I opened my mouth to answer—and felt my bag buzzing where I’d left it hanging on the back of my chair.
The vibrations made me pause. If I made a scene, my date might get angry. If he got angry, he might get mean. I wasn’tafraidof him, but I did own my own business, and a few fraudulent reviews could really hurt me. A guy like this wouldn’t think twice about ruining my life because I’d dinged his ego.
So instead of snapping his head off, I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone. When I read the name on the screen, my heart took off.
“I have to take this,” I said.
“Really?” my date protested. “Right now?”
“It’s work,” I explained with false regret. “Won’t take long.” But it would give me an excuse to get up and walk out. I could pretend there was an emergency, text him that I wasn’t coming back, and that would be that. Bundling my jacket under one arm, I wove through the tables and made my way to the exit.
“What do you want?” I said as soon as I swiped to answer.
“That’s a funny way to greet your favorite client,” Callum’s low voice murmured in my ear. He paused, then asked, “Am I disturbing your evening?”
I glanced over my shoulder to give an apologetic wave to my date, but his eyes were glued to his own phone, so I turned around again and ducked out the door. “Yes,” I lied. “I’m on a date.”
Now why did I feel the need to say that?
“With who?” The question was sharp, and I knew Callum expected an answer.
I wouldn’t give him one. “That’s none of your business.”
The silence was loaded, until he broke it with a soft laugh. “Can’t be that good a date if you took my call.”
I grimaced, hugging my jacket in my arms as I huddled under the restaurant’s eaves and watched traffic driveby.
Today had sucked, and it hadn’t even been that much different from every other day. Life was drudgery, and there was no way out. It was early March, and the last dregs of winter still blew through the night. Earlier today, when my mother called with a particularly effective torrent of emotional manipulation, I’d caved and booked a flight to my hometown for my parents’ thirty-fifth wedding anniversary party in two weeks’ time, and the only silver lining was that I’d get a bit of warmth on my skin to tide me over until summer hit the city.
But for now, I stood in the cold with only Callum’s voice to keep me warm. Dangerous, dangerous proposition. The restlessness inside me grew, and all the orgasms I’d given myself over the past three months suddenly seemed so pale and lifeless in comparison to the feeling this man’s voice created in me.
I was in trouble, and I knew it. I needed to end the call. Needed to stop this before I did something stupid. But my tongue darted out to lick my lips, and I couldn’t make myself pull the phone away from my ear. I glanced down the street. Might as well walk to the subway station—going underground would give me an excuse to get off the phone.
My legs didn’t move, though. My mouth did. “My date was wonderful,” I shot back. “He’s a successful podcaster. I learned all about microphones.”
Cringing as soon as the words left my mouth, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to rally my thoughts. He’d called me. He needed help with travel arrangements. I should steer the conversation back to that.
“A podcaster,” Callum exclaimed sarcastically. “Does he pause in the middle of a fuck to tell you about his sponsors?”
My cheeks burned. “What do you want, Frost?”
“What Iwantisn’t relevant right now, but what Ineedis your help getting a client to the city. I wouldn’t want to interrupt yourdate, though. I’m sure foreplay with Mr. Podcast is better than talking to me.”
He sounded jealous and petulant, and it should have been a turn-off. But he was jealous of a man he’d never seen…simply because that man was on a date with me. My mind spun, because I realized this intense, stormy energy between us—Callum felt it too.
My core throbbed, and that keen edge of desire cut through me, sharper than it ever had before.
I was in so much trouble.
And I couldn’t help but make it worse. “Jealous, Frost?” I snapped.
“You’re talking to me right now, Deena. You walked on your date the minute I called. By the sounds of it, you’re standing on the street. Poor Mr. Podcast is all on his own, isn’t he?”
The flush on my cheeks went all the way down my chest. God, he was annoying. Why did he turn me on? Why was my blood pumping hard and my stomach clenching with need?
“I have to go.”
“Back to your date?”
