Reunited

“Conor, Dylan, Brendan. Sean, Brian, Liam.” She paused. “And Keely.”

A tiny smiled curled the corners of her mouth. “Keely Quinn,” she said. It sounded right. Though she’d spent her life calling herself Keely McClain, Keely Quinn was her real name and it was time to start thinking of herself as someone with a real family—a father, a mother and six brothers.

She quickly formulated a timetable for herself, a habit that was a necessity in her career and now came in handy in her personal life. In a few weeks, she’d come back to Quinn’s Pub, walk inside and buy a drink. And a few weeks after that, maybe she’d speak to her father or one of her brothers. Now was the time for restraint, not recklessnesss.

By Christmas, Keely was determined that her family would know she existed. They didn’t have to accept her at first. In truth, she didn’t expect a tearful reunion and declarations of love. She expected shock and confusion and maybe a bit of resentment. But sooner or later, she would have the family that she always wanted.

With a soft sigh, Keely took a final look at the front door of Quinn’s Pub. This had been enough for one day. She’d found her father’s pub and maybe even seen one of her brothers. She’d go back to her hotel and get a good night’s sleep and come back to Boston another time. But the excitement of her discovery was too much to keep to herself. She’d made a promise to her mother to call as soon as she found her father and brothers. Keely reached into her purse and grabbed her cell phone, then punched in the phone number of her mother’s apartment.

Fiona would have left the shop around six. By seven, she was usually preparing her dinner and, by eight, she had settled comfortably in her favorite chair with an Agatha Christie mystery. Keely’s mind raced as she tried to decide what she’d say. Should she sound excited or should she keep her tone indifferent? Her mother picked up the phone on the other end.

“Mama?” Keely said, her voice trembling. “Mama, I found them.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Then you talked to Seamus?” Fiona asked.

“No, not yet. But I will. Soon.”

“Come home, Keely.”

“You know I can’t. I have to go now, Ma. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She snapped her phone closed and tossed it on the seat beside her. Then Keely reached for the ignition. But at the last minute, she changed her mind. She’d come all this way. Why not go inside now? She could walk through the door and ask to use the ladies’ room. Or maybe pretend to make a phone call. What did she have to lose? And if everything went all right, she’d just introduce herself.

The impulse was too strong to resist. “I can do this,” she said as she grabbed the keys and stepped out of the car. “I’ve come this far.”

She hurried back across the street, then smoothed her hair before starting up the front steps. But, suddenly, her doubts got the better of her. The second step was almost painful. When she reached the third step, she could see through the wide plate-glass window into the interior of the bar. Her gaze scanned the crowd and then came to rest on a white-haired man behind the bar.

The door opened and a couple stumbled outside, allowing voices to drift out into the night. She stepped aside, her gaze still fixed on the older man. Then Keely heard a patron shout the name of Seamus and the white-haired man raised his hand and waved to an unseen patron on the other side of the bar.

The reality of the situation hit her. Seamus was a flesh-and-blood man, not just a fantasy. Her stomach lurched and she grabbed the railing and hurried back down the steps. She only made it halfway down the block before her nausea overwhelmed her. “Oh, bloody hell,” she murmured as she bent over against a nearby car and tried to breath deeply.

If she ever expected to meet her father and brothers, she’d have to get control of her nerves! She wasn’t a child anymore, plagued with doubts and confusion. And she wasn’t a teeanager, riddled with guilt. This wasn’t like letting the air out of Father Julian’s bicycle tires or dropping a rotten tomato off the roof of the school at Sister Bertina or smoking cigarettes in the janitor’s closet. She deserved to be able to meet her family and know them without all this upset.

Keely turned away from the car, but her head began to swim. She closed her eyes. “Breathe,” she murmured to herself. “Breathe.”

RAFE SAW HER as he walked down the street toward his car. He stopped and glanced back over his shoulder, then slowly looked around. There was no one else on the street. Though he didn’t think twice about his own safety in Southie, a single woman on a dark street was a much more vulnerable target.

