Searching for Always

by Jennifer Probst

  "Feel-good author" (Nestled in a Book) Jennifer Probst began her "sexy, satisfying" (Kirkus Reviews) Kinnections matchmakers series with these acclaimed novels!

  SEARCHING FOR PERFECT

  "Entertaining and engaging and real. . . . Jennifer Probst is a romance writing superstar. . . . [A] fantastic series."

  --Bookish Bella

  "A wonderfully moving, deeply emotional, steamy, sexy, fantastic story of hope, healing, and love. 5 huge loving stars!"

  --Sizzling Book Club

  SEARCHING FOR SOMEDAY

  "A sophisticated, sexy romance . . . witty, passionate."

  --RT Book Reviews

  "Refreshing."

  --Publishers Weekly

  "Full of emotion and heart. . . . 5 stars!"

  --Sizzling Book Club

  "Delightfully romantic and fun. . . . One of the best contemporary authors!"

  --Under the Covers

  "Offers both heat and heart."

  --Booklist Online

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  "It takes great courage to see the world in all its tainted glory, and still to love it."

  --An Ideal Husband

  This book is dedicated to my dog Lester, who is waiting for me at Rainbow Bridge. Thank you for being my faithful writing companion and friend. Your beautiful old soul made my world a better place. Mommy loves you.

  prologue

  OFFICER STONE PETTY was having a shit day.

  It started with some type of brownout that killed his alarm and made him late. He despised tardiness in all forms and enjoyed a morning routine that set him up for the day. Hot, black coffee. Toast with butter, and real bacon. None of that turkey junk. Reading the paper, a quick shower, and taking his damn time.

  Instead, he raced to get cleaned up and dressed, forced to skip everything and stuck with the horror that was called coffee in the station. Not even officially on duty, he'd been forced to stop a teenager speeding, dealing with his general mouthiness and hormonal idiocy that hadn't taught him yet not to talk back to people in authority.

  After a few hours on his beat, a foul smell in his squad car drove him crazy. He finally pulled over, trying not to gag, and discovered a pile of dog crap buried in a paper bag in the trunk. Sons of bitches. It must've been a boring night at the station, since one of his coworkers had decided to liven things up by pulling the literal tiger's tail. He loved his job, but sometimes he wanted to beat the hell out of them all. Boredom was the worst crime in the police station, and drove the guys to entertain themselves. On a slow fall night in Verily, guess he'd been the victim.

  Plotting his revenge, he got rid of the poop, decided to skip lunch, and proceeded to roll over a busted glass bottle and pierce his tire.

  Stone realized the Fates were against him today. He was desperately trying to quit smoking, but the thought of the sweet smoke filling his lungs killed him. He dragged in a breath and tried to concentrate on the nicotine patch on his arm, working overtime. He didn't need it. He was strong. He could beat the nasty habit, even though he loved it so hard, he'd pick smoking over anything else.

  Finally, the awful craving eased. Good. His best bet was just to clock in enough time to get the day done, lay low, and try again tomorrow. He changed the tire, tearing a small hole in the knee of his uniform, and sweating profusely. It was one of those weird Indian summer days in October, and he'd worn his long sleeves today. Sweat trickled down his brow and under his arms, making him crave another shower. His temper frayed, but he held tight and swore to have patience. Anger got him in trouble every time. Like some kind of downhill roller coaster ride, it descended him into disaster. He was on a tight leash to begin with and needed to chill and ride out the rest of the day.

  Calmly.

  His partner had taken the morning off and should be hooking up with him within the hour. Devine always settled him with his easy humor. They worked well together, and long enough to call him his friend.

  When he got back in the squad car, his speaker beeped.

  "Car forty-three. Possible domestic abuse on Two Sycamore Street."

  Stone reached for the radio. "Car forty-three en route."

  "Backup is needed. Officer Devine on the way."

  "Copy."

