now.' His voice dropped to a low tone, still rife with mockery. 'And wishing for a repeat performance.'
Keely grabbed the champagne flute and tossed the sparkling water into his face. 'We had sex! It was incredible. End of story. Are you satisfied now?'
Only after the words came out of her mouth, did she realize the impromptu beverage toss had rendered the patrons sitting at the bar silent-silent enough to hear her evaluation of their night together.
Liam moved from a spot a few feet away, ready to intercede. Mortified, Keely laid some money on the bar, grabbed her purse and headed toward the door. The last thing she wanted was to cause a scene, especially in front of her father and brothers. They'd think she was some low-class hussy before they even got to know her.
When she reached the street, she drew a shaky breath and tried to keep her hands from trembling. How dare he? Both of them knew what they were getting into that night. If he had any illusions about her feelings, she'd done nothing to confirm them.
Keely heard the door open behind her and turned around. Rafe stood on the top step. She swallowed hard. Why did he have to be so incredibly sexy? Why couldn't she have had a one-night stand with an ordinary guy? 'Stay away from me,' she warned.
He slowly walked toward her, his hands held out in mock surrender. 'I'm sorry. I don't know why the hell I said that. Go ahead-go back inside. I'm leaving. End of story.'
'What's wrong with you?' Keely demanded. 'What gives you the right to be so angry at me? We shared a pleasant evening together and that's all. I'm sure you've spent pleasant evenings with lots of women before.' Even so, Keely wanted to believe that their evening together had ranked right up there near the top.
'You're absolutely right,' Rafe said. 'Just forget you ever saw me tonight. I'm leaving.'
He walked past her and headed into the darkness. Keely stared after him, fighting the urge to call out to him, to rush into his arms and do it all over again. What right did
A sudden realization made her heart skip a beat or two. Unless Rafe Kendrick didn't consider what they'd shared a one-night stand. 'Oh, bloody hell.' She bit her lip to keep a few more juicy expletives from coming out of her mouth.
'Well, you've done it now,' she murmured. 'Your very first one-night stand and you completely screw it up.' She walked down the steps. 'Someone should write a manual, record all the rules.'
She stared down the street, wondering if she should go after him and apologize. But what was she supposed to say? Sorry, I thoroughly enjoyed our night together, but I didn't think you enjoyed it as much as I did, so I left? She'd thought about him so many times over the past month, yet never once, even in her wildest fantasies, did she think he might actually feel something more for her than temporary lust. After all, her relationships with men usually tended to be one-sided. Either she cared too much or they did. There was never a mutual meeting in the middle.
She stopped halfway down the sidewalk and screamed in frustration. 'This is not what I came here for,' she shouted. 'I'm not here for my sex life-I'm here to find my family.' Keely turned to go back inside, but she knew she'd only be greeted with stares and whispers and speculation about her behavior.
She had planned to stay overnight and drive back to New York in the morning, but it was only ten. If she left now, she'd be back home by one. 'Next time,' she reassured herself. 'The next time I come, I'll tell them.'
As she walked toward her car, she half hoped that she'd find Rafe waiting. But the street was empty. She walked around the back of her car, then noticed that one of her tires was flat. Keely bent down and examined it closely. She found a perfect slice near the rim. She stood and glanced up and down the street. Someone had cut her tire deliberately. But who?
Rafe had disappeared in the direction of her car, but she couldn't believe he'd do anything so petty. What would his motivation be? To rescue her again? Or to force her to deal with her problems without his help? With a soft curse, Keely opened the trunk and began to rummage around for tools to change the tire.
She began with a tire iron and tried to work the lug nuts loose. But no matter how much she twisted and tugged, the nuts were frozen in place. 'Damn it!' She kicked the tire.
'Can I help?'
The sound of a voice behind her caused her to jump and a tiny scream slipped from her lips. She turned, clutching the tire iron in her fist, but recognized the man immediately. She'd seen him that first night in front of Quinn's, right before she'd met Rafe.
He held out his hands as if to calm her. 'It's all right. I'm a cop. I can help you.'
Keely clutched the tire iron tighter. Though she suspected that this might be one of her brothers, she wanted to be sure before she put down her weapon. 'Let me see your badge,' she demanded, trying hard to remain calm.
As requested, he reached into his back pocket and produced a leather case. When he held it open in front of her, Keely squinted to see his name in the dim light.
'See. Detective Conor Quinn. Boston P.D.'
She'd been right that very first night. This was her oldest brother! 'Quinn?'
'Yeah,' Conor said. 'My da owns Quinn's Pub.' He paused, his gaze examining her face shrewdly. 'You look familiar. Have we met?'
'No. Never,' Keely answered, shaking her head.
He asked her question after question, until she felt as if he were interrogating her, trying to get to the truth of why she was alone on a dark street in Southie so late at night. Thankfully, he finally decided she wasn't a criminal and offered to help her fix her tire.
Keely stood back and watched him, marveling at the ease at which he completed the task. 'You know, you could have just come into the bar,' he suggested, 'and used the phone to call a friend. You shouldn't be out on a dark street like this alone.' He stood up, brushed off his hands, then walked to the trunk and grabbed the spare.
'I don't have any friends,' Keely said 'I-I mean, not in the neighborhood. Not home. They're all…out.' Maybe if she began asking him questions, he'd stop asking her. 'So is the bar a family business?' She tried to make her tone casual, as if she was just mildly curious and not starving for the tiniest bit of information about her family.
Conor glanced over his shoulder. 'Me and my brothers all take turns working on the weekends.'
'Brothers? You have brothers? How many?'
He frowned as he slowly replaced the lug nuts. 'I have five brothers,' he said.
Keely smiled. 'Five brothers. I-I can't imagine having five brothers. What are their names?'
He stood, wiping grit from the knees of his jeans. Then he released the jack and the car slowly came down. 'Dylan, Brendan, Sean, Brian and Liam. They're all inside waiting for me. Why don't you come in? You can wash your hands and I'll buy you a soda.'
Keely had already decided to call it a night. But the offer was tempting. She could walk into Quinn's with her eldest brother and introduce herself and get it all over with. 'No.' She was not going to be guided by impulse. Telling her family would take time and careful planning. 'I have to go. I'm late.' Keely took the tire iron from his hand then quickly yanked the jack from beneath the bumper, tossing them both in the trunk before hopping back inside her car.
As she pulled away, she released a tightly held breath. For a night that had started so simply, it had certainly ended with high drama. She'd been caught in the middle of her own little soap opera-the secret daughter, a newfound family, a spurned lover. All she really needed was a touch of amnesia and a disfiguring accident and she'd have a complete plot.
KEELY PEERED into the mixing bowl as she dropped a blob of butter into the icing. The paddle spun round and round and she watched it, hypnotically, glad for the chance to give her mind a rest. Since she'd returned from Boston last night, she'd been plagued with thoughts of Rafe, wondering whether she ought to contact him again or just let it go.
She couldn't deny the attraction she still felt for him, the little shiver that skittered down her spine when she first met his gaze, the thrill that raced through her when his body brushed against hers. Even in his anger, he was still an incredibly sexy man.
She'd sat in her kitchen last night, sipping herbal tea and making a list of the pros and cons of calling him. His business card was still hanging on her refrigerator door, right under a watermelon magnet. But a phone call would have been too uncomfortable, filled with uneasy silences. And sending a letter would have been too impersonal. So
