Reunited (8 page)

But that wasn't the worst. She was, in her mother's words, a-- "Slut," she muttered. "My mother was right. A man won't value what you give away for free." It was the old cow and milk story, but the original was too crude for Fiona McClain to pass along to her innocent daughter.

Keely sat up and tossed aside the covers. She wasn't going to wait all day long for the inevitable. Men didn't call back after one-night stands. They didn't take their one-night stands to dinner and they certainly didn't date them. As for love and marriage, that was one fantasy she knew would never follow a one-night stand. After all, what were you supposed to say to the wedding guests when they asked how the happy couple met? "Oh, we ran into each other on the street and hopped into the sack a few hours later," Keely murmured. "What a sweet story."

"Be practical," she muttered. "We'll have dinner tonight and come back here and do it all over and then there'll be that uncomfortable moment when neither one of us will know what to say." And then she'd never see him again.

She crawled out of bed and began to gather up her clothes. Three hours' sleep was not enough, but it would have to be. She was going to leave Boston and this fantasy that she'd stumbled into, and return to reality in the Big Apple.

"It was a wonderful little detour," Keely assured herself. "But I have more important things to think about right now."

She'd go home, regroup, and try to put Rafe Kendrick out of her head. And then, when she was ready, she'd come back to Boston and introduce herself to her family. She anticipated a big "I told you so" from her mother. But why did she have to tell her mother anything? Fiona had kept her share of secrets. And as far as her parish priest went, what happened between her and Rafe was exactly that--between her and Rafe!

A knock sounded at the door and Keely froze, her underwear clutched in her hand. She tiptoed over to the door and peered out the peephole, thinking that perhaps Rafe had returned. But a uniformed bellboy was standing outside with a small white box. Keely hurried back to the bed, grabbed a sheet and wrapped it around her. Then she opened the door.

"Miss McClain? This was delivered for you."

Keely took the box, then glanced over her shoulder. "Wait, I'll get you a--"

"No need," the bellboy said. "It's been taken care of."

Keely shrugged, then closed the door. She walked slowly back to the bed, then sat on the edge as she opened the box. Her breath caught as a glorious scent drifted into the air. A perfect bouquet of sweet peas in pretty pastel colors was nestled in the box. Last night, she'd mentioned that sweet peas were her favorite flower, but she'd never expected him to remember that. She pulled the bouquet out, only to find a lacy handkerchief folded beneath with a card resting on top.

Keely pulled the card from the envelope. "Until tonight," she read. "Rafe." She fingered the fine handkerchief and smiled. It was a perfect memory of their meeting.

She flopped back on the bed and groaned. Just when she thought she had this all figured out, Rafe had to do something romantic. Why couldn't he act like all the other one-night stands out there--scared, guilty, and ready to move on to the next woman? Grabbing the bouquet, she held it to her nose and inhaled. As the scent filled the air, her thoughts drifted back to Rafe. She wondered what he was doing at exactly that moment. Was he staring out a plane window, reliving last night in his mind? Or was he already trying to figure out a way to gracefully cancel their dinner date?

"You're not making this easy, Rafe Kendrick," she murmured. "Not easy at all."

"M
R
. K
ENDRICK
,
I've got Mr. Arledge on the line from Telles and Associates."

Rafe stared out the window of his office, his gaze fixed on a scull as it skimmed over the gray water of the Charles. The weather was turning colder and, before long, even the most die-hard rowers would be off the river.

Kencor occupied an entire floor of the high-rise, and from various vantage points in the office suite, he could see across the river basin to Cambridge, or out into Boston Harbor, and even across the harbor to Logan. When he first bought the building, he felt as if he were on the top of the world. But now the views didn't seem to hold much interest. Maybe he'd become too jaded to appreciate how high he'd climbed.

"Mr. Kendrick?"

Rafe turned around. His secretary, Sylvie Arnold, stood in the doorway. Sylvie had been with him from the start, his very first employee when he opened his first office. They'd developed an efficient working relationship and an odd personal relationship. If he had had a big sister, that sister would probably have been a lot like Sylvie. She was coolheaded in contrast to his mercurial moods, sympathetic when he was unforgiving, laid-back when all he could do was drive himself harder and harder.

Though they'd both grown up in blue-collar families, he'd worked hard to fashion himself into a worldly man. Sylvie still had a bit of neighborhood in her, a feisty, scrappy attitude that he respected. She was only a few years older, but there were times when he felt like a kid next to her. She'd already experienced so much more of life than he had. She had a life outside work, a husband and two kids.

"Mr. Kendrick?"

He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. "Yes, I know. Can you tell him I'll call him back later?"

"I'm sorry, but you're the one who called him. Or I did, at your request. You wanted to know about that property in Southie. You told me to call him at 3:00 p.m. and it's three now."

Rafe slowly turned. "I don't want to talk to him, Sylvie. In fact, I really don't want to talk to anyone right now. Hold all my calls. And cancel all my meetings."

She nodded, then walked out of the office. Rafe stared after her, a frown furrowing his brow. He'd known Sylvie for nearly ten years. She was a beautiful woman, yet he'd never once found himself attracted to her in any way beyond platonic or professional. What was it that made one woman undeniably alluring while another caused nothing more than brief consideration?

