Page 41 of It’s Only Love (Citrus Pines #1)

When his truck pulled up, a smile split her face and her heart began to pound.

She tore herself away from the window and ran into the kitchen, pretending she hadn’t been waiting for him because she was far too busy scrubbing the phantom dirt off the kitchen tiles.

When he came into the kitchen she looked up, fake-surprised he was here.

He had two coffees in one hand and a bag of treats from Ruby’s in the other.

“Morning, Tiger,” he said, and flinched. “Sorry, that sounded better in my head.” He set the bag on the counter and held out a coffee to her. She practically snatched the cup from him and took a long sip.

“Mmm…” She tipped her head back, moaning at the glorious taste. When she looked at him again, she noticed his coffee cup had stalled halfway to his mouth, his eyes locked on her. She looked away, embarrassed. Note to self, stop making sex noises around men.

“Nutritious breakfast?” she joked, poking in the bag on the counter.

He took a sip of his coffee. “Of course. It is the most important meal of the day, it needs to be done right.”

She looked him over, white t-shirt, faded denim jeans, and blond stubble dusting his chiseled jaw. James Dean eat your heart out!

“Unfortunately, although that looks delicious, I’ll have to stick to fruit. I need to keep an eye on my figure,” she replied, patting her rounded stomach.

“It looked pretty good to me,” he said softly, his eyes trained on her intently.

“Felt pretty good too,” he added, and heat flared between them, tension crackling.

Her hands twitched, desperate to reach for him.

His jaw clenched as his eyes traveled over her body, slowly.

Then he turned away abruptly, breaking the spell and shoved his hand into the bag, snagging a donut.

“More for me then,” he said, taking a bite before moving past her and heading out onto the back porch to assess what needed doing there.

She fought against the desire pulsing through her and went into the living room to continue painting, making a note to Google any convents she could join when she went back to NYC.

As she painted, her mind drifted back to her brief conversation yesterday with Hilda.

Seeing Dean this morning had eased the knot of tension in her chest. She had been inspired in his house, was this her body’s way of telling her where she needed to write?

She wanted to dismiss the thought but couldn’t.

She needed to at least test the theory, her writing career could depend on it.

But she couldn’t get into his house without him knowing, that was kind of illegal, right? She needed to think about it.

They chatted on and off throughout the day but kept their distance from one another physically.

She couldn’t look at him without picturing him gloriously naked like the dirty girl she was and wondered if he did the same.

Picturing her obviously, not himself. That was when the idea came to her, and she knew how to get into his house.

“Dean, can I borrow the keys to your house? I just need to pop round,” she asked innocently, coming up behind him which she still hadn’t learned was a mistake. He always looked so good from behind.

He turned to face her, confused. “What for?”

“This is kind of embarrassing, but I think I left my panties there yesterday morning,” she said, her cheeks flushing.

He choked on a breath and pounded himself on the back. “You think, what?” he croaked.

“My panties. Obviously, they came off and I don’t remember putting them back on.”

“I think I would have noticed them.” He smirked at her in such a roguish way that she nearly combusted on the spot.

“They might have fallen behind some furniture?” she squeaked.

“Okay, well I’ll have a look tonight for them and bring them with me tomorrow,” he shrugged, turning back to the railing.

“But I really need them now!” she burst out, desperation fusing her tone. She forced herself to calm down. “They’re my favorite pair.”

He turned back and stared at her like she’d lost her mind, and in that moment, she would have struggled to disagree with him. “Besides, they’re dirty and need washing so you shouldn’t have to touch them.”

He fixed her with another scorching look.

“Darlin’,” he started, and God, her body felt things when he said that.

“I’ve had my hands all over you, including the parts of you that these ‘dirty’ panties covered.

” She fought a shiver at the memories that tried to fill her mind.

“I’m not bothered about touching them, but if you really need them right now, then be my guest.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys, handing them to her.

She snatched them, sighing with relief, and thanked him.

“And Christy?” he called as she walked away. She turned back to face him, a gleam in his eye and that damn smirk tugging at his lips.

