they played along but were convinced once we had children we’d come back. And now they’re not so sure anymore.” She gave Amanda a quick glance before returning to work. “I’m not the Saoirse I was nine months ago, am I? I mean, if you’d told me then I was going to have short, sun-bleached hair, would be driving an ambulance and going to racing school, not to mention marrying a superhot doctor I’ll have to pretend I haven’t pictured naked just to stay in Miami, I would have told you that you were stark raving—”
“You’ve pictured me naked?”
Santi appeared in the open French doors that led to her tiny backyard, holding a barbecue in his hands. It made his biceps stand out that perfect amount of sexy.
It was far too easy to picture Santi naked. Or wrapped only in a towel, little droplets of shower water still clinging to his—
She clenched the edge of the counter to disguise her knee-wobble.
“Yeah, right, hombre! In your dreams.”
Even blind people would have the hots for Santi. His scent was every bit as scrumptious as his aesthetics.
“Where do you want this thing?” Santi’s satisfied grin proved he knew she was telling porky-pies.
“Wherever there’s space. It’s not as if I’ve got acres of land to choose from.”
“Better than the two-by-four balcony off my sad excuse of an apartment.”
“The place you’re giving up, right?” Amanda chimed in, reminding them both they had agreed to live in Saoirse’s not-very-large bungalow by the sea.
“Yes, ma’am.” Santi returned to the French doors, gave Amanda a salute then leaned against the door frame, the sun outlining him as if he was heaven sent. His eyes scanned Saoirse’s sparsely decorated bungalow. She hadn’t really bothered nesting in the few months she’d lived here. Too much of a risk given the circumstances. She chose to call the minimalist look beach chic.
“Nice zebra rug.” The look he threw her was a bit more Tarzan than she could bear. It was far too easy to imagine whipping up a dress out of the faux hide and swinging through the jungle to some treetop love nest.
“It’s fake.” Saoirse looked away. Just like their marriage would be.
“As discussed,” Santi continued, oblivious to her all-too-real ogling, “I’m happy to move in tonight if you like.”
“Sounds good.” Amanda answered for her, then noticed her friend’s fastidious muteness. “Right, Murph?”
“Yes, fine. Sure. Whatever’s convenient.” Chop, chop, chop.
“Wow!” Santi said drily, slipping one of her breakfast bar stools between his legs without so much as a toe-rise. “Don’t get excited or anything, mi amor.”
Saoirse tore her eyes away from him and reduced the tomato pieces to pulp.
Tall, sexy, straddled motorcycles and bar stools like a seasoned cowboy... The man was ticking so many boxes it was unreal! Not for the first time she wished she could meet his parents. See who had crafted this living statue of perfection. But, she reminded herself as she accidentally sliced into her finger with a yelp, if she could meet his parents Santi most likely wouldn’t be all messed up and willing to marry her. Only a man with issues up the wazoo would be playing along with this nutty plan.
“Hey.” Santi reached across and pulled her finger out of her mouth. “Let me have a look at that.”
“Aw...” Amanda sighed. “Look at the two of you, all lovey-dovey.”
“Hardly.” Saoirse tugged her hand out of Santi’s. “It’s a microscopic cut. I think I’ll survive.”
“You tink so, do ya?”
“Don’t mock my accent, I won’t mock yours.”
“I am not the one with the accent, missy. Just remember who’s got the US passport in this scenario.”
Santi received a glowering look in return.
“Thanks for the reminder.”
“Make sure you wash that finger thoroughly,” Santi cautioned, completely unrepentant. “And put a bandage on it. Plaster. Whatever you call them.”
“For heaven’s sake, you’d think I was lyin’ on the floor, bleedin’ to death, the way you’re carrying on.”
“What? I’m not allowed to care if my beloved fiancée has been injured?”
“Not with a Cheshire-cat grin the size of the Atlantic Ocean on your face, no!”
“I think I’ll just run out to the store and grab some more lemonade before James arrives,” Amanda said none too subtly, not that Saoirse or Santi showed any signs of breaking away from their standoff to bid her a fond farewell.
When the door clicked shut, Santi relaxed his pose, patting the stool beside him. “C’mere. I want to talk to you.”
“Can’t. I’m busy.” Saoirse made a quick show of chopping things.
“Murph!” Santi growled. “Take a pew! Now.”
Saoirse let the knife clatter to the counter, grabbed a paper towel to wrap around her bleeding finger and stomped over to the breakfast bar stool. It was suddenly annoying that she had to clamber onto the thing, unlike Santi’s smooth move. Her height was not to her advantage.
“Right, then. What’s got the hornets’ nest all stirred up today? I thought we’d agreed to do this thing.”
Saoirse bridled. Was the man bereft of human emotions? Who just agreed willy-nilly to marry a virtual stranger? No strings. No nooky. No running a finger along the outline of the mouth she could hardly stop staring at.
“We did agree,” she finally conceded. “And I’m grateful to you and everything, but...” What if I fall in love with you? I can’t do unrequited love. I can’t do love.
“Are you worried about me staying here with you? Cramping your style?”
“No,” she answered, too quickly.
“From what I understand, it’s important we make a show of having built a life together before we tie the knot, and what did you say we have—about two or three months?”
She nodded, her insides all but shriveling up with mortification.
“So...couples fall in love at first sight all the time. Right?”
Saoirse squirmed. She wasn’t in love with Santi—she hardly knew the guy—but there was a connection. A chemistry that was getting harder to squelch. And chasing up a disaster of a nonwedding with an unrequited marriage of con-visa-enience? No, thank you! She’d rather get deported.
Santi took her hand in his and gave it a little rub with his thumb before inspecting her finger as he spoke. It felt nice. Too nice. She feigned indifference as she listened.
“It’s
