Capturing Peace

Chapter Three

Reagan—­August 20, 2010

I PACED AROUND my apartment for thirty minutes after I’d dropped Parker off. It wasn’t my first night without him, but it was the first he’d be with someone other than my parents. And even those nights were rare. I was seriously considering going back to pick him up, but he’d been so excited to go . . . I couldn’t do that to him.

I so did not want Parker growing up having me as his only friend. Those mom-­and-­son pairs who were so close the guy ended up not dating when he got older because he was such a momma’s boy were creepy, and I didn’t want that for my son. I loved having our nights alone at home, but I wanted him to have a fun life, I wanted him to have friends like Jason, and girlfriends later . . . way later. I just hadn’t realized he was old enough for this stage yet.

Sitting on the couch, I turned on the TV and stared at it, not paying attention to what was on, as my legs continued to bounce up and down. Glancing at the clock, I groaned when I saw it was only five. This was going to be the longest night ever.

My eyes kept darting to my phone sitting on the coffee table, and I tried to think of someone to call. Anyone. Well, anyone other than Coen.

I didn’t need to call Keegan to get Coen’s number; Keegan had sent it to me early this week. His text had said it was in case of an emergency, but I wasn’t dumb, I knew why he’d sent it to me. I just hadn’t considered using it.

Until now.

Standing quickly, I walked into my kitchen and stared into the pantry, and then the fridge, looking for something to make for dinner. But I wasn’t seeing anything. I was freaking the fuck out because my son was having his first sleepover! Slamming the refrigerator door shut, I went back to pacing around my living room for another few minutes as I nervously played with the ends of my long hair.

I considered calling my mom for about five seconds before I realized how ridiculous that was. I’m twenty-­two. I have a free night for the first time in a long time, and I want to call my mom? When did I turn into an old lady?

Walking to the coffee table, I bent and grabbed at my phone, determined to call one of my friends. But instead I was opening up Keegan’s texts and scrolling up until I reached the number. Before I could talk myself out of it, I pressed the number and hit CALL.

“Hello?”

“Distract me,” I blurted out.

There were a few seconds of silence, before his deep voice asked, “Duchess?”

Goose bumps covered my body, and I swear to God I had to stop myself from whimpering. This morning replayed through my head, the way his lean, muscled body had been covered in a fine sheen of sweat. The way his chest had felt under my hand. His tattoos.

I hated tattoos. Hated them. But I’d wanted to trace every one of his. I’d wanted to study every picture and word covering his arms and chest. I’d wanted to see what the letters on his fingers spelled out. I’d wanted to watch his tattooed hands as they touched me.

Bad. Bad. So bad. Calling him was the wrong thing to do.

Clearing my throat, I tried to put force behind my words, but I failed miserably. “I’ll hang up if you call me that again.”

He laughed softly. “Reagan.”

“Yes?”

Another laugh and I had to sit down on the couch when my legs started shaking. “You’re the one who called me. Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“Oh, um. I need you to distract me.”

“Parker go to his friend’s house?”

I made some sort of affirmative noise, worried that if I said it out loud, I’d start freaking out all over again.

“Do you want me to come pick you up?”

“No!” I shouted, and scrambled to find something to say. “I—­I just—­can I just come over?”

I didn’t want him in my apartment. This was my place with Parker, and having Coen here didn’t seem right. If he came over, if he got comfortable being here, that would be a step in the direction of letting him into Parker’s life as well. I didn’t care that he’d met Parker . . . I was already over what had happened this morning; but I wasn’t ready for him to be here yet. And if we went out and happened to run into my parents or their friends, I would never hear the end of it. My mom would start planning a wedding the second she knew his name. Or maybe when she got over me actually bringing someone into Parker’s life.

“Sure . . . ?”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t want to go out.”

“Okay,” he said carefully. “Well, yeah, you’re more than welcome to come here. Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“All right, we’ll order something when you get here.”

I stood there playing with the ends of my hair for a few seconds before I said, “This isn’t a date.”

“Of course not,” he said, his tone amused. “It’s a distraction.”

“Right.” A very, very bad distraction.

He gave me his address before we hung up, and I ran into my closet. A part of me told me to go in my yoga pants and shirt, since that’s what he’d seen me in earlier and I didn’t want him to think I’d dressed for him. But another wanted to look like more than a tired mom when I was around him.

