Page 45 of It’s Only Love (Citrus Pines #1)

When he awoke, she was writing again. He lay there watching her for a while, thoughts going crazy.

He decided he would wait for the right moment to tell her about the letters, he didn’t want to ruin her joy.

It was selfish, he knew this, but she was writing again and happy.

He didn’t want to ruin that just yet, she needed this peace.

He would tell her when the time was right.

He got up and grabbed his book from his room, he didn’t think she had spotted it before, but it was one of hers. He’d ordered all of them once he learned the titles. He came back into the study and lay there, alternating between reading her impressive work, and watching her write her heart out.

*

Christy’s body ached all over, but she didn’t care.

It was a reminder she had been thoroughly satisfied by a man who couldn’t get enough of her.

She watched, a coy smile playing at her lips, as Dean and Beau lifted the battered old couch and carried it outside, putting it in the bed of Dean’s truck.

She was fully aware she was ogling Dean’s muscles, watching them flex and ripple and didn’t even try to hide it.

He caught her watching him and gifted her with a knowing smile, his dimples teasing his cheeks.

It was a smile reserved just for her and she reveled in it.

Beau witnessed the interaction and rolled his eyes before jumping into the passenger side of the truck.

Dean came over to her, lifting his hand and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she leaned into his touch.

“We’re gonna go and drop this off then get some food so I’ll grab you something greasy and fattening,” he said, then dipped his head to whisper in her ear, warm breath trekking over her. “You’re going to need to keep your strength up for when I get back.”

She shivered and he kissed her slowly, lingering until Beau leaned on the horn of the truck.

Dean reluctantly pulled away and stared down at her, concern shining in his eyes before it was gone and kissed the palm of her hand before leaving.

She noticed that a few times this last week, he seemed concerned or worried, but she couldn’t work out what was wrong.

Maybe he was just conscious she would be leaving soon, which was definitely playing on her mind a lot too.

She’d felt their connection growing and deepening, it wasn’t casual anymore and they didn’t bother trying to hide it. She tried not to think about what it meant and the fact that she was still leaving. With a sigh, Christy went back into the house.

It was nearly empty now and freshly decorated, looking as good as new.

They’d pretty much finished downstairs this week, now it was time to start clearing out upstairs.

She didn’t think it needed as much work, there weren’t really any repairs needed, just the furniture to clear and maybe they’d need to freshen up the paintwork.

She stood in the doorway of her old room thinking she could start there, but she didn’t really want to go through any of the stuff, it wasn’t anything she wanted to keep. Whereas there could be things in her father’s old room she might want to hold onto as a keepsake.

Christy turned to the room in question and stared at the door, she knew she needed to tackle this one soon.

She was in a good place emotionally, she’d actually never felt better.

She wanted to do it on her own and with the guys being out for a little while there was no better time, especially if she got upset as she didn’t want them to worry.

She steeled herself and grabbed the door handle, taking a breath before turning it and opening the door.

She was immediately hit by the scent of her father, it elicited a range of feelings and memories, some good and some bad.

Good ones from when they were a happy family of three and bad ones from where it was just the two of them and he began to spiral.

She pushed the memories away, they had tortured her enough over the years and she wouldn’t give them power anymore.

She looked around the room. Deep green curtains and bedding accentuated the dark wood furniture of the room.

There was a dresser opposite the bed which had photos and knick-knacks on top of it.

She glanced at the photos: one of the three of them as a family, one of her mother and father laughing, wrapped in each other’s arms, and then one of herself from when she was about fifteen, just before her mother died.

Christy ran her hands over them and then gathered them up.

She didn’t really have any photos, so these were important to her.

There were nightstands on either side of the bed, she went over to the one that used to be her mothers and saw an old, mirrored jewelry box on top.

She opened it and gasped as she found her mother’s wedding ring inside.

She picked it up carefully as though it were the greatest treasure, which to her, it was.

A lump formed in her throat as she slid the gold band onto her finger.

It fit perfectly, the light playing off the row of small diamonds.

She stared at it for the longest time before she finally turned away and continued her assessment of the room.

Her eyes landed on an armchair in the corner of the room and she went over to it.

She had a flash of memory of her father sitting in it reading, and her mom perched on his lap.

She smiled at the happy memory even though it was painful too.

She wandered over to the small, walk-in closet and opened the door, her father’s scent stronger in here where it lingered on his clothes.

She flipped through the hangers, glancing at the different shirts he had, trying to imagine him in them, running her hands over the fabric.

She snagged herself on one of them, knocking it off the hanger and onto the floor and she bent to pick it up where it was draped over an old box.

When she grabbed it, it caught the corner of the box, knocking it over.

She muttered to herself about her clumsiness and started putting the contents back inside it.

She paused as she saw her name and address on several bits of paper.

She grabbed one, looking at it more closely and realized it was a letter addressed to her.

There were loads of them, but they didn’t look like they had been sent.

She felt a prickle travel down her spine as she turned one over, confused and opened it.

The paper was faded, like it was old but still crisp as it unfolded.

She ran her eyes over the words on the page before her, and her world began to spin, a sob tearing from her throat.

*

Dean practically skipped up the path to the house.

He’d sent Beau home after they grabbed lunch knowing that when he got back, all he wanted to do was ravage the blond, curvy vixen waiting for him.

He was thrilled at the prospect that soon she would be underneath him, naked and begging.

God, he loved it when she begged. His step faltered slightly when he thought about the fact that he still hadn’t told her about the letters.

It had been a week since he accidentally discovered them.

He felt so guilty keeping it quiet, he promised himself he would tell her and see if she wanted him to sit with her while she read them, if she needed the support.

He’d put off telling her, worried she wouldn’t forgive him for finding them and not telling her about them straight away.

His selfishness disappointed him, which is why he’d decided he would tell her tonight.

“Christy? I hope you’ve removed all clothing as instructed,” he called, peering into the kitchen.

He’d messaged her on his way back with his demands.

There was no answer, and he couldn’t see her.

He placed the food on the counter and looked out onto the back porch but there was no sign of her there either.

“Christy?” he called again from the foot of the stairs.

Maybe if she were naked, she wouldn’t come and find him, he would have to find her.

Anticipation fired his blood and he took the stairs two at a time, but when he reached the top, he saw the door to her father’s room was open and his stomach dipped.

He braced himself as he headed inside. He spotted her sitting on the floor in the closet, surrounded by the letters, she had some clutched in her fist. She looked up at him and the sight of her broke his heart.

Tears streamed from her eyes, her cheeks flushed from crying, and she started hyperventilating when she saw him, shaking her head.

Then she stopped suddenly, opened her mouth and wailed.

The sound of her cry pierced his soul, full of so much anguish, grief, and heartbreak and he knew he would never forget it.

Dean ran to her, sat on the floor beside her, and pulled her onto his lap.

She sobbed hysterically and he tried to soothe her, running his hands over her face and hair.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to calm her and failed, tears filling his own eyes.

How could he have kept this from her, it surely would have been less painful if he told her before. They could have built up to reading them, so it wasn’t such a shock. He didn’t think he could ever forgive himself for his selfishness.

They stayed like that for over an hour, him murmuring in her ear, stroking his hands over her back.

She pulled back and looked at him, her eyes wide and watery, blue pools of devastation.

Her mouth opened and closed as she tried to find words, but they failed her.

She just raised her fist that had the letters clenched in it and closed her eyes.

His heart ached for her. She quieted after a while, exhaustion taking over.