fix your hair for you?'
Rafe watched as Keely fussed with his mother's hair, all the while talking softly to her, chatting about fashions and perfume and all the things that ladies enjoyed. Lila seemed to relax in her presence and she even laughed once or twice. For the first time in many years, Rafe saw the mother he'd once known-the mother who had taught him to dance to old 45s playing on the console stereo in their living room, the mother who had been proclaimed 'hot' by all his friends at school; the mother who told him he could be anyone, do anything, he set his mind to.
And now he'd set his mind to ruining the Quinns. 'You did so much for me,' Rafe murmured to himself. 'And now I'm going to do this for you, Ma.'
Nearly an hour had passed before Rafe decided it was time to leave. His mother was getting tired and when she grew tired, she became even more irrational. He motioned to Keely and she took the responsibility of announcing their departure. But she assured Lila that she'd enjoyed their chat and hoped to visit her again soon.
As she walked out to the hall, Rafe sat down across from his mother. 'It was nice to see you again, Ma.'
She reached out and held on to his hand, so tightly that his fingers hurt. 'Christmas is coming soon,' Lila said. 'You will come to see me at Christmas-time, won't you?'
'I will. I love you, Ma.' Rafe bent forward to kiss her goodbye, but she suddenly grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him closer, her gaze turning wild.
'Tell her I'm sorry,' she pleaded. 'Tell her I didn't mean it. She doesn't have those eyes.
He gently untwisted her fingers from his shirt. 'I will, Ma.'
When he joined Keely in the hall, he gave her a hesitant smile. Then he took her hand and drew it to his lips, pressing a kiss just above her wrist. 'Thank you,' he said.
'For what?'
'For giving me my mother. She doesn't wander back to reality very often. It was the best Christmas gift I've gotten in many years.'
Keely stared at him, her expression tinged with confusion. Then she gave him a small smile and started down the hall. Rafe watched her, struck dumb by the flood of emotion that raced through him. What bit of luck had brought Keely McClain into his life? And what would he have to do to keep her there?
'I DIDN'T EXPECT all my favorite restaurants to be closed on Christmas Eve,' Rafe said.
'That's all right,' Keely replied. 'We can have dinner another time.'
'I promised you dinner and I'm going to deliver,' Rafe said. 'There's one more place we can try. And it's just a few blocks away.'
Keely snuggled down in the heated front seat of Rafe's Mercedes. She was glad they'd have a dinner table between them because, right now, all she could think about was kissing him again. The brief kiss in the hallway outside his mother's room had done nothing to satisfy the need building inside her. She felt as if every nerve in her body crackled with electricity. And if he touched her in just the right way, she might spontaneously burst into flames.
If she didn't want to get herself into trouble tonight, she might do best to make her dinner selection on the basis of the quantity of garlic in it. Keely frowned as Rafe reached up to his visor and pressed the control for the door of an underground garage. 'What kind of food does this restaurant serve?' Keely asked.
'It's not exactly a restaurant. It's a kitchen with a great view.'
'You live here, don't you?' Keely said.
Rafe smiled and shrugged. 'I make a mean omelette.'
Keely groaned inwardly. She knew exactly where this would lead. When it came to Rafe she had absolutely no control over her desires. There must be something in the air here in Boston, she mused. Something that turned a nice Catholic girl into a raging sexaholic. Or maybe it was her Quinn genes asserting themselves. Her brothers weren't known for self-control when it came to the opposite sex, so why should she?
They rode up the elevator, Keely keeping her gaze fixed on the numbers as they flashed higher and higher. They finally stopped at the top floor and Keely stepped out. 'How did you get the top floor?'
Rafe slipped his key into the door of his apartment. 'I built the building.'
He lived in understated luxury, the imprint of an interior designer evident in every perfect accessory, in the colors and the textures of the European-style furniture. Compared to her little bohemian loft in the East Village, Keely felt as if she'd stepped into a spread in
She fought the urge to turn around and leave. There were times when she felt completely out of her league with Rafe. He was wealthy and sophisticated, and he held an undeniable power over her desire that she couldn't explain. But, at the same time, Keely trusted Rafe.
The apartment was dimly lit and Keely was immediately drawn to the wall of wide windows on the far side of the living room. She stood in front of them and looked down on the harbor, the shape of the shore outlined by the lights of the city. 'It's beautiful,' she said.
'Would you like something to drink? A glass of wine, perhaps?'
'That would be nice,' Keely said.
Rafe disappeared into the kitchen. Keely wrapped her arms around herself, trying to calm a shiver. The first time they'd been together had been so spontaneous, she hadn't had time to think. Now, she had all the time in the world to consider her actions. There would be no chance for impulsive decisions this time.
And the one-night stand excuse wouldn't work tonight. If she fell into bed with him, she'd have to deal with the consequences in the morning. Keely closed her eyes and tipped her head back. She couldn't deny her attraction to Rafe. Images of him constantly invaded her waking thoughts and plagued her dreams.
She turned at the sound of his footsteps and forced a smile. He held a bottle of champagne in one hand and two flutes in the other. 'I thought maybe this time we'd have the real thing.' He poured Keely a glass, then handed it to her. Their hands touched for a moment and it was as if she'd touched lightning, a dangerous current racing through her body. She clutched the glass, afraid she might drop it. Even after all this time she remembered the exact feel of his hands on her body, the way his mouth trailed after, searching and exploring.
He filled his own flute, then held it out. 'Merry Christmas, Keely McClain.'
'Merry Christmas,' she said, touching her glass to his.
Rafe watched as she took a sip of her champagne. He reached out and drew his finger along her jawline, a caress that was both tantalizing and overwhelming. 'Are you hungry?'
Somehow, she didn't think he was talking about food. But she was willing to play along. 'I am. Can I help?'
Rafe nodded and she followed him through the dining area and into the kitchen. He flipped on the lights and the room came alive, all smooth granite and stainless steel and halogen lighting. Keely looked around at all the high- tech gadgetry. She pointed to a professional-grade mixer, the kind she used to make icing at the bakery. 'Have you ever used that?'
Rafe chuckled. 'No. But I guess the decorator thought it was important.' He grabbed a saute pan from the rack above the cooktop. 'I'll need eggs and bacon,' he said. 'And there should be a green pepper in the fridge. And some cheese.'
Keely pulled open the refrigerator door, expecting to find it thinly stocked, but it was full of both staples and snack food. 'Wow. You must do a lot of cooking at home.'
'Not much. My housekeeper does the shopping. And since omelettes are the extent of my cooking skills, the shopping list isn't very long.'
She set the ingredients next to him on the counter, then leaned back and watched. But when he reached for the eggs, he had to reach around her. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he bent closer and brushed his mouth over hers. This time he lingered, teasing and tasting before moving away.
As he cracked the eggs into a bowl, Rafe smiled. 'I needed to do that.'
'I wanted you to do that,' Keely said. 'Maybe you could do it again sometime?'
She stared at him, already resigning herself to complete and unconditional surrender. Good Lord, how long had it taken her to capitulate-five or ten minutes?
Rafe dropped the fork into the bowl of half-scrambled eggs. 'Maybe I could.'
With exquisite care, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up to sit on the edge of the counter.