After going through three outfits, I settled on a pair of short black shorts and a light gray off-­the-­shoulder shirt. Casual, and comfy . . . and hopefully I didn’t look like I had tried as hard as I did to look both. With a quick touch-­up to my makeup, I grabbed my phone, purse, and keys and left my apartment before I could talk myself into staying there instead.

During the ten-­minute drive there, I tried to make myself turn around the entire time. Even as I walked up to his condo, I kept chanting to myself how bad of an idea this was, and how I needed to go back home. When he answered the door in low-­slung jeans and another black shirt, I almost turned around and walked away.

Such a bad idea.

“You look beautiful.” His dark eyes slowly raked over my body before resting on my face again.

“This isn’t a date,” I reminded him again, and he laughed.

“And you still can’t take a compliment.” Opening the door wider, he stepped back to give me room. “Come in, I’m starving.”

I stood there for a few seconds before barely turning back toward his driveway. “Maybe I should—­”

Coen grabbed my hand and pulled me into his condo before shutting the door behind us. “Stop second-­guessing everything. You wanted a distraction, and I’m hungry. So we’re going to have our it’s-­not-­a-­date-­it’s-­a-­distraction night, and you’re going to learn how to relax.”

“I know how to relax.”

“You sure about that?” he asked, the rise of one eyebrow challenging me to argue.

I couldn’t.

HOURS LATER, WE were full on pizza, and had been watching movies on Coen’s TV. I’d laughed more tonight that I usually did in a week’s time, and as the hours had passed, I’d slowly felt myself relaxing into him. Something about his easygoing laugh, his no-­bullshit attitude, and mesmerizing eyes had left me leaning into him more, and enjoying his company . . . and being terrified of that.

“I shit you not”—­he pointed at the screen and leaned forward so he could look at me—­“that’s Casey from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.”

I laughed and grabbed the remote to rewind Shutter Island before pausing on the man in question. “That? No, that is not Casey. I would know because I thought he was so hot in that movie.”

Coen looked over at me with a look of disgust. “That’s gross. He’s old. Obviously,” he said, pointing at the TV.

“That’s not him! I’m telling you.”

“No, what you’re telling me is you go for guys who are thirty years older than you. Gold digger.”

I laughed harder and reached for my phone on the table.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m looking it up, I’m going to prove you wrong!”

Coen grabbed my phone from me and held it out of my reach.

“Give it back! Or are you worried you’re going to be wrong?”

“No. Fuck no. I know that’s him, I’m just thinking about you and your reaction when you realize that Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was made twenty years ago.”

I stopped reaching and cocked my head to the side. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, Duchess.”

My eyes narrowed on him. “I hate that name.”

“And you wonder why I keep calling you it.”

“Asshole,” I growled as I reached over to make another grab for my phone.

His arm kept it just out of reach, so I rolled to my knees and leaned over him, stretching my arm as he stretched his body away from me. One of his hands had gone to my waist to keep me from moving, but the air around us seemed to change at the same time his fingers flexed against me.

Forgetting my phone, I looked down at Coen to see him staring at me. His face no longer looked amused, he almost looked mad. But that look had my body heating, and my breaths getting heavy.

“Reagan”—­he cleared his throat—­“I need you to get off me before I do something you’re not going to like.”

Lean back. Lean back. Get off him. I didn’t move, I stayed right there, staring at his dark eyes before mine involuntarily dropped to his mouth.

“Reagan,” he said in warning.

Lean back. For the love of God, lean back. “How do you know I won’t like it?” I found myself asking, and before I had time to try to take it back, Coen let my phone fall to the ground and grabbed the back of my neck to bring my face down to his.

Coen’s lips captured mine on a growl, and my body shivered against him as I let myself rest on his chest. His tongue prompted my lips to part, and I gripped at his shirt when he started teasing me with slow strokes of his tongue, and soft bites against my bottom lip.

Without ever letting his lips leave mine, he pushed me back until our positions were switched. My back to the couch, with him on top of me. His lips moved to my neck, and I rolled my head back, giving him more access. I didn’t want a man in my life, and had been fine without one ever since Austin. But since I’d run into him a week ago, something about Coen and his dark eyes had left me craving him. A craving I’d tried to ignore. But now, with some of his body weight pressing me into the couch, one hand in my hair, and the other keeping himself somewhat propped up; I not only couldn’t ignore it, I didn’t want him to ever stop touching me.

