Searching for Always (Searching For 4)

"Fuck this." He scraped back the chair and got to his feet. "I think this session is officially over. I've done what you wanted, and I deserve for you to sign those goddamn forms so I can get back to work and my real life."

She tried not to flinch at the open anger pouring from him in choppy waves. "This is your real life," she said calmly. "There's a bigger trigger going on, and until we find it, you're not going to be able to get past it."

"The only other trigger is in your imagination. Now that you taught me to breathe properly, I should be fine." He yanked his cap down low over his eyes. "I'm outta here. Do what you want."

"Stone?"

"What?"

"I'll be home if you want to talk."

He didn't answer. The door slammed behind him, and Arilyn sank into the chair, wondering if she'd pushed too hard. Wondering if she had lost him forever.

WHO THE HELL DID she think she was?

Rage pumped through his muscles. At first, the end of the anger counseling sessions caused a strange mix of confusion. Sure, he wanted it the hell over with, but he'd become used to seeing her every day.

He'd pulled back these past few days. Worked extra. Met the guys for a few rounds of billiards. What scared him the most?

He missed her. And Patrick. And that damn wicked witch neighbor he was beginning to like. He missed her cooking, and the general chaos, and the way she pulled him in tight at night, her body completely surrendering to every dark, dirty thing he wanted to do to her and with her.

He waited for her to whine, or complain about him not coming over. He readied himself to battle for his freedom and guys' night out. But she never said a word. Just supported him in whatever decision he made, said she'd miss him, and let him go.

The woman frustrated the hell out of him.

But this? This was too much. Poking around in his head again under the guise of therapist. If she wanted to know about his past, all she had to do was ask. He'd never hidden anything from her, even the shit he preferred to keep locked up nice and tight.

Who else were you protecting?

A shiver bumped through him. Screw it. He was gonna meet the guys, have a few beers, and go home. He'd take an early shift in the morning and keep his head straight. Then maybe he'd call her to sort out what the hell they were doing.

Stone played pool. He looked for Patrick, who wasn't there, and settled in with his coworkers. They bashed each other in good fun, drank, and had a decent time. He ignored the clawing emptiness in his gut and decided he was hungry. When they pushed a plate of fried shit over to him, he thought he heard her voice whispering in his ear to please eat something grilled, since it was a lot healthier.

He lost it.

"I gotta go." He stood, said his good-byes, and headed out. The November air was chilly and brisk, but he zipped up his jacket and decided the walk would be good for him to clear his head. With each step closer to her house, the anger built. He hadn't asked for a permanent relationship with a woman who'd drive him crazy. He liked to keep things simple, but she didn't know what simple was. He needed to confront her tonight and remind her that their relationship was about sex. Just sex.

He also needed to give Pinky back.

Kate had returned. Robert was to go home, and that would leave Arilyn available to take Pinky. Hell, he'd warned her it was temporary anyway, and Pinky would do better there. Much better than carting her around to the station and in the squad car. Better than sneaking her hamburgers and allowing her to sleep in bed with him as if she were a person.

Better than him.

The light shone brightly on Arilyn's front porch. He walked up the path, noting her top step needed repairing and the bungalow could use a fresh coat of paint. The screen in the window was still torn. He meant to replace it last week before the winter kicked in. Stone knocked on the door.

When she opened it, he lost his breath.

God, she was beautiful. She'd changed into a cotton nightgown with little pink roses on them. Old-fashioned. But delicate lace edged a low scoop neckline, emphasizing smooth white skin and a hint of cleavage. The fabric clung to her so he could clearly see the outline of her lithe body. Her hair was loose and wild, falling to her hips. Feet bare. Face scrubbed of makeup. She stared at him for a few moments. Then smiled.

Stone tightened his stomach muscles as if he had taken a hard punch to the gut. Had he ever met another woman who stopped his heart cold and filled him up with emotion? Just being around her made him damn happy. Her smile gave everything she was and asked for nothing in return.

The weight on his chest pressed harder, until he wasn't able to pant, let alone breathe.

Arilyn reached out, took his hand, and pulled him inside.

"Did you have fun playing pool?"

He studied her in moody silence. His head felt like it was cracking open, and she was trying to be polite. "What the hell are we doing, Arilyn?"

She dropped his hand and took a step back. He cursed when he saw the hurt flash in those meadow-green eyes, but he was too far gone. "Don't you know yet?" she said softly. "I do."