She was bent over, leaning back against the side of a car, her hands braced on her knees. He slowly approached and stood in front of her. “Are you all right?”

She glanced up at him, her wide gaze meeting his. For an instant, his breath caught in his throat. He’d expected one of the women who’d been hanging out at the bar. But this woman—or maybe “girl” was a more appropriate description—wasn’t exactly the type who hung out at Quinn’s. She wasn’t dressed in skintight jeans. She wore a black leather jacket, a tapered black skirt that showed off a fair amount of leg, and a T-shirt that clung to her curves.

The harsh light from the streetlamps revealed a flawless complexion, untainted by heavy makeup and bright lipstick. And her hair, damp from the rain, was actually a color that appeared to be quite natural. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

She held out her hand and opened her mouth as if to speak. But then she moaned softly, bent over, and immediately threw up on his Italian loafers. “Oh, hell,” she murmured. “Oh, bloody, bloody hell. I’m so sorry I—I didn’t mean to do that.”

Startled by her response, Rafe had no choice but to reach into his pocket and pull out a handkerchief. His mother had taught him from a young age that a gentleman always carried a handkerchief and it had been advice he’d never truly understood—until now. A guy never knew when a beautiful woman might throw up on his shoes.

She slowly straightened, then took the handkerchief from his fingers. She pressed it to her lips. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she murmured.

“Maybe you’ve had a little too much to drink?” Rafe suggested.

She shook her head. “No. It’s just…nerves.”

He nodded. “Right.”

“No, really,” she insisted. “I’ve just been a little upset lately. And I haven’t been eating well, or sleeping at all. And between all the antacids and the coffee, I just…all my stress seems to end up in my stomach.” She paused. “But then you’re really not interested in that, are you.”

“Can I call you a cab?” Rafe asked.

She shook her head. “No. I’ll be all right. My car is just down the street.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” Rafe said.

“Do what?”

“Drive,” he said. “Either you allow me to call you a cab or you allow me to drive you wherever you’re going.”

“I’m perfectly able to—”

Rafe held out his hand to silence her. “Come on. It’s cold out here. We can wait in my car for the cab.” He reached down, grabbed her hand, and tucked it in the crook of his arm. Then he slowly walked with her down the block. When they reached his Mercedes sedan, he turned off the alarm and opened the passenger side door. She hesitated for a moment.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “If you want to, we can stand out here. Or we can go back inside the bar.”

“No!” she said. “No, I don’t want to go back to the bar.” She shivered, then rubbed her arms. Suddenly, she looked like she was going to throw up again. “Put your head down,” he suggested. He gently pressed his hand against her back until she bent over at the waist. Then he took his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed the number for his security office at Kencor.

“This is Rafe. I want you to send a car around to Quinn’s Pub in Southie. Have the driver look for my Mercedes. I’m parked about a block away.” Rafe flipped the phone off, then slipped it back into his pocket. “It’ll just be a few minutes.” He leaned into the car and grabbed a bottle of water, then handed it to the woman. “Here,” he said. “To settle your stomach.”

“Thanks,” she said, still bent over.

“What’s your name?”

She straightened and took a tiny sip of the water. “Keely. McClain.” She swallowed hard. “Keely McClain. What’s yours?”

“Raphael Kendrick,” he replied. “Rafe.”

“Raphael. Like the artist.” She took another sip, then drew a deep breath. “Well, thank you, Raphael. But I feel much better now. I think I can drive back to my hotel on my own.”

“I’ve sent for a car.”

“But how will I get my car back?” Keely asked.

“I’ll take care of that. Where are you staying?”

“Downtown. At the Copley Plaza.”

“And what were you doing in this part of town? Southie is a long way from the Copley Plaza.”

She looked away, staring off down the street. “I was here to meet someone.” She glanced back at him. “How about you?”

“I was just having a drink at Quinn’s Pub.”

“Really? Do you drink there often?”

Rafe chuckled and shook his head. “No, not often.” He stared down at her for a long moment. Christ, she was beautiful. The more he looked at her, the more he was struck by that fact. He usually wasn’t attracted to her type, a quirky bohemian. But for some reason, he found himself fascinated by the color of her eyes, her upturned nose and her Cupid’s bow mouth, the way her short-cropped hair curled against her face.