I knew this was dangerous ground. I knew he had the potential of shattering me. I knew this was going too fast . . . but I wanted more. My hands trailed down his chest, and when they kept going down, he pushed himself up to give me room. Grabbing the bottom of his shirt, I slowly pulled it up until he sat back on his knees and took it the rest of the way off before lowering himself again.

The muscles in his stomach contracted when I ran my hands back up to his chest, over his shoulders and down his tattooed arms. Turning my head, I pressed a kiss to his arm, before moving to his chest and kissing the words there. He tugged on my hair so my head would fall back again, and just before his lips touched mine, my phone started ringing.

“Ignore it,” I whispered, and captured his mouth.

His hand left my hair, and trailed down my upper body, his fingers barely grazing the swell of my breast as he did. As soon as his hand started running back up, now on my bare skin, my phone rang again. I arched my back when his fingers touched the lace of my bra . . . and then it hit me.

“Parker!” I shouted, and started to push Coen away, but he was already off the couch and grabbing my phone to hand to me. “Hello?” I said breathlessly into the phone.

“Mommy?”

My heart broke when I recognized his sobs. “Oh God, what’s wrong?”

“Can you come get me?”

“Of course I can, baby. Are you okay?”

“Yeah—­I just—­can I come home?”

I righted my shirt and started to stand, but Coen pushed me back onto the couch. I shot him a look, but his expression was calm and understanding, and a sense of peace washed over me at I looked into his dark eyes.

“Of course,” I repeated into the phone. “Let me talk to Jason’s mom, okay?”

The sound of the phone being shuffled between hands filled the other end of the line before I heard, “Hey, Reagan, he’s fine. He just woke up crying and said he wanted to go home. I’m so sorry, they had so much fun tonight, it must just be because this is so different.”

I sighed in relief that nothing had happened to him. “No, no, don’t be sorry. It’s more than fine, I’m on my way right now. Thank you for calling me.” When we hung up, I looked back into Coen’s eyes. “Could you hear?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m sorry for stopping you, but I couldn’t let you run out of here when you were on the edge of freaking out.”

“I know, and I appreciate it.” My eyes moved over his face for a few seconds before I stood. “I have to go.”

Coen stood and walked me to the door, and when I turned to say good-­bye, I saw the concern in his eyes. He was afraid I would regret what had just been happening. Grabbing the handle of the door, he opened it and stepped back, his eyes never leaving mine. “Drive safe, it’s late and—­just drive safe.”

I wanted to regret it. I wanted to tell him I couldn’t see him again. Having Parker call while I’d been kissing Coen made me want to keep him from Parker’s life and mine all over again.

Want to. That didn’t mean I could.

Bringing one hand around his neck, I stood on my toes and softly pressed my lips to his. The arm not holding the door wrapped around my waist to pull me closer as he deepened the kiss for a few seconds before releasing me.

“Good night,” I whispered against his lips, and kissed him one last time when they curled up in a smile.

“Night.”

I walked quickly to my car, and thanked God that Coen lived closer to Jason’s than I did.

After picking up my still-­crying son, I drove us home and got him into his own bed once he’d calmed down. When I was sure he was asleep, I closed his door behind me and went to make sure the apartment was locked up, and all the lights were shut off.

Grabbing my phone after I got ready to go to sleep and had climbed into my bed, I pulled up Coen’s name.

We made it home . . . you know . . . even though it’s late and all ;)

Instead of a response, his name popped up on my screen, and I hit the green button.

“Hello,” I answered quietly.

“I’m glad you made it back.”

A smile crossed my face and I grabbed at the ends of my hair. “Sorry we had to cut the night short.”

He was silent for a few seconds before saying, “Just tell me that won’t be the last time I see you.”

“As long as it’s not a date,” I teased.

“Never. I was thinking more of a distraction.”

“I like distractions.”

“So do I.” His gruff tone had my eyes shutting and a shiver running down my body. “Get some sleep.”

“You too.”

“Good night, Reagan.”

I hung up, and placed my phone on the nightstand. Just as I got comfortable in my bed, my phone vibrated.

Pulling up the text from Coen, I laughed out loud when I saw the three images. One was a screenshot of the cast of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles; right in the center was the man who played Casey. The second was of him now. The third was a list of his movies, and right there was the title Shutter Island.

I’m going to act like I never saw that. He’s still Casey in my head.

Coen Steele: Denial is a bitch.

Putting my phone back on the nightstand. I closed my eyes and went to sleep with a smile on my face.