Santiago's Convenient Fiancée. Annie O'Neil

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       CHAPTER THREE

      “STOP KICKING THE desk already! What’s it ever done to you?”

      Amanda smiled as she told her friend off and Saoirse pulled back her booted foot just as it was ready to connect with the ER check-in desk for another thud.

      “I’m tired of waiting. Where is this guy anyhow?”

      “Ah!” Amanda’s eyes lit up and she leaned conspiratorially across the counter. “It’s a male person, is it? Do you know if he’s single? I can’t believe you didn’t talk to that guy at Joe’s going-away party. Muy guapo. They don’t make them that handsome and available all that often, Murph. You should’ve pounced.” She did her best cat-pounce look, managing to look completely adorable in the process.

      “Enough! I’ll figure out my little problem outside work hours, thank you very much.” She pursed her lips and gave her friend a wide-eyed glare.

      “I’m just saying, beggars can’t be choosers and you had an amazing option last night...” Amanda paused for effect. “Until you bailed.”

      “I didn’t bail!” What’s so bad about bailing when all you have to offer is yourself? The self her ex couldn’t see fit to marry...on their wedding day.

      “And I’m no beggar,” she tacked on for good measure—as if it would make a grain of salt’s worth of difference to Amanda.

      “Yeah, right. Tell it to the deportation police.” Amanda pulled out her phone and scrolled through the images until she hit the one she wanted and turned it toward Saoirse.

      The calendar. As if she needed a visual aid to remind her the days were passing faster than the sands of time. Or were those the same thing?

      “Three months, Murph. Three months to find some talent who is going to put a ring on that finger by the end of your course.”

      “I told you, I’m not in the market for a ring. Or a romance. None of that. It’s a green card I’m after. Nothing more.”

      “C’mon.” Her friend nudged her over the countertop. “If you’re going to marry someone so you can stay, he might as well be nice to look at and, come to think of it, there is plenty of talent right here at Seaside. Why not keep it in the family?”

      “All right! I get it!” Saoirse cut her off. “I’ve got more than enough to worry about with having to add Finding a Hottie Who Will Marry the Poor Immigrant Girl whose fiancé couldn’t be bothered to do the trick, don’t I?”

      “Like what, exactly?” Amanda asked pointedly. “What is it you have to worry about besides that?”

      “Uh...like my new partner showing up so we can get out of here and fix some people!”

      “Amanda.” A man’s voice cut across Saoirse’s. “Know anything about the head injury in cubicle three?”

      “Yes, Dr. Valentino. She’s just been brought in...”

      Amanda’s voice turned into a buzz in Saoirse’s head as she looked at the doctor standing beside her. He definitely had Latino blood running through him. The smokin’ hot variety. Tall, dark hair. Not as pitch-black as 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 СКАЧАТЬ