She was small, no taller than five-five, and he was certain he could have spanned her waist with his hands. Her hair was tousled by the wind and damp, making it appear as if she’d just stepped out of the shower and arranged it with her fingers. And her features were nearly perfect, delicate and refined, from the tip of her nose to her impish smile. Though she looked young, he guessed she was about twenty-three or twenty-four, tops.

“So, why don’t you tell me what you’re doing here in Boston, Keely McClain?”

“I’m here on personal business,” she said. “Family business.”

“That sounds a bit mysterious.”

“It really isn’t,” she replied. She held out the handkerchief. “I can get back on my own. Really, I’m not drunk and I’m feeling much better now.”

Rafe was loath to let her go. But he had to admit that she didn’t appear to be drunk at all, just a little bit queasy. His mind scrambled for a logical reason to make her stay, but at some point in the last few minutes, he’d lost his ability to think clearly. “All right,” he said. “But you have to promise that if you start to feel sick again, you’ll pull over.”

“I don’t think I’ll have much choice on that,” Keely said.

Rafe took her hand. “Where’s your car? I’ll walk you there.”

Keely pointed down the block. They walked slowly and when he sent her a sideways glance, he caught her looking up at him.

“What is it?” Rafe asked.

“I don’t know. It’s just that you’re…nice. I didn’t think there were men like you left in the world. You know, chivalrous?”

“You puked on my shoes,” Rafe said. “What was I supposed to do? Keep walking?”

Keely winced, and in the meager light he saw a slight blush color her already rosy cheeks. “Your shoes. Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll buy you a new pair. Tell me, how much did they cost and where did you get them?”

Rafe shook his head. “That’s not necessary.”

“But it is,” Keely insisted. “You can’t wear them after I threw up on them.”

“I have plenty of other shoes at home that I can wear,” Rafe countered.

“But I insist,” Keely said.

God, she could be exasperating! But she was so damn beautiful when she was, her eyes bright, her color high. He was almost tempted to yank her into his arms and kiss her just to get her to shut up and accept his refusal. “All right,” Rafe said. “They’re handmade Italian. I think I paid a couple of thousand for them in Milan.”

Keely stopped short and her jaw dropped. “What? I threw up on two-thousand-dollar shoes? Oh, shit.” She clutched her stomach and bent over. “Two thousand dollars? I’m going to be sick again.” While she was bent over, she tried to wipe at the shoes with his handkerchief.

Rafe pulled her upright. “I was teasing,” he lied. “I think I got them downtown. And I never pay more than a couple of hundred for shoes.”

“And handkerchiefs?” she asked.

“I’ll toss that one in for free.”

They reached her car much sooner than he wanted to. He took the keys from her fingers, unlocked the driver’s side door, and pulled it open. She stepped around the door, then turned to him, her fingers clutching the top. “So, where should I send the money for the shoes?” she asked.

Rafe reached in his pocket for his wallet and withdrew one of his business cards. She stared at it for a long moment then smiled. “All right then, Rafe Kendrick. I guess I should thank you for your kindness.”

“No problem,” Rafe said.

“Good. Well…goodbye.” She quickly slipped into the car before he had a chance to consider kissing her. Reluctantly, he closed the driver’s side door and stepped away from the car. She started the Toyota, gave him a little wave, then pulled away from the curve.

Rafe stood in the street and watched as the taillights of her car disappeared down the street. He’d met a lot of women in his life in a lot of different places, but he’d never met a woman quite like Keely McClain. There had been no seductive flirtation, no coy glances and come-hither stares. She’d humiliated herself in front of him, yet he somehow found it charming. With her defenses down, he’d dropped his own. He’d been completely at ease with Keely McClain and he’d never really felt that way with a woman in his life.

“Then why the hell did you let her go?” Rafe asked himself. He started toward his car, and by the time he reached the Mercedes, he’d already decided. He wasn’t going to let her go. Nor was he going to trust her to contact him again. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he was certain that he’d see her again.

