Searching for Always

by Jennifer Probst

  His work schedule blasted them back to reality. Hard reality. Endless shifts, sleepless nights, and little entertainment caused a tear. Soon they were fighting, insulting, taking potshots that left shallow cuts and little time to heal. She wanted to travel and be fabulous. He wanted to slay the demons and catch the bad guys. Suddenly, it wasn't so much fun anymore, and Stone finally figured out he wasn't a man worth fighting for.

  The incident confirmed the end. After he shot his gun and got dragged into an investigation that put the spotlight on him, she distanced herself. All the intense energy he exuded that used to intrigue her became distasteful. Like turning over a big, smooth rock and spotting a bunch of slugs beneath. They'd been on the literal rocks before the incident, but afterward? There was nothing left to save. Her affair only confirmed how far they'd sunk.

  It hardly stung anymore. Stone wondered how long their marriage would have lasted if he hadn't walked in on her. Had he ever loved her on a bone-deep, emotional level? Or had he just been lonely and lost after the shooting, looking for a connection to save him?

  When his request for a transfer to Verily went through, he couldn't wait to get out of the Bronx and away from all the damn memories. Even his partner hadn't cared, but their relationship hadn't been tight like his with Devine. He bet Devine would've backed him up and fought for him to stay.

  Bet he wouldn't have slept with his wife either.

  Sweat ran down his body. He clenched his teeth and pushed past the strain, his muscles working overtime, the exertion clearing his mind. He spotted the pretty blonde staring at him, her blue eyes wide with appreciation of his form. He was a realist when it came to his body. He put a lot of crap into it, but he balanced that with steady workouts and training to help sculpt the physical traits needed to succeed as a cop. His Black Irish blood had also been a gift. Women seemed to like that type of heritage, something about the dark hair and eyes with fairer skin. The tall, skinny youth had finally grown up until he towered over all the other punks in the neighborhood and gained respect. Growing the goatee just added to the rough appeal.

  Whatever. He wasn't the type to stare in a mirror. As long as he was clean and had some type of clothes on, he was good to go. Getting women had never been a problem for him. Stone finished his squats, wiped his face with a towel, and grabbed the hand weights for biceps curls. The blonde inched closer, an open smile curving her lips. Definitely an invite. He hadn't seen her before, but she was cute. Seemed as if she'd be open to grabbing a shake at the juice bar and accompanying him home.

  The image of Arilyn's face drifted past him.

  Ah, crap. He grunted and rolled out a few sets. Fingers gripping the hand weights, his veins bulged, the warmth of adrenaline flooded his blood, and he became half-aroused. He hoped it was the pretty blonde making him semi-erect, but the damn image of his long-limbed teacher who owned her body with a pride he rarely spotted in females was starting to kill him. Worse? He was imagining her doing the Salutation thing naked. With him.

  He clanged the weights back on the shelf and cursed. Grabbed his water bottle and drained it dry in one long gulp. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, tossed the towel over his shoulder, and headed out.

  The blonde stared. Her eyes begged him to stop and converse. Flirt. Do the dance that would eventually lead him to a satisfying bout of sweaty, fulfilling sex. He paused, getting closer, ready to open his mouth. Waited for the subtle spark of attraction that told him they'd have a good time tonight.

  Instead, he walked past.

  The sharp flash of disappointment on her face pissed him off. What was wrong with him? Why not have a quick tumble? Why was he suddenly obsessed with the one woman he really, really didn't like? Sure, they had some kind of crazy spark, but damned if he was interested in getting electrocuted. And that woman would surely kill him if they ever got involved. Hell, electrocution would probably be less painful.

  He muttered to himself the whole drive home, swearing to get his head on straight. When he walked into his small brick ranch, he shoved a frozen pizza in the oven to cook while he took a quick shower, then settled in front of his television. Maybe American Ninja Warrior was on. The quiet settled around him, and Stone looked around, wondering what Arilyn Meadows would say about his home.

