Santiago's Convenient Fiancée Read online

  Can a convenient arrangement last forever?

  Saoirse Murphy came to Miami to bury herself in work, determined to forget the canceled wedding she left behind her, and she wants to stay... But only a green card will do!

  Enter former combat doc Santiago Valentino. Having reluctantly returned to face his dark past, he’s only too happy to be distracted by his paramedic partner and her shocking proposal.

  But when their “convenient” engagement tips into a very inconvenient passion, Santiago wonders...will she be his forever wife?

  Hot Latin Docs

  Sultry, sexy bachelor brothers on the loose!

  Santiago, Alejandro, Rafael and Dante Valentino are Miami’s most eligible doctors. Yet the brothers’ dazzling lives hide a darker truth—one that made these determined bachelors close their hearts to love years ago...

  But now four feisty women are about to turn the heat up for these sexy Latin docs and tempt them each to do something they never imagined—get down on one knee!

  Find out what happens in:

  Santiago’s Convenient Fiancée by Annie O’Neil

  January 2017

  Alejandro’s Sexy Secret by Amy Ruttan

  January 2017

  Rafael’s One Night Bombshell by Tina Beckett

  February 2017

  Dante’s Shock Proposal by Amalie Berlin

  February 2017

  Dear Reader,

  I discovered a few wonderful things in the course of writing Santiago’s Convenient Fiancée. First—new friends don’t need to live around the corner to be close! Writing with these chicas bonitas was an absolute pleasure.

  Another discovery: changing my desktop picture from my dogs to Miami Beach. I live in England and wrote this in the dead of winter, so that visual splash of sunshine, white sand and Art Deco never failed to get my synaptic gaps flashing. And would you believe it? I have never hankered for Latin American food more than during the writing of this book. Rural England is not the best place to come across plantains and puerco pibil, believe you me.

  And finally—writing about a scrumptious Latino with a huge heart and a chip on his shoulder is deeee-lightful. Especially with Saoirse Murphy as his heroine. She’s the kind of gal I’d just love to be friends with. Loyal, feisty, passionate about her work and fighting with every bone in her body not to fall in love with the most yummy, inky-haired, long-legged, perfect-looking man she has ever seen.

  Please, please don’t be shy. I love hearing from readers—good or bad. I promise I’m working on a thick skin! I can be reached at [email protected] or @AnnieONeilBooks on Twitter. Oh! And I’m on Facebook, too.

  See you soon—and enjoy!

  Annie O’ xo

  SANTIAGO’S CONVENIENT FIANCÉE

  Annie O’Neil

  Books by Annie O’Neil

  Harlequin Medical Romance

  Christmas Eve Magic

  The Nightshift Before Christmas

  The Monticello Baby Miracles

  One Night, Twin Consequences

  The Firefighter to Heal Her Heart

  Doctor...to Duchess?

  One Night...with Her Boss

  London’s Most Eligible Doctor

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

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  This book goes unabashedly to the women behind the creation of each of the Valentino brothers—The Ugly Sisters. Tina, Amalie and Amy—you kept the fiery, feisty, sizzlin’ hot hearts of each story shining bright and strong. Thank you, ladies—you’re in a class of your own (a really good one, in case you didn’t know that already). Thanks, too, to the great team at M&B/Harlequin. May there be a Mad Ron margarita in each of your futures. Xx

  Praise for Annie O’Neil

  “This is a beautifully written story that will pull you in from page one and keep you up late and turning the pages.”

  —Goodreads on Doctor...to Duchess?

  Annie O’Neil won the 2016 RoNA Rose Award for her book Doctor...to Duchess?

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EXCERPT FROM ALEJANDRO'S SEXY SECRET BY AMY RUTTAN

  CHAPTER ONE

  SANTI CLENCHED HIS fists so tightly it hurt. Good. There was still feeling in them. He shot his fingers out at full length, simultaneously giving them a hard shake. The movement jettisoned him back to memories he’d thought he’d left back in Afghanistan. Syria. Africa. Wherever. Didn’t matter. Dog tags were dog tags. CPR worked or it didn’t. The need to shake it off and stay neutral was the same no matter where he was.