He pulled a U-turn in front of Quinn’s, then floored the accelerator, racing down the street after her. He’d just make sure she got back to her hotel safely and wish her good-night. And then, he’d casually ask her out to dinner. He’d never worried much about a woman accepting a date with him. If they did, he was usually pleased, and if they didn’t, he moved on to someone else.

But as Rafe drove toward the lights of downtown Boston, his thoughts weren’t on the Quinns or his need for revenge. Instead, he went over in his mind how best to ask Keely McClain out, the exact words he’d use to get her to say yes. Because, for the first time in his life, the answer would matter.

CHAPTER THREE

“YOU ARE SUCH a nitwit. A gorgeous hunk of man walks into your life and you just drive away. Have you forgotten that you haven’t had sex in nearly a year? That you’ve been reduced to watching music videos and wondering which of five guys in some boy band would be the best in bed? If you don’t take advantage of moments like those you’re going to end up lonely and completely celibate and turning to your seventeen cats for companionship. Come on, Keely, get a grip!”

She stared out the windshield of her car, waiting for the light to change, tapping her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. His card was in her jacket pocket. At least she had his name and number. If, after the excitement of the evening had worn off, she decided she wanted to see him again, she’d just call. Or maybe she’d personally deliver a new pair of shoes to his office.

“That won’t work,” she murmured. “I don’t know his size.”

One thing she did know was that Rafe Kendrick had nice taste in shoes. In truth, everything about Rafe was pretty nice, from his dark, smoldering eyes to his nearly black hair to his devastating smile. But it wasn’t just the way he looked. Rafe Kendrick was a true gentleman. After all, how many men would have been so kind and understanding?

She’d ruined a perfectly good pair of his shoes. And she knew they weren’t department store knock-offs. Rafe Kendrick dressed like a man who didn’t have to worry about maxing out his credit card on fine Italian footwear. From his leather jacket to his body-skimming sweater to his shoes, his appearance shouted sophistication and wealth.

She’d passed men like him every day on the streets of Manhattan, but she’d never considered those men her type. They were too handsome, too confident, too unattainable, the kinds of guys who made her feel naive and unschooled and clumsy.

There had been plenty of men in Keely’s life. Maybe that was the problem, there’d been too many and not a single one worth remembering. Once she’d reached legal age, she’d decided to wrest control of her social life from her mother and she’d never looked back. Along the way, there’d been a few serious relationships, but Keely had always grown bored and restless, certain there was a prince out there ready to replace the frog she was sleeping with.

She always went into a relationship looking for true love but she never seemed to find it. Her most recent “frog” had simply stopped calling and when she had finally got hold of him, he’d told her he was being transferred to New Zealand. Keely didn’t believe him and expected to see him any day now, shopping for fresh artichokes at D’Agostino or walking his dog in Central Park.

For some reason, the men in her life just never lived up to her fantasies…until now. Rafe Kendrick was pure fantasy material. A naughty, sweaty, erotic fantasy.

As she wove through downtown Boston, Keely replayed their encounter over and over again. He seemed to like her. In fact, he seemed to find her outrageous behavior charming. He’d been concerned for her safety and her health, and had teased her through one of the most embarrassing moments of her life. And when he’d touched her, her knees had gone all wobbly and her heart had begun to pound. Keely smiled to herself and began to hum a tune. When she realized it was “Someday My Prince Will Come,” she forced herself to stop.

After everything she’d been through the last month, she should know better than to allow herself to slip into another silly fantasy. Rafe Kendrick was just a man with all the flaws that came with his sex. All his money and good looks would soon fall away and she’d come to know him as the jerk he probably was. No doubt he’d charmed hundreds of women, promised to call the next day, then never had. And Keely was willing to bet that he had a date with two or three underwear models this very weekend.

She pushed those thoughts out of her mind and tried to focus on her next move with the Quinns. But images of Rafe Kendrick kept creeping back into her mind until she was certain she’d made the biggest mistake in her life by driving away from him.

