Keely.
Rafe rolled over onto his side and drew Keely close, burying his face in the curve of her neck. He felt the need to say something, to tell her how incredible it had been between them. But then, she'd been right there with him and he was certain she knew. He closed his eyes and sighed. Rafe had always considered obsession with sexual pleasure to be a weakness in a man.
But now he understood that it wasn't a weakness at all, especially when the pleasure had been shared with the right woman.
KEELY SLOWLY opened her eyes. At first, she wasn't sure where she was. Then, as her head cleared, she realized that she was in Boston…in her hotel room…with-
Keely cursed softly. She slowly slid her hand out to her side, searching for the warmth of a body next to her. But the sheets were cold. She turned her head, holding her breath, to find the bed empty. Resting on the pillow was a folded sheet of hotel stationery. She sat up and snatched the paper from the pillow, then quickly skimmed the note from Rafe. He had to leave before daybreak to catch his flight to Detroit and didn't want to wake her. He'd see her that evening when he got back.
Keely ran her fingers through her hair and groaned. 'What was I thinking? As if I didn't have enough crap going on in my life already.' She'd never-not once-done anything quite so impulsive and reckless as she had last night. She usually waited until she got to know someone before she jumped into bed. After all, she was a good Catholic girl!
A shiver skittered down her spine at the thought of what had happened last night. The passion, the need, was so undeniable, so powerful, that she'd been unable to resist. The moment Rafe had kissed her, she'd lost all capacity to deny him-or to deny herself. Keely had always enjoyed sex, but never as much as she had last night.
She'd actually experienced what all the magazines talked about. Multiple orgasms-shattering, breathtaking, the kind that made her dizzy just remembering them. And she hadn't had to do anything to make it happen except close her eyes and enjoy the ride. She wondered exactly how she'd handle that little revelation in confession.
Keely covered her face with her hands, feeling her cheeks warm. The things she'd done last night were so wonderfully sinful. Yet she couldn't feel an ounce of guilt. For once, she'd followed her impulses and gotten exactly what she wanted-pure unadulterated pleasure.
But this wasn't the time to throw herself into a passionate affair. Ever since returning from Ireland, her life had been turned upside down. She wasn't even sure who she was or where she belonged. Maybe last night had been a reaction to that-the ultimate rebellion.
Or maybe hopping into bed with a stranger was something that came from the Quinn side, those wild, unpredictable strains of DNA lurking in her body. Maybe they didn't go to church every Sunday, maybe they hadn't been to confession in years. And maybe they followed their own wanton desires. The apple didn't fall far from the tree, did it?
She flopped back on the bed and covered her eyes with her arm. She didn't really care what other people thought of her. The only real horror was thinking about what Rafe Kendrick thought of her! No doubt, he'd experienced a number of one-night stands with a number of promiscuous women-maybe even two at a time. He was a sophisticated and worldly man. She must have appeared so…eager.
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.'
CHAPTER FOUR
'MR. KENDRICK, 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