  He was neat but not ruthlessly so. His house screamed bachelor, but not in a seedy way. Besides the latest electronics, including wireless sound stereo, a sixty-inch flat-screen TV, and two Macs, the surroundings were simple. He'd gone with wine and black colors. Leather couches, burgundy throw rugs, and dark-wood tables. A ton of bookshelves and a battered desk in the corner piled high with folders and work stuff. Black-and-white photographs accented the walls, mostly views of Yankee Stadium, both new and old. The kitchen was big enough to hold a table and chairs, but he mostly ate at the breakfast bar. The gray and blue granite hadn't needed updating, nor had the new stainless steel appliances, though he never cooked. His one bedroom had a thick chocolate rug, mahogany furniture, and a sleigh bed he'd grabbed on clearance. He wasn't big into knickknacks, but he had a tendency to buy blankets in various patterns and colors, so they were tossed all over the furniture.

  Grabbing his pizza, he cracked open an IPA and settled onto the sofa in his boxers. Stone clicked through the channels, paused on a boxing match, and stretched his feet out. This was nice. Just another night at home, on his own terms, in the peace and quiet.

  Arilyn's melodic voice whispered in his ear.

  You drink beer with some cops. Shoot a bit of pool. Maybe lift a few weights at the gym. But basically you're a workaholic who spends most of his time alone.

  He froze. Get out of my head, he ordered. I'm damn happy. Content.

  You, Stone Petty, are a hypocrite.

  He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. He refused to think about her. He'd finish his pizza, watch the rest of the match, and go jerk off to the mental image of the pretty blonde in the gym. Then he'd get his shit together tomorrow and find someone to actually have sex with.

  Stone cranked up the volume and shoved the cardboard-like pizza into his mouth with false gusto.

  Take that, Arilyn Meadows.

  I don't hear you.

  He had a great life.

  Really, really great.

  seven

  STONE LOOKED AROUND. The purple room was filled with soothing blends of sights and sounds that made him itchy. Water trickled from a fountain with glossy river rocks. Classical music streamed through hidden speakers. Instead of sitting behind the large oak desk, Arilyn perched on a velvet cushion across from him, notepad on lap, a slight frown marring her ginger brows. The room was essentially female--Goddess of Fertility or Venus or shit like that. Plants sprung from the corners, silver sparkly pillows accessorized the endless violet, and the carpet was thick beneath his feet.

  Did she always sit so still? She reminded him of an exotic bird, watchful of every situation and ready to either dive in to save a buddy or fly off into the wild blue yonder.

  And why was he suddenly composing weird analogies to animals when he thought of this woman?

  He took in her black Lycra yoga pants, low-heeled boots he bet weren't real leather, and a snug T-shirt with the Kinnections logo in bright purple and gray. No makeup marred the lines of her graceful features or hid her creamy white skin. So different from all the women he knew, who obsessed on beauty, channeling their inner peacocks in order to compete in the world.

  He'd been surprised when she said she wanted to have his one-to-one counseling in her Kinnections office, but thought it would be a great opportunity to analyze her further. The endless spreadsheets and three computer systems impressed him. Also intimidated him. He wasn't such a program expert, so that seemed pretty cool, though he had no idea how such an extensive computer setup could possibly help in connecting couples or doing whatever Kinnections promised people it did. Make matches. Find love. Whatever.

  She seemed to have something on her mind. It showed in the slight tenseness of h
er shoulders and the assessing gleam in her sea-glass-green eyes. He kept his face impassive, interested in finding out what she wanted.

  "Nice office."

  She glanced around as if viewing it for the first time and nodded. "Thank you. My partners, Kate and Kennedy, helped decorate."

  "Very girly."

  That brought an annoyed snap of the brow. "It's generic " she offered politely. "Purple is the color of the highest chakra, opening up the mind center."

  He scratched his head, hooked one ankle over his leg, and slouched in the chair. "Thought the heart was more important in your business."

  "A clear mind and connection with your highest inner power is key to all. The rest follows."

  He made a noncommittal snort, and her lips tightened. Stone tamped down on a chuckle. She was so much damn fun to spar with and piss off. It was becoming his favorite hobby. "Why do you need computers? Thought love was a magical mystery thing."

