Page 14 of The Dark Before Light

He huffs, eyes alighting briefly on my face. “Do you want me to say I feel better? I don’t. But I’ll probably sleep tonight, so that’s a positive.”

I nod. “Fair enough. What do you normally do on a Saturday night?”

There’s a minuscule pause. “Drink and fuck.”

My stomach flutters, but my voice stays calm. “And what’s a normal Sunday like for you?”

A line appears between his brows. “Why?”

“Just answer the question, Mr. Hayes.”

Amusement flares in his eyes. “For Christ’s sake, call me Kieran.”

I take an aggressive step toward him. He stills, eyes hardening, fingers clenching on the water bottle and making the plastic crackle. I stare up at him, showing him the predator inside me and how utterly unimpressed she is.

“I’ll call you by your first name when you stop being a brat, Mr. Hayes.”

His eyes widen, then narrow, glittering. But the worst of his rage is already spent, the beast inside him too tired to do more than snarl. Which doesn’t mean the aftermath isn’t still a viable threat. He’s going to crash hard. Since I set the process in motion, it’s my responsibility to try to defuse it before he leaves. If I can’t… well, he has three babysitters. Hopefully they can contain him tomorrow.

When his lips twitch, I breathe a mental sigh. He maintains the stony expression for another moment, then gives in and laughs. A real laugh, warm and deep. I ignore the pleasant vibrations of it in my chest.

He finally calms. Someone new looks out of his eyes. Or perhaps someone old—a memory of a different, more lighthearted man. An echo of a boy I didn’t really know but whose irreverent optimism probably saved my life.

And I wonder if he can be resurrected.

“You sounded just like my mam.”

“I like her already.”

He laughs again, but it lacks the previous warmth. “Do you call all your clients brats when they don’t dance to your tune?”

I shrug. “If the shoe fits.”

All traces of humor vanish from his face, replaced by unnerving focus. My heart thuds a warning that my mind translates and my instincts confirm. I suddenly know where this conversation is headed and have a good idea who’s to blame.

He shifts half a foot closer. If I were anyone else, I might take a step back. But I’m not, so I only tilt my head more to maintain eye contact.

“The shoe does not fit,” he murmurs. “But out of curiosity, how do you require brats to address you in return?”

I was right.

Dammit, Gail.

I’m not ashamed of my past work as a dominatrix—especially since it helped pay for my degrees—but it’s also not something I advertise, especially to male clients. It creates… problems.

“I assure you there will be no scenario in our work together for which you’ll need to call me anything but Dr. Stirling.”

He growls, “Good to find we’re on the same page.”

Subduing the urge to roll my eyes, I redirect. “Now that that’s settled, I have some homework for you.”

His brows lift. “Is that so?”

I cock my head. “Unless you’re no longer willing and would prefer to end things now.”

The spark in his eyes tells me I’ve pissed him off again, but the heat fades after a moment.

“What’s the homework, Dr. Stirling?”

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