Chapter 15
Connor and Darcie’s house was full to bursting after the christening, with food laid out in every direction and the happy chaos of babies being passed from lap to lap like precious parcels. Laughter rippled from the living room, and someone had uncorked a bottle of champagne.
But Keefe O’Brian sat in the far corner of the kitchen, nursing a drink he hadn’t touched and staring out the window.
He was a shadow of his usual self—no booming laugh, no sarcastic quips. Just quiet. Hollow.
From across the room, Sophie watched. She stood beside Nan and Sylvia, cradling her wine with both hands.
“So, tell us,” Sylvia said softly, “how’s your brother doing?”
Sophie sighed. “He’s miserable, but he won’t talk to me about it. I feel awful. It’s my fault, really. I introduced them. I should’ve been more careful.”
“That’s not fair,” Nan said. “How were you supposed to know she wasn’t who she said she was?”
“Has Gwen tried to reach out to him?” Sylvia asked.
“Why would she?” Sophie scoffed. “She lied, she left. She’s got as much chance of getting back with Keefe as a cat has in hell without claws.”
Nan and Sylvia exchanged a glance. Neither agreed, but they knew better than to say so. Sophie was fiercely protective of her brother—but she was also too close to see the truth clearly.
Keefe still loved Gwen. That was obvious to anyone.
As if summoned, Keefe appeared behind them. “What are you three gossiping about?”
“You, as it happens,” Sylvia said smoothly.
“We wanted to know how you’re doing,” Nan added, peering up at him. Baby Hal, who was draped in her arms cooed at Keefe with a smile.
Keefe tickled Hal’s little foot, making him giggle. He tried for a smile himself, but couldn’t manage it. “Don’t worry about me, Aunt Nan. She wasn’t the first woman to lie to me.”
No, she wasn’t. But she was the first he’d loved who lied. And that made all the difference.
Nan turned toward Shamus, handing him baby Hal. “Take him, would you, love?”
Shamus beamed and reached for the baby. “Gladly. Come see your uncle now, lad.” With the baby happily tucked in his arms Shamus headed for Henry who had baby Sylvie. The twins never liked being apart for long.
Nan smoothed the front of her blouse and patted her hair, then stepped away from the others and headed toward Keefe, who had retreated back to the kitchen.
She found him there, arms crossed. “What’s eating you?” she asked.
Keefe didn’t look at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she said, planting both hands on her hips, “if you’re going to try that ‘I’m fine’ nonsense on me again, I’ll turn you over my knee for lying. I did it when you were in nappies, and I’ll do it again in your best suit.”
That earned the tiniest flicker of a grin. But then he slumped. “Aunt, what am I going to do?”
“It’s Gwen, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
“Have you talked to her?”
“No,” he said. His voice filled with regret.
“What’s keeping you apart?”
“What do you think? She lied,” he said quietly. “How can I trust her?”
Nan gave a little snort. “Keefe, love doesn’t always wait for tidy timing, and it’s not always tied up with a bow.”
Keefe laughed weakly. Gwen was practically tied up with a bow.
She was everything he’d ever wanted and more, not to mention, she’d practically landed in his lap. “We were going like a house on fire. And then—gone.”
Nan studied him a moment. “So, if you’re in love with the girl, why are you standing here instead of going after her?”
“Because the family hates her.”
“Do you?”
“I should hate her.”
“That’s not what I asked. What do you say? What do you want?”
He missed her.
He missed how she would take a cup of chamomile tea to bed each night but never drink it—just hold it, palms wrapped around the warmth like it anchored her.
He missed her laughter, bright and breathless, the kind that bubbled out of her when she tried not to spill something.
He missed the way she’d hum absently under her breath while brushing her hair, always the same half-forgotten tune. The way she’d steal the covers, then apologize by curling up close against him.
He missed her questions—the curious ones, the nosy ones, the ones that made him think harder than he wanted to.
He missed how she saw straight through him, even when he tried to keep things light. God, he missed all of her.
Keefe met his aunt’s eyes, throat tightening. And after a moment, admitted, quietly, “Gwen.” It was the first time he’d spoken her real name and it felt so right.
“Well then,” she said with a grin, “what are you going to do about it?”
He straightened, the weight beginning to lift off his shoulders. “I’m going after her.”
“Good.” Nan winked. “Took you long enough, you feckin’ eejit. I love you, Keefe.”
“Love you too.” He kissed her cheek and started for the door, then turned back. “Maybe, don’t tell the family where I’ve gone, okay? Especially not Sophie.”
“I’ll cover for you,” she whispered, touching her finger to her nose with a wink.
Once he was outside the door, Keefe practically ran to his car, patting his pockets for his phone. Not there.
“Shit,” he muttered, slamming the door. He tore through the glove box. Still nothing. With a groan, he put the car in gear and sped toward home.
He’d grab his phone and then head straight for Cian’s house. If she wasn’t there, he’d try Dublin. He’d drive all night if he had to.
But just as he turned onto his street, the sky cracked open and rain slammed down in sheets—fast, thick, blinding. He could barely see the road in front of him and the tires fought to keep traction.
By the time he pulled into his drive, he was soaked through just from dashing to the door.
And then he saw her.