  He eased onto the road and headed toward the house. Any type of domestic abuse required two officers on the scene, which he respected. Hell, it had always been his hot spot anyway, and they did very well with bad cop/good cop. With Devine's movie star looks, and his own rough appearance, everything balanced.

  He drove past Main Street in Verily, enjoying the small-town charm and sprawling river views. A bit eclectic and weird for him, with the crazy artists, cafes, and mass of organic food, clothing, and wellness centers, but Verily called to him in some strange way. He always wondered what it would feel like to be one of those people. Centered. Calm. Happy.

  He dealt with such intense emotions, and a dark, brooding anger inside of him, that living in Verily was like stepping near the light.

  Stone frowned at his sudden poetic thoughts and refocused. He'd reached Sycamore.

  He pulled to the curb a few feet away and studied the scene. No nosy neighbors out, but it didn't mean people weren't watching from their windows. He checked his watch. Devine should arrive in a minute. Climbing out of the car, he strolled around the house, scanning for clues and straining his ears to catch any type of noise.

  The white Victorian seemed a bit shambled. Peeling paint. Broken step. Porch sagged. The windows were dirty, but he noted a small vegetable garden on the side that was neat and weed-free. Someone had cared and maintained it well. A pink tricycle with streamers that had seen better days lay abandoned in the driveway. Was that crying? His muscles tensed.

  "No!"

  The female scream turned his blood cold. A crash echoed through one of the half-open windows, and a child joined in with the screaming.

  "Bitch!"

  Stone shot to the door. Knocked. "Police, open up."

  Another crash. Stone grabbed his radio. "Officer entering premises at Two Sycamore. Still awaiting backup." No time to wait for Devine. Enough suspicion of bodily harm to break in.

  He did.

  The door was open so he shot through.

  The scene before him was out of his worst nightmare.

  A big, meaty guy dressed in jeans and bare chested beating the crap out of the woman, probably his wife. She was trapped in the corner, hands over her face to protect it while he punched her. Her screams punctured the air, but that wasn't what made him lose it.

  It was the child.

  A pretty girl, probably around five, sobbed and clutched her father's leg, begging him to stop hurting Mommy. Stone had almost reached him, ready to scoop up the girl so she was safe and get the asshole off, but he was too late.

  The guy paused in bashing his wife's face, turned, and picked up the child.

  Then threw her across the room.

  The girl hit the wall with a bang. Slumped to the floor in a crumpled pile of delicate bones. Her soft blond hair covered her face. She didn't move.

  Things happened in slow motion. Stone had been through enough shit to know he needed to keep calm, get the medics, handle the situation, protect the unprotected. His training usually kicked in with no pause.

  Instead, he was ripped to another time and place, and the haze of red swarmed his vision and his logic
.

  Stone grabbed the man in one fast motion. He got an impression of surprised bloodshot eyes, fingers clawing and trying to pry him off, and shrieks peppering the air.

  He hit. And hit. And hit.

  The man slumped to the ground, but Stone didn't stop. He punched with all his might, all his emotion and locked-up rage that came through to punish a monster who hurt defenseless women and liked it.

  He didn't know how much time had passed before he was dragged off the guy. Ambulance alarms sounded in the air, and Devine was shaking him by the shoulders, saying his name over and over, trying to get him to focus and get back to the light. Medics rushed in, cries rang out, and when Stone Petty came to, he realized it was too late.

  The damage had already been done.

  Yeah. All in all, it was a shit day.

  one

  ARILYN MEADOWS LOOKED around the cheery bungalow that was now her new home. Boxes lay half-opened, clothes were stacked in piles, and her foster dogs, Lenny and Mike, were battling over her only pair of expensive shoes. Scarlet red. High heels. Strappy. She'd bought them last month to surprise her lover.

  He'd been surprised all right. So had she when she caught him banging one of his yoga students.

