Searching for Beautiful(142)

She looked down at the evidence of her love spell. If only he knew. She chucked it into the garbage and swore not to get spooked. Love spells didn’t work. Anyway, who cared how things happened? All she knew was the love of her life was all hers, and they were building a future together.

“The best kind of list. I love you.”

“Love you, too, sweetheart.”

He bent down and kissed her again, and everything was . . . beautiful.





acknowledgments

SO MANY PEOPLE to thank . . . so little space!

A big hug and thank-you to my fave editor, Lauren McKenna. You were right about delaying Wolfe’s book. The wait was so worth it!

Thanks to my agent, Kevan Lyon, for all her hard work.

Thanks to my dad for reminding me to write what I know, and telling me to change the setting to Saratoga Racetrack, one of the best places on earth. Our annual gambling outing is one of my favorite memories, and I hope it continues for a long time. Love you.

Cyber hugs to all my writing friends and conference buddies. A special shout-out to my Belles on Wheels Gallery bus sisters: Christina Lauren, Kristen Proby, Kresley Cole, S. C. Stephens, Alice Clayton, Kyra Davis, Emma Chase, Katy Evans, and our wonderful publicists, Kristin and Jules. Simply put, I made friends for life and had a hell of a good time doing it!

For my Probst Posse—the most rocking street team of all. Thanks for brainstorming and sharing this journey. I adore all of you.

To my family who puts up with me and the endless deadlines—I promise to cook next week! Really!

Finally, to my readers. You are the reason I do this. Thank you for reading my books.





Keep reading for an exclusive sneak peek of the fourth sizzling installment in the Searching For series,

searching for always

Coming summer 2015

from Gallery and Pocket Books!





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 to just clock in enough time to get the day done, lie 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 a 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.