“They’re my favorite pair, too.”

She couldn’t speak, just left as quickly as possible, his deep laugh following her.

When she got to his house, she unlocked the door and went inside.

Once she closed it, she leaned against it, her heart pounding.

She took in the surroundings, the feel of the house and his scent enveloped her, and she instantly calmed.

She knew she couldn’t be long, she was only meant to be looking for fictitious panties, so she headed straight upstairs to his study.

Christy had to know if it was this house that inspired her.

She didn’t want to snoop in the other rooms, she already felt guilty enough that she had lied to gain access to his sanctuary, especially now that she knew from Justine that he didn’t bring women here.

She wondered what made him bring her here that night?

A small flicker of hope lit in her stomach before she crushed it. Gah, I don’t have time for this!

She opened the door to his study, went inside and instantly froze.

It was different. His computer had moved and the items on the desk had been shifted to one side, allowing more space on the surface and a better view of the garden below.

She went over and studied the surroundings, she could feel the knot in her chest unfurling, the creativity taking over.

She spotted that more notepads and pens had been added to the desk.

Why would he add more, but move his computer away?

Had he done this for her? He’d found her in here writing, so maybe he had?

A wave of tenderness consumed her, what a wonderful man.

Why would he do that for her? She felt tears come to her eyes, the gesture was so sweet, so touching, so…

“ Ridiculous ,” she muttered. “You’re an idiot, he didn’t do this for you, what’s the matter with you?”

She looked out the window, the birds were back, flinging water over their backs, ruffling their feathers.

It started as a slow drip-feed of images into her mind, then all at once ideas flooded her.

She dropped down into the leather chair and placed her hands on the desk.

Was it a coincidence that the chair was set to the perfect height for her?

Yes, stop being silly. She grabbed a pen and a notepad and began jotting down notes and ideas that came to her.

They flooded her, her excitement growing, her nerve endings sizzling.

She couldn’t write fast enough, barely finishing one sentence before another zinged into her mind.

She gasped when she glanced at the time and realized it had been nearly an hour.

She ripped the pages out of the notepad, folded them up and put them in the back pocket of her shorts.

She straightened the notepad and pens, trying to hide evidence she was there.

As she left, she wondered what she was going to do when she needed to write again, like tomorrow and the day after?

She would think of something else. She locked up, reluctant to leave the house, but keen to get back to Dean.

So she could make sure he was okay and hadn’t hurt himself DIYing… that’s all.

When she got back, she found him on the back porch, sanding down the railings, shirtless.

His muscles flexing with each forceful stroke, tan body shimmering in the sun from the sheen of sweat coating him.

She never really had urges before, until now.

That’s what he did, he gave her urges and needs, both of which she had to ignore.

“I’m back,” she called, tearing her eyes away from him. He stood up and turned to face her, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead.

“Did you find them?” he asked, holding out his hand and she dropped the keys into his palm.

“Find what?”

He gave her a funny look. “Your panties?”

Shit, you idiot, try and keep your lies straight! “Oh, yeah I did!”

He looked at her empty hands. “Where are they?”

Very good question, she really hadn’t thought this through. “Uh, I put them on.”

He leaned against the railing, folding his arms across his wide chest and arched a brow at her.

“Over the pair you were already wearing? You’re now wearing two pairs of panties?”

“No, just one pair,” she said, unconvincingly.

“So, you weren’t wearing any panties earlier then?”

“I, uh, guess not.”

He walked towards her, slowly, meaningfully and she swallowed thickly.

Busted, he knows I’m lying, I’m dead. When he reached her, he bent down to her ear and she got hit with the scent of him, pine, sweat, and dangerous man.

The sensation so heady it took all her willpower not to grab him and drag her tongue across his chest.

“I always knew you were a naughty minx,” he whispered, and her breath caught in her throat, his damn sexy chuckle drifting over her. Then his heat was gone, and she watched him go into the house.

She groaned and slumped against the porch, feeling like the biggest idiot in the world. And fighting the urge to charge in after him and demand he take her to bed and make her come alive again.