His mind returned again to Keely McClain, to the night they'd spent together nearly a month ago. He cursed softly at the unbidden images that flashed in his head. How many times had he thought of her over the past weeks? And how many times had he pushed those thoughts right out of his head, hoping to forget her?

His desk was covered with computer printouts and department reports. He sat down and began to sort through them, determined to focus on current business rather than old...pleasures.

"I'm sorry to interrupt again."

Rafe glanced up. "No, it's all right, Sylvie."

She held up a box. "These just arrived." She walked in and closed the door behind her, then set the box on his desk. "I thought you might want to see if they fit before you took them home."

Rafe reached out and pulled the top off the shoe box. Beneath the tissue paper was a brand-new pair of loafers he'd ordered from Milan, to replace the shoes Keely had ruined. Christ, as if he didn't have enough reminders of her already, now he had fine Italian footwear. If he were a superstitious man, he might think she was haunting him. "I'll try them on later." He pushed the box aside.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" Sylvie said. "Because you've been having a hard time getting things done lately. And you've been in a black mood for a month."

"I've been busy," Rafe said.

"You were supposed to review that stack of reports by last Friday and you haven't. Both Elliot and Samuelson have called wondering if they have the go-ahead on their projects."

"Maybe if you'd take that damn promotion I offered you, then
you
could read the damn reports," Rafe muttered.

Sylvie clucked her tongue, shook her head, then held out her hand. "Pay up," she said. "Ten dollars times two."

"
Damn
is not a curse word," Rafe said. "We've had this discussion before."

She wiggled her fingers. "Pay up, Rafe."

"That's Mr. Kendrick to you," he corrected as he pulled out his wallet and withdrew a pair of ten-dollar bills.

Her brown eyes sparkled with amusement. "Only when I'm within earshot of other employees. Remember, I knew you back when you owned three properties and couldn't get a bank to loan you a nickel so you'd have two to rub together." She paused, her expression turning serious. "Is it your mother?"

"She's fine." He shook his head. "And I meant to thank you for the flowers you sent for her birthday."

"Then is it the business?"

Rafe shook his head. "Really, it's nothing. I've just been traveling too much lately. Too much time sleeping on planes. Too many strange hotel rooms. I just need some rest."

In truth, whenever he tried to sleep, he found himself thinking about Keely. She was like a drug. Now that he'd had a taste, he wanted more. But he thought if he fought the cravings hard enough, they'd go away.

He'd gone over that night again and again in his head. It wasn't the sex, though that had been pretty great. And it wasn't because she was some gorgeous piece of ass, though she was nice to look at. It was how she'd made him feel. For those few moments in just a single evening, he'd let down his guard, he'd forgotten all his anger and he'd been happy.

And then, he'd left for Detroit and returned to find her gone. There had been no answer in her room and when he had inquired at the desk, the clerk had informed him that Keely McClain had checked out early that morning. The note she'd left him only said that she had to get back to New York and that she'd call him the next time she was in Boston.

So she had waltzed out of his life as quickly as she'd waltzed in. And look where it had gotten him. This was the end of it. From now on, Keely McClain was part of his past, a past not worth dwelling on. "You know, you could help me out," Rafe suggested. "Make some dinner reservations for tonight for two. Someplace quiet...romantic. Then call Elaine Parrish and tell her I'll pick her up at seven."

The only way to put Keely McClain out of his head would be to replace her with another woman, someone prettier, more adventurous in bed. And the sooner the better.

"I'm afraid that wouldn't be a good idea," Sylvie said.

"Why not?"

"Elaine announced her engagement three months ago. I read it in the paper."

"Then find someone else. Anyone, I don't care."

"Maybe that's your problem," Sylvie commented.

Rafe sent her a stern look. "Just do it. And take these shoes. Give them to your husband. If they don't fit him, give them to the Salvation Army. Just get them out of my sight."

She grabbed the box and tucked it under her arm. "Right away, Mr. Kendrick."

But before she got to the door, Rafe stopped her. "One more thing. They're having a party at my mother's hospital," he lied. "I told the staff that I'd arrange for the refreshments. I thought a cake might be nice. And some of that...you know, you put it in a big bowl and--"

"Punch?" Sylvie asked.

"Right." He paused. "And I was reading about this person in New York who makes unusual cakes for parties. I think the name was McClain. I'm pretty sure her bakery is located in Brooklyn. Can you see if you can track down a number? But don't call--let me. I'd like to discuss what she can do."

Sylvie's eyebrow shot up. "Since when do you talk to cake decorators?"

"Just find out more," Rafe ordered. "And if I were you, I'd think about taking that promotion. Before I fire you for insubordination."

"You've been offering me a promotion for five years and I've been giving you crap for twice as long. And you haven't fired me yet."

Rafe held out his hand and wiggled his fingers. "Ten dollars. If
damn
is a curse word then so is
crap.
"

She slapped a ten into his hand, then stalked out of the office. He was glad Sylvie didn't want another job. He wasn't sure he'd be able to get along without her. Rafe leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. But a few seconds later, his intercom buzzed. He reached over and punched the button. "Yes, Mrs. Arnold. What is it?"

