me up all night, is it?”
Santi’s lips shifted into a mischievous grin with a quick lift of his dark eyebrows. “Por qué? Does Mamacita Murphy have a hot date tonight?”
“Quit doing that!”
“What?”
“That whole...” she opened her hand and “washed” it around his face “...Latin Lothario thingy.”
“You don’t like my sexy, sexy talk?” He cranked it up another few notches.
Yes.
“Doesn’t work on me.”
Liar, liar pants on fire.
She avoided catching his eye just to be safe.
“But it has on someone else...” Santi poked her in the arm. “Who’s the lucky guy tonight, Murph?”
Why was he so interested in who she was dating anyhow? Wasn’t quizzing her all day on her emergency medicine knowledge enough Q & A?
She smirked in lieu of swooning, then pursed her lips together and blew a raspberry. “That’s me. A regular ol’ dating machine.”
She continued to give her tiny cup of coffee the evil eye. There had been so much change in her life over the last year. Becoming single. Realizing she was never going to have children. Hopping on a plane with a student visa instead of the fiancée visa, which had expired...about six months ago now. Urgh!
The switch from hot, milky tea to coffee had been hard enough. She’d have to call her mum and have her send some proper tea bags over.
A chill of realization hit her. Even if the tea arrived in a week, she would be gone in a couple of months. April Fools’ Day. The irony! Deported back to Ireland unless, by some divine intervention, she found a man bonkers enough to marry her.
“It’s not going to bite you.”
“What is it again?” She held the small cup up at eye level then gave it a dubious sniff.
“A Café Cubano. It’s the closest thing to heaven after a hard day and, orale—you were on it today, mija!” Santi did that whizzy snap thing with his fingers again and crowed. She nodded, feigning accepting a loud roar of applause from a stadium full of fans. As if.
“Teamwork, Valentino. It all boils down to teamwork.”
And she meant it. They’d only had a week together in the ambulance but already they had a partner shorthand going on that made working together a genuine pleasure. Even if she sometimes had to squint at him and turn his gorgeousness into a blur of caramel features. Santiago Valentino would be far too easy to fall for. And love? That little nugget of complications was well and truly off the table.
“Here.” He handed her an open bottle of water. “Take a swig of this to cleanse your palate and then drink the cafecito.”
“My, my,” Saoirse play-crooned, happy to yank her thoughts away from the thunderstorm brewing in her head. “Isn’t someone Mr. Exotico?”
“That’s rich, coming from the leprechaunette of Miami Beach.”
“Whatever.” Saorise leaned back against the slatted bench and narrowed her eyes. Santi’s good looks screamed exotic, but his accent, when he spoke English, was as American as they came. When he spoke Spanish with non-English-speaking patients and turned on the Latino thing? Mmm-hmm... Hard to shake off just how sexy he was. That beautifully sensual mouth, inky-black hair and a body that would’ve been more than worth watching if he was dancing la vida loca.
Good thing they were just colleagues.
She looked at him again then looked away.
Pah-ha-ha! Try telling that to the judge.
Tentatively, she stepped back into the muddy waters of family history, “Your parents were from...?”
“Heliconia. It’s a little island nation out...” He pointed away from the hospital toward the sea, his sentence tapering off as his hand fell back into his lap.
“And they brought you over with them when you were little?” Saoirse pressed gently.
“Before we were born,” he answered, the life all but draining from his eyes.
“You and your brothers?” She stated the obvious, already preparing her “Oops, I shouldn’t have said that” face, only to receive a quick no-eye-contact nod in return before he downed his coffee in one swift go. He hadn’t said a word about them the entire week and it looked like that would be the status quo.
“Right!” He flicked the paper cup into the garbage can with an ease that told her this wasn’t his first Café Cubana rodeo. “I think we’ve heard enough about me to last a lifetime. Why don’t we go into the hospital, see if we can rustle up a transfer or something? Maybe over to Buena Vista. The private hospitals always have much better cantinas.”
“Sounds good to me.” Saoirse knew when to stop digging. She had her own full-to-bursting cupboard of secrets so there was no point in poking around someone else’s. She slurped down her coffee in the same quick style as Santi, only to have her body reel from the effects. “For the love of Peter, Paul and Mary!”
Santi wasn’t the only strong, dark thing in town.
“What are you trying to do to me?” She glared at him while stuffing the paper cup into the garbage can. “Put hairs on my chest or something?”
Santi threw back his head and laughed. A rich, warm laugh that never failed to make her smile. Unexpectedly he reached out and ran a finger along her jawline, tipping her chin up to meet his gaze.
“Dulzera, believe me...” Despite the bright midday sunshine, Santi’s voice went all tropical-nights sultry on her, sending little shivers down her spine as their eyes connected. “There isn’t a single thing I would change about you.”
His words set her insides jigging about as if she’d just won the lottery. The last thing she’d felt since her fiancé had left her at the altar had been feminine, but the surge of I-am-woman Santi’s touch unleashed? Far too easy to let rip and roar.
And then he winked, the warm light burning bright in his eyes, giving Saoirse another unexpected shot of pleasure. Unwitting or not, she liked being the one who’d turned that frown of his into a smile. It was one worth waiting for. If she didn’t watch it... She pulled back and broke eye contact, tugging her fingers through the short pixie cut she was still getting used to as she did...
She’d just have to watch it.
“C’mon, slowpoke. Let’s go get that transfer.”
* * *
“High five!”
“What for?” Saoirse asked, pulling a fresh sheet onto the gurney for the next crew.
“One amazing nightclubber save—” Santi counted them off on his fingers “—even though you had to go down into the drain ditch and you stink to high heaven.” He pinched his nose then returned to his counting. “Two beach rescues, a broken arm splinted expertly by myself, of course, three hospital transfers and a head wound from a machete beautifully sutured by your good self. That’s what I call a good day with ALSA!”
Santi gave the inside of the ambulance door a final squirt of disinfectant and swipe of a blue paper towel before standing back to admire their handiwork.
“Who’s Alsa?” Saoirse climbed out of the back of the cab, having finished her restock, and joined him in the ambulance appreciation stance. Crossed arms, legs slightly apart, hips pushed slightly forward to allow for a bit of backward-leaning and head-nodding.
“Number 23, ding-a-ling! Haven’t you learned anything from your wise mentor? Advanced Life Support Ambulance.” He gave her a joshing elbow in the ribs. “That’s what they’re called, Little Miss Shamrock.”
“Ah,