He rubbed his scalp and began to pace. "Actually, I know what the plan was. Have great sex. Date. A few laughs. But lately it's been more than that. I'm feeling pressure and I don't know if this is working out."

He waited for her thoughtful response and her need for a dialogue. Instead, she grabbed his arm, yanked at him, and got in his face.

"Don't give me those lame excuses because you got spooked!" she shot back. "The only pressure you're feeling right now is from yourself. I didn't ask for this, either, buddy, but here it is, and I'm going to deal with it!"

He sneered and leaned in. "I knew you'd start spinning cozy fantasies about us. How many times do I have to tell you I'm no good for the long term?"

"Bullshit." She shoved at his chest in pure fury. "So you're divorced? Big deal. So you're a cop? Big deal. So you like to go shoot pool with the guys every Friday night? Oooh, so scary! I didn't put any pressure on you, and I don't intend to. But I'm not going to pussyfoot around the big bad cop and not be honest about my feelings. I've done that enough with my ex."

"Don't compare me to him again!" he yelled. "He's a son of a bitch who never deserved you!"

"Neither do you if you keep acting like an ass!"

"I know!"

They fell silent, panting, the energy building and raging around them. The sexual connection crackled like a live wire, and then he was pulling her against his chest and his lips slammed down over hers and he was drowning.

He ripped down her bodice and shoved her gown up to her waist. She moaned in the back of her throat, clawing at his jeans, her mouth opening wide to the thrust of his tongue. Stone tore off her panties, yanked her leg up, and drove his fingers deep into her core.

She cried out. He lowered his forehead to hers while his fingers sunk into wet, burning heat. He curled his middle finger just the way she liked it until he hit the sweet spot and she shuddered violently. "I gotta have you now," he gritted out, frantically searching for the condom he always kept in his pocket.

"Quickly," she urged. Another shudder caught her and a rush of liquid coated his hand. She fumbled, then her hand closed around his erection, stroking, guiding him to the sweetness between her thighs. "I can't wait."

In two seconds, he donned the condom, lifted her leg higher, and buried himself deep inside.

Mine.

Everything in him shifted, falling into place, giving him a sense of rightness at the same time his body practically wept with the need to claim her. He couldn't be gentle or slow, but she matched him thrust for thrust, her short nails digging into his shoulders, her back slammed against the wall, moans being ripped from her throat as she bit into his bottom lip and hung on.

He fucked her, possessed her, and fell in love with her in that moment.

Then he came.

Her cries in his ear told him she was right there with him, and they fell into each other with no safety net, her body s

haking as he pulled her tight and held her. Whispered in her ear. Stroked her hair.

Surrendered.

"I love you."

Her voice drifted up, over, and around him. Simplicity and truth and elegance in those three little words. Stone held her tight, but his throat closed up and there was nothing to say.

"I know you don't like it. Maybe you don't even believe me. I know it's fast and complicated and messes up a great affair. I'm not even asking for the words back. But I love you. Every part, good and bad. I love your big heart, and your crankiness, and your loyalty. I love your work ethic, and the way you deal with the world, and the way you look at me. I just love you."

Half-naked, still inside her, her musky arousal rose to his nostrils like the sweetest of perfumes. Stone closed his eyes and spoke.

"The night my father pushed my mother down the stairs, I found out she was pregnant. It was supposed to be a surprise. She hit the fifteen-week mark, and when I got home from school, she took me aside and told me I'd have a brother or sister."

He paused in the shattering silence. Then continued. "I was so happy. Things had been good for a while, and I thought my father would change once he heard. I was so lonely that I fantasized about having a sibling to take care of. To talk to at night. I imagined we'd be close, and it would be us against the world. I swore that day I'd protect the baby. But that didn't happen. Instead, he came home drunk that night and went at my mom with a baseball bat. Said she was keeping secrets from him and thought she was having an affair. She told him about the pregnancy, but he didn't believe her. Too late anyway. I tried to stop him, but she fell and broke her neck and lost the baby and I didn't have anyone anymore."

Something eased in his chest as the words spilled forth. Her arms held him tight, and he buried his lips in her hair, and it wasn't as bad as he had thought it would be. No one had ever known about that part. And he'd decided if it was his own secret, the pain and guilt would just go away. He couldn't protect his mother or the unborn baby. He couldn't protect anyone.

"That night in the Bronx," Arilyn said. "When you shot that man, and beat him up. The wife was pregnant, wasn't she?"

"Yeah. Five months. The baby was okay, though. She got lucky."