"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 he have to be so angry? She'd done exactly what she was supposed to do after a one-night stand, hadn't she?

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 she'd decided on the best alternative she had-a cake.

When the icing consistency was perfect, she shut off the mixer and put a spoonful of the buttercream into a small bowl. She needed just a tiny bit of black to finish her creation.

"What is that?"

Keely glanced up, the pastry bag hovering over the cake. Her mother stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her hands braced on her hips. She wore a green apron with the McClain's logo emblazoned on the bib. "I'm working on a new design."

Fiona approached the huge worktable. "We've got to deliver the Wagner cake before ten tomorrow morning, three tiers with your Edwardian lace decoration. And you haven't even put the crumb coat on yet."

"I'll get it done-don't worry."

"If you don't want to do the cake, just tell me. I'll have one of the other girls decorate it. It will take two of them to finish it but-"

Keely ground her teeth. "I said I'll do it. I've got the rest of the afternoon and all night."

"I don't think you realize how complicated that cake is."

Her mother knew full well that Keely was capable of finishing the cake with time to spare. "I designed the bloody cake, Mother. I know how complicated it is."

"Don't use vulgar language, Keely."

"Why? You do. You're not always the proper Irish lady that you pretend to be."

Fiona ignored the provocation and stared down at the cake her daughter was frosting. "Are those shoes?"

"Italian loafers," Keely said. "It's for a…" What should she call Rafe Kendrick? Lover? Acquaintance? "A friend."

Keely scooped the icing into a pastry bag and carefully begin to add stitching to the top of the left loafer. "Was there anything else?"

"Do I always have to ask you? Couldn't you volunteer to keep me informed about your trips to Boston? I was expecting you for dinner last night. I thought we had plans."

"I'm sorry. I decided to go at the last minute. I had a free day."

"Did you talk to your father?" Fiona's tone was indifferent, but Keely sensed that she was curious.

"Yes, and I met three of my brothers. Conor, Liam and Sean." Keely shook her head. "Actually, I didn't meet them, but I spoke to them."

Her mother fell silent and when Keely looked up again, she saw tears swimming in Fiona's eyes. She silently scolded herself for acting so childishly. Her mother had lived without news of her six sons for twenty-five years and now her daughter was hoarding information like some petulant brat. "They're very handsome," Keely offered, her voice softening.

Fiona smiled tremulously. "Really? Are-are they good men? I mean, are they polite? I always tried to teach them manners. Their father was so rough and unschooled but I wanted my boys to be more than just hooligans."