  The black-and-white rat terrier mixes tumbled over the floor in a challenge to see who'd make the first bite. With their floppy ears and white stripes dividing their faces, her new fosters were a bit too cute to live. They also got away with way too much because of their looks. She opened her mouth to discipline, then shut it. Yes, it was bad for the puppies' training, but it felt kind of good to see them tear those heels apart. She'd never wear them again without that memory clocking her like a sucker punch. At least Lenny and Mike could have some rebellious fun.

  The low hum of anger buzzing inside surprised her. She'd spent most of her days searching for peace, kindness, and harmony within the world. Last week, she would've announced to anyone she'd found that quiet place inside and had never been happier.

  Not this week.

  Arilyn held back a sigh and began hanging her clothes up. Organic cottons and linens wrinkled too easily, especially with no dryer. She smoothed her hand down the soft fabrics and lined them up neatly in the closet. At least her new place was sound. After discovering mold at her last rental, and weeks of dealing with bad electric and burst pipes, her friend Genevieve MacKenzie offered to let her rent the quirky bungalow. Thank goodness, Gen had found the love of her life and was now moving in with her soul mate, Wolfe. Even better, she had left an empty cottage to rent. It was situated close to her job, and two doors down from her other friend Kate, who she worked with at Kinnections matchmaking agency.

  She tried to concentrate on the positive spin of finding a great place, especially one that allowed her to take in foster dogs on a regular basis, but her usual attitude had taken a hit. Besides anger, depression threatened like a nasty rumble of thunder before a storm. Dammit, she was supposed to be in Cape May on a romantic getaway. She was supposed to be making love and finally working through the kinks in their relationship. She was supposed to hear those magic words after five years of an on-again, off-again affair.

  You're the one.

  Marriage. Maybe a family. Both of them teaching yoga together in his studio, on a quest for higher peace and satisfaction while they loved each other with open hearts and souls.

  Her fingers clenched around the gauzy cream blouse. Instead, she'd walked into that studio and watched her life crumble before her.

  The woman bent over, hands on the floor, naked ass in the air. Her lover pounded her from behind, his long gorgeous dark hair streaming down his back, fingers gripped around her hips, driving in and out of her while she moaned and groaned, and he gave tiny grunts of satisfaction.

  The woman screamed. He laughed darkly, lifted his hand, and smacked her naked ass. She yelped. Then he did it again, and again, until her rear turned red and she was coming and screaming . . .

  Arilyn turned from the closet and pushed her clenched fists against her eyes. The image burned like acid.

  He'd never made love to her that way, with a violent, dirty need combined with lust. He practiced tantric sex, a slow-moving, spiritual, gentle swell of need that climbed gradually. Their lovemaking took place in many locations, but it was always completely controlled, quiet, deeply satisfying. He worshipped her body with his. Never bent it to his will or ripped crazy orgasms from her.

  She'd never forget his face. So deeply satisfied, like he was surrendering in a way he never could with her. Was this what he'd wanted the whole time? Had he believed she couldn't handle his sexual desires? The almost violent, possessive, hungry primal instincts inside him?

  Fighting a shudder, she began to unpack her crystals and meditation supplies. How long had she made excuses for his inability to truly commit to her? Yes, he revered his privacy and followed a spiritual path without conventions, societal role plays, and sexual expectations. That was what she'd loved about him. They viewed the world similarly and wanted to make a difference. He was a workaholic, but in a good way. Always driven to help others in their journey. Another reason he was afraid to commit to a long-term relationship. He feared she'd become demanding and force him to quit his beloved career.

  But after years of being hidden in the background, while he refused to meet her friends or family, and conducted their affair after hours and in secret like a torrid affair, she'd finally given him the ultimatum. The idea that no one ever uttered his first name faded from being a thrilling secret to a quiet humiliation.

  Thirty approached. She craved permanence and a chance to have a family. Was that too much to ask? She didn't want to pigeonhole him, only to grow and change by his side. After his first indiscretion, she forced herself to trust him again. After all, he apologized, confessing his fear that love would overpower his spiritual path. He promised never to cheat again. As the in-house counselor at Kinnections matchmaking agency, Arilyn advised clients many times that a relationship couldn't work halfway, so she forgave.

