Grimm Little Obsession

Chapter Two- Part 3 Roman

Roman blinked down at the tiny woman currently wrapped around his waist, momentarily distracted from the fact that an entire cafeteria full of patients and hospital employees had apparently stopped what they were doing to witness whatever the hell this was.

“Tinsel?” he repeated, his brows drawing together in genuine curiosity. “Now that's a new one. Care to explain how you arrived at that particular conclusion?”

Her gaze flicked pointedly toward his hair before returning to his face, and the look she gave him suggested she was questioning whether he'd suffered some sort of catastrophic brain injury.

“Your hair, genius. It's silver. Shiny. Like f*****g Christmas decorations.” She tilted her head, studying him with exaggerated seriousness. “What, you think you look like that naturally? Did Santa personally bleach your s**t, or was that a decision you made all by yourself?”

Roman's mouth curved into a slow, delighted grin. He'd been called many things over the years, most of them far less festive, but no one had ever compared him to Christmas decorations while clinging to him like an overly aggressive koala.

“Personally, I was going for distinguished.”

“Well, you missed.”

A laugh rumbled in his chest, and he felt her shift slightly against him, apparently getting more comfortable. The realization amused him almost as much as her mouth did. Here was a woman who'd just assaulted another patient, launched herself at a complete stranger, and was now criticizing his appearance while using him as a human climbing frame.

He was beginning to understand why the staff looked so f*****g exhausted.

“And what should I call you?” he asked, studying her face. “Or do you prefer that I stick with tiny, violent Christmas critic?”

She gave him a look of profound disappointment.

“Jacqueline Hayes. Jax, if you're not a complete asshole.”

“Roman Morozov.”

She stared at him.

Then, slowly, she wrinkled her nose.

“Nope.”

Roman raised an eyebrow. “Nope?”

“Absolutely not.”

He glanced down at her, genuinely entertained by the immediate rejection. “And what, exactly, is wrong with my name?”

“Roman?” she repeated incredulously. “Seriously? That's the most overused Russian name I've ever heard. What, was Ivan taken?”

Roman stared at her for half a second before a startled laugh escaped him.

“I'm sorry my parents failed to consult you before naming me.”

“They really should've. I could've saved you a lifetime of sounding like the villain in a low-budget action movie.”

“And what would you have named me, then?”

She pretended to consider the question, her eyes traveling over his face before settling on his silver hair. For a moment, the mischief in her expression gave way to something more thoughtful, as though she were genuinely trying to decide what name suited the dangerously handsome stranger holding her.

“Grimm.”

Roman's eyebrows rose.

“Grimm?”

“Yeah. Like the Grim Reaper, except with an extra M because you look like the kind of asshole who'd insist on being special.” Her lips curved into a wicked little smile. “You've got that whole tall, dark, and probably-buries-bodies-in-the-woods thing going on. It's fitting.”

Roman stared at her, his amusement taking on a distinctly sharper edge. She had no idea how close to the truth she'd just wandered, and something about the casual accuracy of her observation sent a delicious little thrill through him.

“Grimm,” he repeated slowly, testing the sound of it. “I could get used to that.”

“Don't get too attached, Tinsel. Grimm's for when I'm feeling generous.”

“Then I suppose I'll have to earn it.”

“Good luck with that,” she smirked, lowering her lashes to look up at him coyly. “It’s a memorable name. Really brings out your whole creepy, handsome Russian mobster aesthetic.”

Roman's amusement sharpened.

Mobster?

Interesting.

He hadn't introduced himself as anything like that, and judging by the casual way she'd thrown out the observation, she wasn't particularly concerned about it, either.

“Handsome, huh?”

“Don't get excited. I also said creepy.”

“Funny. I seem to remember you throwing yourself into my arms.”

“Yeah, well, I make questionable decisions when I'm grieving.”

“Grieving?”

“My pudding, asshole. Try to keep up.”

Roman laughed, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip beneath her thighs. He'd met women who flirted, women who threatened, and women who pretended not to know who he was while quietly calculating how much money they might extract from him. This one seemed to be doing all three badly, at once, with absolutely no concern for the consequences.

He found it f*****g delightful.

“You're quite the little vredina, aren't you?” he murmured.

Her head tilted.

“The f**k's a vredina?”

Roman's smile turned positively wicked.

“Wouldn't you like to know?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is that some kind of Russian insult?”

“Depends who you ask.”

“I'm asking you, Tinsel.”

“And I'm choosing to preserve the mystery.”

She studied him for a moment, her expression turning suspicious.

“You know, that's usually what people say when they've called you something incredibly offensive.”

“Then I suppose you'll have to live with the uncertainty.”

“Or I could bite you.”

Roman's eyebrows rose.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Depends how annoying you get.”