  "Love is magical but also scientific. It takes a lot to find your match. Personality, beliefs, upbringings--all are brought to the table when we meet someone new. Ignoring those pieces of a person and waiting for an invisible chemistry connection to make everything okay wouldn't be reasonable. It would also put us out of business."

  Her sharp intelligence intrigued him. A mix of new age hippie crap and nerd scientist. Fascinating. "Do you work the computer side of the business?"

  "Yes, I also do the counseling. Which we should get to."

  "In a minute. Did you study computers in school?"

  She shifted in the chair. "I graduated with a double master's in psychology and computer science."

  "How'd you end up working here?"

  "My friends and I discussed the benefits of opening up our own business and using each of our strengths to create a unique spot in the market."

  Huh. She was lying. Her gaze dropped down to the floor when she spoke. Now he was dying to know how this matchmaking business got started. "I'm impressed. Most businesses fail, especially ones started with friends."

  Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "I'm so glad. Now I can sleep at night."

  "I know better ways to make you sleep." He paused. "Or not."

  She sucked in a breath, and that weird zing burst between them. He'd only meant to tease her and get her irritated. Instead, the joke was on him. He was suddenly hard and aching to trap her against that chair and kiss her. Long. Deep. Find out if she tasted as sweet as sugar cookies warm from the oven. See if she melted all soft and gooey once he pushed his tongue past her lips and his hands past her clothing. And now he'd moved from comparing her to animals to food. He was losing it.

  "Don't."

  The word shot in the room like a bullet. He'd made her uncomfortable. A surge of adrenaline and satisfaction mingled. He grinned real slow. "Why not?"

  "Because as I told you the other night, I don't like you."

  "I don't like you either. Does it matter?"

  She crossed her arms in front of her chest. The thin material of her shirt stretched across perfectly small, perfectly formed breasts. Her nipples were already hard. "To me it does. Unlike you, Officer Petty, I don't jump into bed to scratch an itch. I need a connection beyond the physical."

  "Is that what you had with your last lover? A connection?"

  He regretted the sudden pain that flickered over her face and cursed beneath his breath. Damn. He didn't want to hurt her. He was curious as to what type of man had claimed her heart and stomped all over it. She'd defended him regarding his good-guy intentions, but he sensed the truth was quite different. When she'd finally given his name, something had flared in those green eyes. A hot anger rolled up with raw pain. It was the real stuff buried beneath all that meditation junk she always threw in his face. Stone opened his mouth to apologize, but she was already answering.

  "Yes. At least I followed my heart. When I die, I intend to have little to regret. Not taking a chance on love would be one of them."

  He'd never met a woman so deep and ready to get real. When he proposed to Ellen, he figured he was following his heart. Now he realized he'd only been in lust and too lazy to wait. Too lazy to figure things out. Too lazy to make it work when the relationship got hard. And though he'd never forgive or forget, part of the relationship failure was solidly on him. A trickle of shame raced through him. Something told him Arilyn Meadows wouldn't shrink from difficulty. She'd flourish.

  He shifted in the chair. When had his complete dislike turned to sexual interest? In only a few days, she'd begun to intrigue him on a whole new level. Physical, of course. Nothing more. "What about passion? Isn't that the foundation for love? Wouldn't you regret being too focused on the future and missing an opportunity to experience great sex?"

  Her lips were pale peach. He wondered if her nipples matched. The bottom of that lush lower lip curled up a bit. "No."

  The simple answer bugged him. Another lie. It was in the tilt of her stubborn chin, and the challenge sizzling in those emerald eyes. Damn, she'd be fun to try and push around. Ripping the truth from her in breathy little gasps while he pushed between her thighs may be worth the trouble.

  Maybe.

  "Then you've never experienced true passion," he said.

  That got her. Annoyance carved out her graceful features. She wasn't as calm as she made people believe. "Yes, I have. You have no idea how great the passion was between us."

  Defensive. Cheater? The image of his wife, naked, on top of another man, still panged. He despised cheaters and their cowardice. Hated not being able to fight fairly and being made a chump. He could've forgiven Ellen for a multitude of sins but not that one.