Keely pulled the car up to the front entrance to the Copley Plaza and stepped out. She handed her keys to the parking attendant, then gave him a generous tip. As she turned to walk inside, she noticed a dark Mercedes pull up right behind her car. For a moment, she hesitated. There were a lot of black luxury sedans in Boston. She slowly walked toward the car. The door opened and Rafe Kendrick stepped out.

A tiny thrill raced through her. He’d followed her here. He was even more handsome than she remembered. And that memory was only minutes old! “I thought I told you I could get back on my own,” Keely said, unable to keep a smile from curling the corners of her mouth.

“I was just making sure you were all right,” Rafe countered. He leaned against his car and sent her a rakish smile. “Are you all right?”

Keely felt her blood warm and a flush creep up her cheeks. Here was her chance. “Would you like to join me inside for a drink?”

“A drink?” His eyebrow arched up. “Only if it’s a club soda.”

She laughed and patted her stomach. “That sounds good to me.”

“I’ll just park my car and I’ll meet you inside.”

A parking attendant jogged up to him. “I can park your car for you, sir.”

Rafe nodded, handed him the keys and then walked up to Keely. He placed his hand on the small of her back, the gesture oddly possessive. His touch sent another thrill coursing through Keely’s body and she steadied herself. Though she was as nervous as she’d been all day long, she didn’t feel sick now. She felt…exhilarated, full of anticipation. It felt good to have a man touch her again.

They walked inside, the doorman holding the door open for them both, then headed for the bar. The lobby of the Copley Plaza was as opulent as the rest of the hotel and one of the most elegant in Boston. Keely had decided she could afford one night there, especially since she’d come to Boston for such an important reason. But maybe it was fate that she’d made such a choice, rather than followed her usual practical impulse to find the cheapest room available at the nearest motor lodge.

The Plaza Bar was an inviting spot, furnished with leather chairs and comfy sofas and intimate tables. A jazz pianist played softly from a corner and Rafe steered her toward a sofa, then motioned to a cocktail waitress. He whispered something in the waitress’s ear and she nodded, then walked away.

Keely slowly sat down and he joined her, casually draping his arm over the back of the sofa. “This is a nice place,” she said, leaning into him ever so slightly, just until her shoulder touched his arm. “Have you been here before?”

Rafe nodded. “For business meetings. Are the rooms nice?”

“They’re very elegant.”

The waitress reappeared with their drinks. She set two crystal champagne flutes on the coffee table in front of them, then poured sparkling water from a small bottle into the flutes. Then she set a silver dish of strawberries and whipped cream down next to the drinks.

Keely giggled as she picked up one of the glasses and took a sip. “A very fine vintage. French, is it?”

“I thought you’d like it,” Rafe said. He leaned back and took a sip from his own glass. “So, I guess you should tell me something about yourself, Keely McClain. What do you do when you’re not throwing up on men’s shoes?”

“I bake cakes,” Keely replied as she munched on a strawberry.

“Cakes? A person can make a living baking cakes?”

“Sure. There’s no shortage of weddings and birthday parties and grand openings. And I have quite a reputation for designing unusual cakes. It’s kind of a family business. We have a bakery in Brooklyn. And what do you do?”

“Nothing quite so interesting,” he said. “I’m a businessman. I buy and sell buildings.” His fingers toyed with a strand of her hair, and for a moment, Keely couldn’t think. “You know, I’m a big fan of cake,” he murmured.

“Then I’ll have to bake you one.” At first, she regretted the offer. She was acting as if they’d see each other again after tonight. But why hide her desire? She was attracted to Rafe Kendrick and she shouldn’t be afraid to let him know. “What’s your favorite flavor?” Keely held up her hand. “Wait, let me guess.” She studied him for a long moment. “I’m usually very good at this. It’s obvious that yellow cake would be too ordinary for you. Most people would automatically think that you’re a chocolate man, bold and intense, but everyone loves chocolate and you’re a guy who doesn’t follow the crowd. You don’t look like a coconut man—too trendy. I’d peg you as a banana man.”

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