Reunited

“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.”