Santiago's Convenient Fiancée. Annie O'Neil
Santi’s. And the cut was crisp and clean—it would’ve suited a high-powered businessman just as well as a... What was this guy? Some sort of specialist? Something exacting anyway. The man couldn’t have been more alpha male if he tried. Not her type. He wasn’t as rakishly rebel with a cause as Santi came across with his long lean body all casual and taut at the same time. And that thick, soft ebony hair gently curling along his neck. Not that she’d been burning the details of their encounter into her mind or anything.
She tamped down the memory and tried to pull a surreptitious sidelong glance at the immaculately dressed interloper. This chap was more gentleman than gaucho in the looks department. He had the same broad-shouldered, athletic build as her guy. Well, not her guy but...she knew what she meant. Dark brown eyes, the same rich voice that could’ve doubled for Spanish hot chocolate...
Her gaze swung to the double doors, opening automatically as a virtual replica of the man beside her purposefully strode in. The closer he got the more prominent the differences became but even so—these two were cut from the same cloth. A very familiar Latino islander cloth if she wasn’t mistaken... Caramel-colored skin, cheekbones to die for, dark eyes that could stand in for a shot of spicy mole sauce or espresso, depending on the lighting... She was tempted to go up on tiptoe and look for flecks of gold.
“Amanda, what sort of riffraff are you letting into your ER these days?” he intoned, simultaneously doing the very male chin jut thing to the nearer Identi-Kit doctor. “Rafe! Come over here, I need to pick your brains,” he called across the crowded waiting room.
“Two Valentinos are better than one!” Amanda riposted with a cheeky grin, managing, as she handed a chart to him, to eye-signal to Saoirse that both men were ring-free.
Oh, for heaven’s sake! Saoirse shifted a heavy-lidded glance at the two gorgeous clones now deep in conversation over the contents of the chart. Amanda, on the other hand, was looking a bit too innocent. There was little doubt her friend was going a bit haywire on this whole let’s-find-Saoirse-a-husband-so-she-can-stay thing. There were other options, but maddeningly getting married was the easiest. Nothing like a bit of bureaucracy to kick a girl when she’s down. But at least Amanda was trying, which was more than she could say for herself. It was little wonder her godsend of a friend’s phone didn’t have smoke coming out of it from all of the texts she must’ve been sending to gather this collection of fine male specimens about the main desk.
Not that they were paying even the slightest bit of attention to her.
Which stung a little.
Okay, more than a little.
This was more than life playing funny jokes on her. This was life being mean. These men were born for procreating. The strong features, the chiseled good looks, the cover-model perfection so many aspired to, only to stumble at the first hurdle. And they were both doctors. Smart ones, from the sound of their rapid-fire conversation, huge polysyllabic words effortlessly whizzing between them. These men were meant to have offspring populating the earth, making it a better place. A better place to look at anyhow.
Baby-making.
The words sank to the pit of her stomach like a bad plate of enchiladas.
The one thing she wasn’t able to do—and now she was all but fenced in with available men in unspeakably perfect packages?
She tugged at the collar of her uniform as if it would release her from the suffocating thoughts. This was bonkers. As if yesterday’s run-in with Mr. Luscious hadn’t been cruel enough, life was serving up not one but two variations on the man who’d unwittingly kept her up half the night when what she’d really needed had been a good sleep before she met her new partner, who would no doubt make her day a misery by not having the slightest clue—
Her eyes widened as the main character in her nocturnal reflections stepped through the sliding glass doors and into the ER. His eyes scanned the large waiting room before locking with hers, a smile lighting up his face at the hit of recognition. His gaze shifted to her left and then again to her right. One second for each of the doctors flanking her before he executed an abrupt about-face and walked straight back out to the ambulance bay.
Saoirse took off at a run to catch up with him, vaguely hearing Amanda shouting something about her paperwork. The backpack stuffed in her locker would have to wait. The chances of her having a ring on her finger by the end of the month were looking less and less likely. Right now she just needed to make sure she kept her job. On the brink of deportation and homelessness wasn’t an option.
“Hey!” she shouted when she’d swerved past her ambulance and had caught up with Santi. “What’s your problem?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” He whirled around to face her, hands on hips, body poised as if ready to pounce if she came any closer.
“What are you talking about?”
“Why were they there with you?”
“What? Who? Are you talking about those guys? The Mirror Men?” She threw a look back over her shoulder as if they would magically appear.
“You don’t know them?” Santi was looking at her with an intensity that, frankly, was a bit unsettling. She’d endured quite enough inspection and being unsettled to last her a lifetime, thank you very much. She glared back. Her eyes widened suddenly as her brain started connecting a whole bunch of dots she hadn’t seen sixty seconds ago.
Santi was wearing a uniform. The same one she was.
“Are you here to work on Ambulance 23?”
“Yes. How did you know that?”
Oh, for the love of Pete!
“You’re kidding, right?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, right.”
Amanda was going to get a very long, very shouty text message coming her way. Saoirse tapped her name tag in a repeat of yesterday’s gesture. “Ring any bells?”
This time Santi’s eyes did the widening. “They didn’t give me a name. Just the number of the vehicle.” He rocked back on his heels, deliciously toned forearms folding across his chest as his frown deepened. “You’re my new partner?”
“Well, don’t bother sounding pleased about it or anything,” she snapped back, more angry at her meddling friend whose brainchild she supposed this was than the unwitting hottie she had to sit next to all day. There was no way Amanda wasn’t involved in the pairing. It was taking the whole matchmaking thing one step too far. Amanda knew everything about the past year was still stinging as badly as if Saoirse’d just rolled in nettles. Pain lurked in every nook and cranny she possessed. There would be words. Terse ones.
She pursed her lips and gave a heavy sigh. Fine. They might as well get this over with.
She pulled the keys from her pocket and gave them a jangle. Santi reached for them and she pulled them away before he could grab them. “Uh-uh! I drive. Them’s the rules.”
“I thought I was meant to be senior.”
“Not on this rig.”
Santi laughed. “Look at you, talking all tough.”
The words sobered Saoirse up instantly. “I am tough.” She nodded a short, sharp, don’t-even-try-to-mess-with-me nod at him. “You’re meant to advise me if you feel it’s necessary, and I’m telling you right now, it won’t be necessary.”
He nodded.
“Let’s get going, shall we? You’re late and I need to run you through everything in the truck before we go anywhere.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He gave her a sharp salute.
“I’m not screwing around.” She gritted her teeth to stop a whole mess of impolite images his faux obedience elicited. A riding crop might’ve been one of them. And a nonregulation issue nurse’s outfit.