“Callum, it’s already so late, and she’s still calling you? Doesn’t she know how to keep some boundaries between men and women? She’s not into you, is she?”
Caryn Dudley’s hostility was blatant.
Callum’s tone turned cold. “Diana, maybe don’t call me this late anymore. It’s easy for people to get the wrong idea. I’m hanging up.”
He had never spoken to me like that before. By the time I gathered myself, the call had already ended. Long ago.
I looked at the clock.
It wasn’t even eight yet.
That wasn’t late by any measure.
There was a time when I could call Callum at three or four in the morning, and he’d answer right away, asking what was wrong.
Now, my call was just a nuisance.
I let out a quiet, bitter laugh and pulled the blanket tighter around me.
Maybe I was just too tired.
Even the thunder, the wind, the sudden downpour—none of it could wake me.
Not until the window shattered.
And in my drowsy haze, I fell into a pair of warm, rain-drenched arms.