  Things finally changed. They'd been happy for a few months, and he even agreed to meet her family.

  Humiliation cut through her. The fire crystal shook in her hands. She breathed deep and tried to absorb the healing powers meant to relieve sharp anxiety and induce calm. Stupid. His face when she opened the door haunted her.

  Those gorgeous dark eyes widened with shock. Her gaze swept over his beloved face, taking in the high brow bone, long, sharp nose, square jaw. He stared at her, not moving, not speaking, while the silence beat around them in angry waves of energy.

  "Arilyn."

  Her name on his lips made her shudder. The musical, lilting quality of his timbre usually hypnotized her, whether in yoga class or the bedroom. The hurt rolled over her in waves, and she longed to curl up in a ball in her bed and try to make sense of it. Instead, she just stood there like an idiot, waiting for him to say something.

  "I'm sorry, Arilyn." His voice deepened with grief and regret. His eyes filled with sadness. "I broke my promise. My body is weak, but my heart still beats for you. It always will. You must find a way to forgive me."

  No. For the rest of her life, she'd remember him grunting and coming in another woman's body. And for the first time in five years, the box deep inside of her finally locked. She'd never let him back into her heart or life again. She'd closed the box many, many times before, but never locked it.

  A tiny click echoed in her ears like a gunshot.

  It was finally over.

  Her heart withered in her chest, drying up any tears that she might have shed. All that was left was a shell and a burning emptiness she'd never get over.

  Arilyn studied the man she'd loved for the last time. Her voice came out like a winter's storm. Cold. Brutal.

  Dead.

  "It's over. Don't call, text, or contact me ever again."

  Arilyn placed an amethyst stone next to the fire and began setting up her meditation corner. Lenny and Mike collapsed on the wooden f
loor, temporarily exhausted and exhilarated. Pieces of red straps and a chewed heel lay around them in destructive glory. She envied them. Her emotions bubbled beneath the surface worse than a witches' brew. Maybe a grueling session of ashtanga yoga would help her sweat out some of the mess. Arilyn studied the crystals before her and plucked the dark red stone from its perch. Definitely garnet. Used for balancing overemotional stakes and stuck anger.

  She twisted it onto a cord and slipped it over her neck. Maybe work was the key. Keep busy. Two weeks had passed for a solid grieving period, and now it was time to focus. She needed to get the cottage in order, plant her herb garden, run the dog shelter fund-raiser, and work on the new computer program for Kinnections. Since she quit her ex-lover's yoga studio, students had been asking her when she'd be teaching on her own. Maybe she'd rent the firehouse and give classes there. No reason for her own students to suffer just because she refused to set foot in the Chakras yoga studio.

  She placed the fat purple cushion in the center of the woven mat and set up the variety of candles around her spot. Two wide bamboo screens kept it private from onlookers and the pups. The incense sticks went up on the circular table, since Lenny seemed to like them better than the organic treats she regularly purchased. Nothing like pooping out incense. That had been a fun vet visit.

  Finally, her sacred spot was complete. Her stack of meditation CDs lay next to her ancient stereo, but she disliked wearing pods or headphones when she meditated. Arilyn rolled to her feet and grabbed some matches and the bunch of dried sage she'd brought with her. Final task before making dinner. Each time she set up residence in a new place, she cleared all the old energy to start fresh.

  God knows she needed a new slate.

  Her throat tightened as she began to light the sage. All of her best friends were now in strong, healthy relationships leading to marriage. As the final single of the bunch, her heart squeezed with envy. When was it her turn? She'd worked so hard in all aspects of her life to be a good person, to open herself to love, to become spiritually sound to engage in a relationship that would bring her joy. Dammit, while others squandered their time partying, being selfish, and giving in to their ids, she did the hard work trying to transform herself. She did everything . . . right.