Standing on his porch, soaked from head to toe, hair plastered to her cheeks, mascara smudged under red-rimmed eyes.
Gwen.
She looked up as he stepped under the overhang. Their eyes met.
Stunned, Keefe blinked at her. “What are you doing here?”
“I didn’t think you’d answer if I called. But I had to try. I just… I couldn’t leave things the way we did.” She took a breath and when he didn’t say anything, she continued. “Just two minutes. That’s all I ask. Please?”
Keefe stepped forward, heart thudding in his chest, the storm raging behind them. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her, tell her never to leave again. “I was just about to chase you across the whole damn country.”
Gwen gave a watery laugh. That was the last thing she expected him to say. “Then I’m glad I saved you the fuel.”
He reached for her hand and gently held it in his own. She didn’t pull away. “How’s your hand?” It was the fist she’d used to throw a punch.
“It’s fine now.”
“Come inside,” he said, voice breaking just a little.
“Are you sure?” she had barely gotten the words out without crying.
And just like that, he kissed her. Not hard or rushed. Just soft. Steady. A promise in the storm.
She let out a laugh-choked sob and collapsed into his arms. He wrapped her up and held her there like he never wanted to let go again.
Eventually, he pulled back, wiping her face with the edge of his sleeve. “Come on. Let’s get you warm.”
The door shut with a soft click behind them, sealing out the storm but not the wild storm still thrumming inside her chest. Rain drummed against the windows, the only sound besides their uneven breathing.
Gwen stood just inside the entryway, soaked to the skin. Water clung to her hair, her clothes, her lashes. She looked wild and beautiful and heartbreakingly vulnerable.
Keefe didn’t move for a moment. Just stared at her like she might vanish.
Then, suddenly, he was on her.
Starving for the taste of her, his mouth crushed against hers, hands in her hair, pulling her in. She gasped into the kiss, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, her body pressed tight against his soaked suit.
He spun her until her back hit the wall, lifting her effortlessly as she wrapped her legs around his waist. His hands gripped her thighs, dragging her hips closer as he kissed her like a man who had lost and found her all in the same breath.
“God, Gwen…” he growled against her mouth. “I didn’t know how much I needed you until you were gone.”
“I missed you so much it hurt,” she whispered, arching against him, already breathless. she lifted her gaze to his, her hand reaching out to press against his chest—right over his heart.
“Because this, us… this is cinniúint. ”
The word hit him like a blow to the ribs.
Their word. The one they’d whispered in bed, in the dark, when it felt like the universe had folded in around them.
He stared at her. All of it—her lies, her pain, her love—was right there in her eyes.
“You’re damn right it’s fate,” he growled, voice thick with heat and hunger.
He didn’t wait. His mouth crushed hers, claiming and consuming, as he swept her up in his arms. They didn’t just shed clothes—they tore them away. Buttons popped, wet fabric clung and was flung aside, a trail of urgency leading to the bedroom.
When he laid her back on the bed, her breath came in shallow pants, her skin already flushed. She trembled beneath his gaze, every inch of her aching for him.
His eyes devoured her. “You’re soaked,” he murmured, his voice low, rough. His hand slid up her bare thigh, inching higher, until his fingers brushed the heat between her legs. “Christ, Gwen…”
She arched into him, breath catching. “So are you,” she whispered, tugging him down by his belt with a wicked smile.
They undressed each other in a frenzy of hands and mouths, skin against skin. Her fingers fumbled at his pants, tugging them down as his lips found the soft underside of her breast, sucking until she whimpered. He groaned against her skin, the sound raw and hungry.
She reached for him, wrapped her hand around the thick length of him, and he swore under his breath, forehead pressed to hers.
“I need you,” she whispered.
“I’m right here,” he promised, voice shaking.
He entered her in one long, aching stroke that had both of them gasping. Her back arched, his name broke from her lips. He filled her completely, and still it wasn’t enough—they needed more. Everything. All at once.
It was wild, frenzied, their bodies colliding with the force of everything they'd held back. The lost time. The pain. The craving.
He drove into her with hard, punishing thrusts, his hands gripping her hips, her legs locked around him. The headboard hit the wall and the rain outside beat a frantic rhythm, but it was nothing compared to the one they made.
Then slowly, ever so slowly, he eased the pace, and it was like the air itself changed.
He cradled her face between his hands and kissed her like she was sacred. His hips rolled into hers, deeper now, slower, savoring every inch. He kissed her jaw, her eyelids, the corners of her mouth, her forehead, making up for every second they’d lost.
“I love you, Gwen,” he whispered against her lips, voice breaking.
Her tears spilled over. “I love you too, Keefe.”
Her body tightened around him, her breath catching. He whispered her name like a vow, again and again, until she broke apart—back arched, head thrown back, a cry ripping from her throat as she shattered beneath him.
He followed a heartbeat later with a ragged groan, burying himself deep, his face in her neck, holding her as if letting go would undo them both.
For a while, they didn’t speak. Just held each other. Breathing. Steadying.
The storm outside had quieted, but inside—between them—everything was still electric.
Keefe tucked a damp curl behind her ear, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. “You’re not leaving again.”
“Not unless you carry me out the door.”
He grinned. “Then I guess I’m keeping you.”