Page 31 of It’s Only Love (Citrus Pines #1)

Dean turned up ready to work on the house the next morning and once again Christy felt sick with nerves at the thought of seeing him.

All night she lay in bed, tossing, turning, and getting tangled in the sheets thinking about what they did and how much more she wanted to do.

She couldn’t believe it happened, couldn’t believe she brought him so much pleasure, and she couldn’t believe she touched herself in front of him.

She had never been that bold before. The thought of it scandalized her even now, no matter how much he seemed to enjoy it.

If things hadn’t gone sideways inside the bar with Dale, they would have had sex right outside, that’s how reckless he made her feel.

But then he had just dismissed her in all the craziness that followed.

She knew he was upset and worried about Taylor and she tried to offer comfort, but he’d walked away from her and hadn’t spoken to her since.

She knew he regretted what happened, his actions afterwards were all the explanation she needed.

Taylor’s words from the night before kept playing through her head.

She should have stayed away from him, should have known better but she was drawn to him.

And Dean wasn’t in danger of getting hurt when he was the one pushing her away.

She stood at the window, coffee mug clasped tightly between her hands watching him walk up the path. She knew what she needed to do to save face and get their friendship back on track. And she had to do it before he did.

As she watched him, time seemed to slow, like it always did whenever he came towards her, his long, lean legs eating up the distance to the house.

Face tilted towards the sun, letting the rays caress those glorious features, catching the golden highlights in his hair.

Weren’t devils usually disguised as angels?

“Perfection,” she murmured to herself, shivering slightly, and she turned to face the door as he came inside, he didn’t bother to knock anymore.

“Hey,” she called as he closed the door behind him.

“Morning, Christy,” he replied, setting his toolbox on the floor.

She felt a twinge of disappointment when he didn’t call her darlin’, a term of endearment she would have turned her nose up at if anyone else had said it.

But when he did it, his deep, southern accent rolling the syllables around, soaking them in molasses before letting them slide off his tongue, it warmed her heart.

Her disappointment made her more confident that she was doing the right thing, to save herself.

“About last night–” he began, but she cut him off with a casual wave of her hand.

“A mistake obviously. We clearly had way too much to drink and then with the music and closeness, et cetera…” she trailed off as if that explained everything.

He pinned her with a hard stare, and she struggled to keep the nonchalant expression on her face. Her heart started pounding at all his intensity focused directly on her.

“You think it was a mistake?” he asked.

She nodded vigorously. “Yep, sure do. I mean, don’t you?” she asked, her voice dipping slightly with her confidence.

He just continued to stare at her and then after a beat, slowly nodded in agreement.

“Glad we cleared that up then,” he said tightly, and she headed into the kitchen to make him a coffee.

Luckily, he didn’t follow her. She needed to put as much distance between them as possible, otherwise he would definitely sniff out her bullshit.

What she actually wanted was for him to take her into his arms and tell her that it wasn’t a mistake, that she wasn’t a mistake, and that it was the best damn decision he ever made, but that didn’t happen.

Wait, did she even want that?

She wouldn’t be hanging around for much longer.

It was different when she thought she could have a casual fling with Beau.

But this thing with Dean, it felt too intense.

She didn’t have much experience with men, but she knew last night wasn’t enough.

She had a taste and became addicted instantly, so now she had to go cold turkey.

She poured his coffee adding cream and two sugars, just how he liked it and took it back to him. He was looking out the front window at the porch when she reached him. He took the drink from her, their fingers touching briefly which sent little tingles shooting up her arm.

“So, where do you want me?” he asked, his eyes darkening to a stormy blue and running over her, leaving even more tingles in their wake.

“Um, outside?” she asked, slightly breathlessly. “I’ll finish stripping the walls if you want to tackle the porch?”

She watched him take a sip of coffee and close his eyes at the taste, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, and she felt thirsty herself. She turned away sharply and eyed the steamer he bought for stripping the wallpaper.

“No problem, boss,” he replied, and headed back outside, the front door banging slightly. He was gone but his pine and wood scent lingered, taunting her.

He was probably grumpy because she pricked his pride, she technically got in there first to ‘end’ whatever it was they were doing. She was sure he would be over it in a few hours, he didn’t really care. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been with loads of other women more beautiful than...

“No!” she scolded herself. “You are beautiful and deserve just as much in life as anyone else.” She began to relax, finishing her coffee, then putting her empty mug in the kitchen sink.

She glanced at the garbage disposal and flicked the switch.

Still nothing happened. She sighed and went back into the living room and surveyed the walls.

Out the corner of her eye, she could see Dean through the window, walking along the porch.

She turned her head to watch him discreetly.

His brow was creased in concentration, shoulders bunched, tensing the well-developed muscles.

She turned away before he caught her staring, and she undid all her work to appear blasé just now.

She ignored the wallpaper steamer Dean had bought.

It definitely made it easier to get the old paper off, but it generated so much heat.

It was already hot enough without adding to the temperature.

She picked up the scraper she’d used previously and began to hack away at the walls, pouring every bit of frustration into them.

She stripped the walls for the next hour, putting on music to drown out her thoughts and forcing herself to dance, ignoring any movement from outside until she felt herself being watched.

She turned and saw Dean stood at the open window, looking in.

He had removed his shirt in the heat and had his arms folded across his powerful chest, biceps flexed, and expression unreadable as he stared at her.

She stopped mid-scrape, her eyes gobbling up the spectacular display.

Her stomach clenched at the sight of those strong arms. She could picture herself laying naked beneath him, open and begging, clinging on tight to those biceps as he pounded into her.

