasn’t used to losing her footing. Not over a man. Not ever.

The way he looked at her shouldn’t have made her stomach flip. It shouldn’t have made heat crawl up her neck. She didn’t want to think about what it meant that a man like him could look at her like that, like he wasn’t sure he should, but couldn’t stop.

She tugged the shirt down, cheeks warming. “I can make you something to eat.”

He cleared his throat, looking away fast. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.” She offered a small smile. “But I want to.”

She turned toward the kitchen.