Roman's grin widened as he looked down at the woman still comfortably wrapped around his waist. She'd apparently decided that his arms were an acceptable place to conduct a conversation, and he was in no particular hurry to correct her. It wasn't every day a beautiful woman hurled herself at him, insulted his name, threatened to bite him, and then casually suggested he looked like someone who buried bodies in the woods.

Although, to be fair, the last observation was disturbingly accurate.

“Hayes!”

The sharp voice cut through their conversation, drawing Roman's attention toward the increasingly frantic collection of hospital employees approaching them. The orderly she'd called Stanley led the charge, followed by two other staff members and the administrator, whose face had developed a rather concerning shade of red.

“Get down. Right now.”

Jax turned her head toward Stanley without loosening her grip around Roman's neck.

“Can't. Busy.”

“Jacqueline, I'm not playing with you.”

“That's good, Stanley, because you're terrible at it.”

Roman chuckled, earning himself a murderous glare from the orderly.

“Sir, I'm going to need you to put the patient down.”

Roman glanced at the woman in his arms, then back at Stanley. “You know, I'd love to help, but she seems rather attached.”

“This isn't funny.”

“On the contrary, I haven't been this entertained in months.”

Stanley's jaw tightened as he approached. “Hayes, you've already assaulted another patient, and now you're behaving inappropriately with a visitor. Do you have any idea what Dr. Wilson is going to say about this?”

At the mention of Wilson's name, Roman felt the slightest change in the woman he was holding.

It was subtle, barely more than a momentary tightening of her arms around his neck, but he noticed it all the same. The wicked amusement in her eyes faltered for a fraction of a second before she covered it with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

“Oh, I'm sure he'll have plenty to say. Man loves the sound of his own voice.”

“Your discharge evaluation is next week,” Stanley snapped. “You really want to throw away nine years of progress over a damn pudding cup?”

Jax's expression hardened.

“First of all, it was chocolate.”

“Jacqueline—”

“And second, I didn't throw anything away. Kevin did. Right onto the f*****g floor.”

“My name is NOT Kevin!” came an outraged shout from somewhere behind them.

Roman laughed again.

God, she was magnificent.

Unfortunately, Stanley appeared to have reached the end of his patience. He exchanged a look with another orderly, who stepped forward carrying a small medical tray.

Roman's amusement faded slightly.

“What are you doing?”

“Sir, please step aside,” Stanley replied, reaching for Jax's arm. “We need to get her settled down.”

“She seems perfectly settled to me.”

“She's become physically aggressive, and we need to prevent further escalation.”

Roman glanced at the woman perched comfortably against him, then toward the man across the cafeteria still struggling to straighten his shirt. He supposed there was an argument for that assessment, though he felt the entire situation had been handled with admirable creativity.

“Hayes,” Stanley warned, “this is your last chance to cooperate.”

Jax looked at the approaching orderly, then at the syringe being prepared beside him.

For the first time since she'd launched herself into his arms, her expression lost some of its theatrical outrage.

Roman felt her fingers tighten briefly against the back of his neck.

“Really, Stanley?” she muttered. “A little dramatic, don't you think?”

“You know the procedure.”

Roman's eyes narrowed.

He didn't particularly care for the sound of that.

Before he could say anything more, Jax shifted against him, leaning closer until her lips brushed his ear. Roman instinctively turned his head toward her, expecting another whispered insult or some creatively inappropriate observation about his hair.

Instead, her teeth clamped down on his earlobe.

Not hard enough to draw blood, but certainly hard enough to make him go completely still.

Well, holy f*****g s**t.

A startled laugh escaped him as she released him, her breath warm against his skin.

“Be seeing you, Tinsel.”

Then Stanley caught her arm, and the other orderly administered the injection.

Roman's smile disappeared.

Jax flinched, muttering something particularly colorful about Stanley's ancestry as the staff carefully worked to disengage her legs from Roman's waist. He reluctantly loosened his hold, keeping his hands beneath her until her feet were firmly on the floor.

The medication wouldn't take effect immediately, and she could still direct one final glare at him as Stanley guided her toward the cafeteria doors.

Roman watched her go.

For a moment, he could still feel the brief pressure of her teeth against his ear.

Then he looked toward the administrator.

“What the f**k was that?”

The man cleared his throat. “I apologize, Mr. Morozov. Miss Hayes has a history of behavioral difficulties. Our staff is trained to manage these situations.”

“With a needle?”

“Only when clinically necessary.”

Roman looked back toward the doors she'd disappeared through.

He'd witnessed enough genuine violence to recognize the difference between someone who was dangerous and someone who was simply making a spectacular nuisance of herself. The woman had certainly crossed a line when she'd gone after the other patient, but the speed with which the staff had resorted to medication left a distinctly unpleasant taste in his mouth.

“And she's supposed to be released next week?”

Bolding hesitated.

“That will depend on Dr. Wilson's final recommendation.”

Roman smiled slowly.

“Then I think I'd like to meet Dr. Wilson.”