"I have a number. I found a McClain's Bakery in Brooklyn and they do make party cakes."

Rafe sat up straight. He wasn't sure whether he wanted Keely's number. Just a few minutes ago, he'd decided to move on, to find another woman to occupy his thoughts.

"Mr. Kendrick?"

"Just hold on to it for a while," Rafe finally said. "I'll let you know if I need her--I mean, it. The number."

He sighed, then raked his fingers through his hair. His gaze fell on a stack of file folders sitting on the corner of the desk. "Quinns," he murmured. He'd collected all the information he needed to put his plan into action, yet in the past month he hadn't done anything to further his aims.

From now on, he intended to keep his eye on the ball. Nothing, not even Keely McClain, would keep him from his plans this time.

K
EELY FINGERED
the claddagh pendant hanging around her neck, running her thumb over the emeralds as if they might bring her good luck. She'd come back to Boston to meet her family and tonight she'd do just that. She'd walk into Quinn's Pub, have a beer and introduce herself. And no matter what happened, she'd live with the consequences.

Smoothing her palms over the wool jacket she wore, she started toward the entrance to the bar. "Hi, my name is Keely Quinn and I'm your daughter." She groaned. "I can't just blurt it out like that. I have to have a more subtle approach. Maybe I can get him talking about his family. I'll ask him about his wife and then when I see an opening, I'll take it."

Her stomach did a little flip, but she refused to allow it to get the better of her. Instead, she paused and took a deep breath until the nausea passed. She hadn't had any coffee for a whole week, choosing milk instead to stave off the threat of throwing up in public. Gritting her teeth, she yanked open the door of the pub and stepped inside.

The place was crowded, noisy and hazy with cigarette smoke. No one bothered to look at her as she walked over to the bar. And she tried not to look at the patrons, wanting to stay as anonymous as possible. An empty stool near the end of the bar beckoned and she quickly took a seat, placing her purse in front of her.

She held her breath, waiting for someone behind the bar to notice her. Seamus was there, along with two younger men she knew were two of her brothers. The resemblance was striking, the same dark hair that she had, the same golden-green eyes. She saw her mother in each of them, in the playful way their mouths quirked up when they smiled. Seamus was the one who approached and she sat up straight and prayed that her voice wouldn't tremble when she spoke.

"What can I get ya, lass?"

Even now she could see the man that her mother had fallen in love with. If he had been half as handsome as the other two behind the bar, then he must have been irresistible. Keely swallowed hard. "I'd like a beer."

"A Guinness, then?"

"Yes. A Guinness would be fine."

He returned a few moments later with a huge glass of dark brown brew, topped by a head of pale foam. With a flick of his fingers, he tossed a coaster down in front of her and set the glass on top of it. "That's a lot of beer," Keely said with a weak smile.

"It's a pint. You look like a lass who can handle it," he said, his Irish accent thick. "Drink up now."

He made to walk away and Keely scrambled to find something to say to keep him at her end of the bar. "So is this your place?" she asked.

"That it is," Seamus said. He grabbed a towel from behind the bar and began to polish a rack of glasses. "Quinn's Pub. That's me. Quinn." He cocked his head at the two younger men at the other end of the bar. "My sons. They help me out."

"Have you always had the pub?"

He shook his head. "I used to captain a long-liner. Fished for sword on the Grand Banks."

"A fishing boat," Keely said. "That must have been dangerous."

"It was a good life for a younger man," he said in a wistful tone.

"Hey, Seamus, ya ol' gombeen! Gimme a pint!"

Seamus glanced over his shoulder, then walked away from Keely without another word. She sighed softly before taking a long sip of her Guinness. "Well, that went pretty well," she murmured. He didn't seem like such a bad guy. After her mother had painted a picture of a dissolute, irresponsible husband, Keely wasn't sure what to expect. But Seamus seemed like the kind of man who might welcome her arrival. After all, she was his only daughter.

Irish music blared from the jukebox and Keely gradually felt more comfortable in her surroundings. She drank her Guinness as fast as she could so that she could order another glass. Sean and Liam prowled the length of the bar--she'd gleaned their names from shouting patrons anxious for a refill. Liam was the youngest, the closest to Keely in age, and she felt a special connection to him. Had they spent a childhood together, they may have become best friends.

"Another?" Liam asked.

Keely pushed her glass toward him. "Make it a half-pint this time." If she didn't slow down, she'd be drunk before she said another word to Seamus.

But when Liam returned, he wasn't carrying a glass of Guinness. Instead, he placed a champagne flute in front of her and filled it with sparkling water. "What's this?" Keely asked, an uneasy feeling settling in her stomach.

"That guy down there wanted to buy you a drink." Liam shrugged. "This is what he said you'd like."

Keely leaned over the bar and looked down the length of it. Her heart stopped the moment her gaze met his. "Oh, God." She quickly leaned back and cursed softly. Rafe Kendrick was the last person she expected to see.