Page 49 of The Dark Before Light

“Oh, I will,” replies Dylan smoothly.

They continue lobbing insults until both are laughing. I listen with half an ear, my mind on the unique relationship between Kieran and his security team. Their camaraderie is more like that of friends or brothers than boss and employees.

I remember Gabe’s easy smile and the comment at the jacuzzi: “Be nice, boss.” How Dylan—who I’ve interacted with least and thus far has seemed even more stoic than Sven—laughed at Kieran’s expense. And I remember Sven saying, “I’d take a bullet for Kier,” so casually, like it was a foregone conclusion. And I suppose it was. He’s already done it once.

They would die for Kieran, and not out of obligation because he pays their salaries. At least not wholly. They love him. Protect him like they would a brother-in-arms.

As the reality of that sinks in, I finally come to terms with what I’ve avoided accepting for two days. Someone has tried to kill Kieran. Twice. The last time, if Sven hadn’t jumped in front of him at the perfect moment and taken the bullet meant for his heart, he’d be dead.

Dead.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Kieran’s concerned voice startles me. I turn to find him halfway across the seat, one hand hovering in the space between us like he was about to touch me.

Shit. I must have really checked out.

“Sorry,” I say weakly.

He scans my face, his hand falling to his knee where it clenches into a fist. “This is one of the reasons I didn’t want to tell you. I don’t want you to be afraid for your safety when you’re with me.”

I’m not afraid for me.

I’m afraid for him.

Swallowing back the truth, I frown. “There’s more than one reason?”

“There you are,” he murmurs, then smiles. “The other reason is it means I’ve lost at least eighty percent of my mystique. I’m no longer a charismatic, handsome stranger with secrets.”

My laugh is involuntary. “Wow.”

He sits back with a self-satisfied smile, looking like a contented—and very dangerous—predator. His gaze flickers between my eyes and my mouth. No, not my mouth. My teeth.

I suddenly can’t take it anymore.

“What is your obsession with my teeth about? It’s weird, and that’s coming from a kink expert.”

Dylan has a coughing fit. Kieran ignores it.

“Not your teeth,” he answers readily. “Just the crooked eyetooth. It’s so fucking charming I can’t stand it.”

My face warms. “Again—wow.”

He laughs. “Not that I’m complaining, but why no braces when you were young? I feel like parents these days slap those things on kids whether they need them or not. It’s like a rite of passage.”

“I had them,” I admit. “Retainers, too. My wisdom teeth didn’t come in until my mid-twenties. The dentist thought I had enough room. He was wrong.” I run my tongue over my eyetooth. “It’s never bothered me enough to get it fixed. Until recently, that is. Thanks to you, I have a complex in the making.”

Kieran doesn’t laugh. “Please don’t ever straighten that tooth.”

My mind blanks at his fervent tone. Warmth, dense and soft, floats through my chest.

Dylan clears his throat as the limo rolls to a stop behind two others outside the Beverly Wilshire. Ahead of us, couples in evening wear stream inside over an iconic red runner, though thankfully, the paparazzi presence is minimal.

“Dr. Stirling,” Dylan says, his game face firmly on. “If you’ll scoot back a little, I’ll exit now.”

I unbuckle my seat belt, then gather my hem and shift a few careful inches toward Kieran. Dylan pauses, half bent over as he approaches my door, and I realize he doesn’t have nearly enough space to get by.

“I don’t bite unless asked,” whispers Kieran.

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