Chapter 9
Grim
Grim didn’t mean to look.
He really didn’t.
But when Sophia turned toward the kitchen, the hem of her nightshirt lifted with the movement, revealing the bottom curve of her panties, sky blue and soft, nothing he should’ve been seeing. The glimpse was quick, barely a second, but it hit him like a punch.
His jaw locked so hard it ached. He dragged his gaze away, but it didn’t matter. The image was burned into him, bright and dangerous.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fuck.”
She didn’t hear him.
She was already moving around her kitchen, sleepy and soft and completely unaware of the effect she had on him. Cabinets opened. Butter hissed in a pan. Plates clattered quietly. The sounds were small, domestic, the kind of noises he’d never associated with himself.
It felt too intimate.
Too close.
Too dangerous.
Grim pushed off the couch and followed the pull he didn’t want to acknowledge. He stopped in the doorway, leaning a shoulder against the frame.
Sophia stood at the stove, hair messy from sleep, shirt hanging off one shoulder. She sprinkled leftover pico de gallo over a tortilla, humming under her breath like this was normal, like he belonged here.
She didn’t notice him at first.
When she finally did, she startled. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t hear you.”
He shook his head. “You’re fine.”
Her eyes met his for a second too long. Something warm flickered there, something he didn’t know how to handle. She turned back to the stove quickly, but the moment stayed with him, settling under his skin.
She flipped the quesadilla, the smell of melted cheese filling the kitchen. “I figured something quick would work.”
“It’s good,” he said.
“You haven’t tasted it yet.”
“I can tell.”
Her cheeks flushed. He looked away before he made it worse.
They sat at her tiny kitchen table, plates between them. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was steady. Warm. Familiar in a way that made no sense.
Grim didn’t do mornings in quiet kitchens. He didn’t sit across from women in nightshirts. He didn’t feel settled.
But here, with her, he did.
Sophia kept glancing at him, like she was trying to figure him out. Sunlight caught the edges of her hair, turning the loose strands gold. She looked soft. Too soft for him. Too soft for the world he lived in.
He shouldn’t have been here.
He knew that.
But he didn’t move.
She cleared her throat. “I should get ready for my shift.”
Grim nodded. “I’ll clean up.”
“You don’t have to…”
“I want to.”
Something warm flickered in her eyes before she looked away.
She stood, pushing her chair back. As she walked down the hallway, the shirt lifted again, revealing the bottom of her panties. This time he didn’t even try to look away.
He couldn’t.
Her hips, the soft curve of her thighs, the way she moved, unaware and unguarded, it all hit him at once, sharp, hot, impossible to ignore.
She disappeared into her room, the door clicking softly shut behind her.
Grim went still.
Every muscle in his body tightened, bracing against something he couldn’t name. He dragged a hand over his face, exhaling slowly.
He was in trouble.
Deep, deep trouble.
And the worst part, the part he didn’t want to look at too closely, was that he didn’t want out of it.
Not even a little.