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.”