As if he could read her mind and the direction of her thoughts, she watched as he unfolded his arms and placed his hands on his narrow hips.

A bead of sweat gleamed in the sunshine, she tracked its slow journey between his pecs, dripping down the middle of his six-pack, and ending at the trail of blond hair that led down to what she was dying to get her hands on again.

Her brow furrowed slightly. Despite the two sexual encounters they had, sexual, not intimate , she reminded herself, she hadn’t actually seen him naked, or even shirtless, until now.

While previously she was on full, naked, fantastic display. It wasn’t fair.

His pecs jumped impatiently, demanding her attention back on his chest. She noticed a light smattering of blond hair dusted across the middle, ending before it reached his small, brown nipples, which were puckered and practically begging for her tongue.

He smirked at her through the window, damn him!

She wasn’t doing very well at pretending she didn’t want him, was she?

“Looks good,” he said nodding to the wall. She turned her back on him before she started drooling.

“Yep, it sure does,” she muttered, her tongue heavy in her mouth.

The following week was hell for Christy. The weather got hotter by the day and so did Dean. He turned up every morning to work on the house and whenever she saw him, she was both annoyed and ecstatic.

Annoyed because he managed to start the day fully clothed, then around midmorning his shirt always seemed to disappear and she was stuck staring at the tan, toned wall of solid muscle for the rest of the afternoon.

She was sure he was trying to rile her up on purpose.

Everywhere she went, he was always there, always shirtless and always smiling at her like the cat that got the fucking cream.

He always touched himself somewhere, drawing attention to his chest, and whenever he caught her staring there was a flicker of triumph in those captivating eyes.

She was also ecstatic because, well, she loved having him around.

Loved feeling his warm, masculine presence around the house, loved hearing him singing along to the radio, tunelessly.

She enjoyed the way his brain worked, choosing the most practical way of getting a job done, but he didn’t take short cuts.

He took pride in his work, and he worked hard, which was damn sexy.

She loved him being here and it pained her to suggest he take a day off when he was needed at the garage.

She often heard him talking to his staff on the phone, he was great with them, understanding but firm when needed.

He had a fantastic business mind, an unwavering faith in his employees’ abilities, and it sounded like he had their respect in return.

In short, he was the whole package, goddamn perfect from head to toe.

She was kind of relieved when they had a day apart because it meant her body could have a day off from being a throbbing, sweaty, aroused mess.

It was nice. She went for a walk in the forest nearby and then she went to the bar to see Taylor and to try to do some writing, needing to destroy her writer’s block, but no ideas came to her.

When she did finally break it, she would want to be shut away in a room to write, but by then she would have likely left town, the thought leaving a hollow feeling in her chest.

Today Dean was back, and he turned up looking sexier than ever.

So obviously she had been pretty snappy with him all morning.

She chalked it down to sexual frustration, but if he noticed, he didn’t say a word about her mood.

She went to meet Justine for lunch, feeling bad leaving him in the house working while she socialized.

He insisted it was fine, but her guilt at leaving him forced her to stop by Ruby’s Diner on the way home and bring him back a burger and fries.

As she walked up the path to the house, she steeled herself against the wave of arousal that would surely plague her all afternoon. Life wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t she have her cake and eat him it too? She just hoped he wasn’t shirtless again.

She came up the porch steps, admiring the work he’d done on it as she went. He really was great with his hands, no pun intended. She felt a sense of pride, seeing the house change and knowing that Dean, Beau, and herself had all left their mark on it.

Christy dumped her purse and keys on the coffee table in the living room and looked around. She felt a prickle of unease as she realized they had done so much and had potentially finished fixing up the downstairs already.

“Dean?” she called out.

“In here!” His reply came from the kitchen.

She headed to the door with his lunch, but she stopped dead in the doorway.

He was shirtless, again, and hunched over the garbage disposal, his nemesis .

The muscles of his back rippled with his movements, and his jeans hung low enough that she could see the two dimples at the base of his spine.

Her eyes were drawn to the valley between his shoulder blades.

How she longed to wrap her arms around him from behind and rest her head against him.

She shook her head . Friends didn’t do that .

But they also didn’t do a lot of things that she and Dean had done.

“I think I’ve done it!” he said triumphantly, jerking her out of her daydream.

He reached over and flicked the switch with one hand.

The garbage disposal roared to life, but the triumph was short-lived.

Dean bellowed out in pain and lurched forward as the garbage disposal made a horrible crunching sound, followed by a wet slurping noise.

“Oh my God!” she screamed, dropping his lunch and running to him, trampling the bag as she went. She grabbed onto his shoulders and pulled him backwards as hard as she could, but he didn’t budge.

“Help me, my hand!” he wailed as she kept pulling on him.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, his hand! What if he loses his hand? It’ll be all my fault!

Dean began shaking, no longer shouting, and she thought he was going weak from blood loss. But then the garbage disposal switched off and she could hear him laughing.

She pulled away from him and looked over his shoulder but couldn’t see any blood, confusion consuming her. Her confusion quickly gave way to fury as she saw no blood, bone, or flesh and finally she noticed Dean was smothering his laughter with two perfect hands.

“Was that supposed to be funny?” she asked, her tone deadly calm as her panic and fear ebbed away.

“Um, kinda?” he asked, injecting enough boyish charm into his voice before bursting out laughing all over again.

“Asshole,” she muttered, turning on her heel and walking away. She eyed the lunch she bought him, trampled into the floor. She picked it up and thrust the bag at him, smearing it into his perfect, bare chest.

Then she stomped out of the room and upstairs without another word.