Page 40 of The Dark Before Light

“No, stay,” I say quickly. “I’m going to grab a snack and crash.”

She slumps. “Thanks. I’m sorry about this. I don’t know why Sven wouldn’t let me order an Uber. Or why I listened.” The last bit is mumbled.

I’m not sure why she listened to him, either, but the longer I look at her, the more grateful I am for Sven’s persuasive powers.

“No apologies necessary,” I say casually. “He’s got oversized protective urges to go with his oversized biceps. Best to just go with it. Avoid his temper tantrums.”

I’m lying through my teeth. Sven’s protective urges have never extended to any of the women in my orbit. Stirling has no idea how rare it is for him to even speak with anyone besides me, Gabe, or Dylan. If I didn’t know my head of security is gay, I might wonder if he has a thing for her.

Jerking into motion, I cross to the kitchen, ignoring the unholy mess. Tomorrow is soon enough to feel embarrassed on behalf of my entire genetic line. The fridge is stocked with prepackaged meals from my chef, though most of the food sits untouched because I’ve been drunk or high for the last two days.

I grab the first thing I see—yogurt, unfortunately—and snag a spoon from the drawer. Knowing I should leave her be and retreat to my room, I still round the couch and sit a few feet away from her. Moth to flame, tides to moon.

I’m so fucked.

“Yogurt?” she asks skeptically.

“Too tired to make anything.”

I peel the seal off the cup and lick it clean—slowly, because I can’t fucking help myself. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her try her best not to stare at my moving tongue. She finally resorts to pretending something interests her across the room, but her pink cheeks betray her. My blood surges south, only without the needy edge of before. Fucking strange, but all I really want to do at the moment is tuck her under blankets and kiss her forehead.

Frowning, I toss the circle of foil on the coffee table and start shoveling yogurt in my mouth.

She scoots to the edge of the couch. “I’m going to?—”

I swallow fast. “Did you graduate high school early or do accelerated degrees?”

She stills. “Graduated early.”

I think of the email from my PI that for some unknown reason I haven’t opened. “What were you, sixteen?”

“Yes.”

She sounds hoarse; I glance at her, bemused by the wariness in her eyes. I belatedly realize why it’s there—she still thinks we’re in a normal therapist-patient relationship where she stays untouchable while I spill my guts.

It makes me smile.

“When’d you get into the kink stuff?”

“Kieran…”

I focus on eating to keep from laughing at the whining pitch of my name. When I finish the yogurt, I drop it on the table, then lean back and tuck my arms behind my head. She tries not to look at my bare chest. Oh, she tries. Adorable.

“Humor me, Stirling. You won’t be able to sleep right now, anyway.”

She frowns. “Why not?”

I nod to her half-eaten sandwich. “If you sleep now, you’ll have shit dreams. Give it thirty minutes.”

She sighs, then slides her plate onto the table beside my yogurt cup. I close my eyes and wait, feeling almost… content.

“I was twenty,” she finally says. “I accidentally walked into a seminar on BDSM.”

My eyes fly open. “Accidentally?”

Her lips twist into a half-smile. “I thought it was a lecture on cognitive neuroscience.”

“Of course you did.” I chuckle, imagining a wide-eyed, twenty-year-old Stirling. Super nerdy. Maybe a little awkward.

---