  "I'm not talking about good sex. A few orgasms. A cuddle. I'm talking about the down-and-dirty lust that wipes everything else from your mind except how your body feels against your lover. Over him. Under him. The feel of naked skin. The sweat, and the smells, and the excruciating, sweet agony of need for him to take you completely, over and over, until there's nothing left of both of you."

  Her mouth formed a little O, and sweat broke out on her upper lip. Her fingers clenched in her lap, and Stone knew she was completely turned on. Her nipples beaded against her top. The pulse beat madly at the base of her swanlike neck. And he knew if he walked over to her right now, tipped her chair back, and hooked his fingers under those tight Lycra pants, she'd be soaking wet.

  Playing with her affected him just as much, and he tried not to shift again in his chair as he hardened to full length. Why did he have to experience such chemistry with a woman completely wrong for him? In one week they'd tear each other apart, they were so different. Yet his primitive need to claim her beat through his body like an animal craving to mate.

  "That--that was inappropriate." Her voice wobbled. "You know nothing about how we felt for each other. We transcended the physical to an emotional bond you'd be afraid to experience. A man like you believes in a quick roll in the hay, and a quicker retreat in the morning."

  He grinned. "Never quick, little one."

  She practically spit with fury. "Why do you call me that? Stop. I don't like it."

  "Why not? I like it." Arilyn jerked her folder open and dragged in a few of those deep breaths she counseled him on. "You mad?"

  "No."

  "Good, 'cause I don't think that breathing's workin' too good."

  Her dirty look made him want to laugh out loud. "If you're done avoiding the real reason you're here, I'll begin. I know what you're doing. Trying to distract me by talking about sex, so I get so rattled I'll forget this session is about you. I'm not that dumb, Officer."

  "Never said you were. It's just a more interesting topic."

  "Tell me a bit about the domestic scene you witnessed."

  Guess playtime was over. Stone resigned himself to a long, boring session of talking about feelings. Yuck. "I went inside the house when I heard screaming. Found the husband beating up the wife, with the little girl hanging on his leg. He kicked her to the wall and she went unconscious. Guess I
snapped. Don't remember much afterward until my partner Devine pulled me off."

  She scribbled some notes like a shrink. He imagined her naked and was less bored. "How did you feel when you realized what you did?"

  The questions were textbook. He wondered why he felt disappointed in her techniques. "Pissed that I snapped. Happy that I beat the crap out of him."

  "Is the little girl okay?"

  "Yeah. She's in a shelter now. But who knows if the mother went back. Battered women usually do. They're too afraid to leave sometimes. It's all they know."

  She quirked a ginger brow and studied him. He made sure his face remained impassive. "You said your father beat you with a bat. Hurt your mother. How old were you?"

  Stone shrugged. "Guess it started around five. Went till I was a teen."

  "Did it happen often? Did he beat you and your mother?"

  He picked at a cuticle and tried not to groan. Ugh. He'd done the mandated therapy after the first incident, and even checked in on his own for a few sessions. It was too brutally inane to continue. Maybe if he seemed more emotional, she'd hurry things up? Show her he realized his issues and wanted to work on them. "Yeah. He liked to mix things up in the household. I'm sure when I went into that scene it was a trigger for all the times he hurt both of us. I'm more aware of my shortcomings now. I think I can handle incidents better in the future."

  Perfect. He sounded apologetic, knew about his own limitations and wanted to work on them. She jotted down more ridiculous notes, probably on his mental state, then looked up.

  Her smile stunned him.

  Like the sun on crack, she blinded him. His heart got a bit mushy and weak, and he was unable to talk. Why did he suddenly crave to revel in her warmth? Why did he want to be the man to elicit that smile on a regular basis? And what did she find so funny?

  "You're smart, Officer. Wicked smart."

  He refocused. "Back to 'Officer' so soon?" he drawled. "Makes me want to force you to say my name in all sorts of interesting ways."

  "You think I'm a chump asking these questions. You think I'm easily manipulated."

  "I never said any of those things."

  "Didn't have to. Who else were you protecting?"