Page 80 of The Dark Before Light

Kieran Hayes.

My heart throws itself against my ribs, flooding me with adrenaline.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

I sit on the bed, then jump back up. Walk a few paces. Sit again. My finger hovers over the screen.

“He’s a man. Just a man.”

But my subconscious knows he’s not just anything, and I’m freaking the fuck out.

The phone stops buzzing. My head hangs. I’m relieved. I’m bereft.

It starts buzzing again.

This time I don’t let myself think. “Hello?”

“Hi, Talia.”

It’s a good thing I’m sitting down because my legs turn floaty.

“Kieran,” I manage.

“How was your speaking engagement?”

I can hear the smile in his voice. He sounds relaxed. Perfectly calm—the opposite of me. The contrast sharpens my voice. “Fine, thank you.”

He hums, and I feel the sound between my legs. “Is this a good time?”

“A good time for what? Your apology for hiring security for me without telling me?”

He chuckles. There’s a rustling sound on his side. Sheets, I realize. Glancing at the nightstand clock, I do a quick calculation: it’s early morning in Ireland. He’s in bed.

Fire races under my skin at the thought.

“I’m not sorry,” he murmurs. “I only wish I were there so I could see to your safety myself.”

My lungs freeze. “What does that mean?”

Another humored exhale. “It means whatever you want it to mean.” He pauses. “Did you miss me this week? Think about me?”

Yes. Constantly.

“Is there a point to this phone call? I was about to go to sleep.”

“Now there’s a lovely thought. Yes, there’s a point—I wanted to hear your voice. Give me five minutes. How are you? Tell me about your week.”

“I’m…”

I rub my forehead, wishing I hadn’t indulged in that drink. Those two little words—tell me—are a seventeen-year-old trigger only he can push. My tongue loosens.

“I’m struggling. I lost three more clients and was accosted in the grocery store by a woman who said I was the Devil’s whore. Apparently, she found her husband looking at photos of me online. There’s… uh, more have surfaced. Some old promotional shots Charlie and I did for Crossroad’s opening.”

“I’ve seen them.” He pauses, voice lowering. “You look stunning. Like a goddess of vengeance with that whip in your hand.”

Golden warmth slips through me, melting my thoughts. His voice is better than whiskey, a rough burn on my senses.

Into my stunned silence, he asks, “Do you want me to get them taken down? I have people for that.”

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