  What mattered now was the chest in front of him needing another round of compressions. Fatigue couldn’t factor into it. Giving this guy another shot at living could.

  “Where the hell is the ambulance?” he bellowed to anyone who might be in the vicinity. The only answer...the echo of his own voice reverberating off the cement stanchions of the underpass. Raw. Frustrated.

  Santi wove his fingers together again and pressed the heel of his palm to the man’s chest, ignoring the worn clothes, the stench of someone who had slept rough too many nights and the fact he’d been providing CPR for twenty minutes since he’d rung for an ambulance.

  “C’mon, Miami!” he growled, keeping steady track of the number of compressions before stopping to give the two rescue breaths that just might jump-start this poor guy’s system. “Give the man a chance.”

  He glanced at the man’s dog tags again. Diego Gonzalez.

  “What’s your story, amigo?” He tugged off his motorcycle jacket, leaving it where it fell on the dry earth before beginning compressions again. He might leave it for Diego once the ambulance turned up and they got a shot or two of epi and some life back into him. From the state of Diego’s clothes, the world had given up on him. Well, he sure as hell wouldn’t. He’d seen it time and again since he’d left the forces. Veterans unable to find a path after their time overseas. Nothing computing anymore. Lives disintegrating into nothing. He might have hung up his camos just a few months ago, but the last thing he was going to do was forget the men who’d given the military their all, only to find life had little to offer when they came home.

  Home.

  The word was loaded, and just as dangerous as a sniper bullet. He shook his head again, tightening his fingers against his knuckles as he pressed.

  Twenty-nine, thirty.

  As he bent to give another two breaths he heard the distant wail of a siren.

  “Finally.”

  One. Two. Three...

  * * *

  “Ready or not! Here we come!” Saoirse flicked on the whoop-whoop of the sirens, loving the wail of sound that cleared a path through the thick of Miami’s commuter traffic.

  “For crying out loud, you mad Irish woman! You’re not in your racing car now.”

  “Is that you angling for a ride this weekend, Joe?” Saoirse grinned.

  “I’ll be happy to make i
t through this shift alive, thank you very much. And then you are taking me straight to the cantina. Safely,” he added with a meaningful look as she took the next turn at full pelt. “And heaven help your next partner. They’re going to need nerves of steel.”

  Saoirse laughed, weaving between the cars as if she were barrel racing a horse she’d known since it was a colt. Smooth, fluid. It was grace in motion, if weaving an ambulance through grumpy Floridian drivers was your thing. It was hers. Hadn’t always been. But speed ran through her blood now and the tropical heat suited her to a T.

  At least something in the past year had turned out all right.

  Life had well and truly shot her in the foot, but it had also given her a visa to the States. It should have been a fiancée visa, but the student visa did the same trick. Not that the change of direction still wasn’t raw. Still too fresh to discuss. She gave her head a quick shake and refocused.

  “What kind of cake will you be having, then, Joe? Not that awful rainbow-colored thing you had on your birthday, I hope.”

  “Hey, little whippersnapper. It’s my retirement party—not your twelfth birthday.”

  “I’m partial to coconut.” She gave him a cheeky wink, eyes still glued to the traffic. “We don’t get that sort of thing in Ireland. Want me to call the desk and tell them it’s your favorite?”

  Joe pressed his hands to the dashboard of the ambulance as Saoirse hit the brakes then the gas pedals in quick succession as a very expensive-looking convertible whizzed past them, horn blaring.

  “What’s up with them?”

  “They weren’t expecting Annie Oakley behind the wheel, Saoirse,” Joe hollered. “For the love of my retirement check! You’re going to give me a coronary before we get to the call!”

  “Joe! What are the chances you’re going to pronounce my name properly before our last ever shift is over? Sear-shuh.” She overexaggerated the vowel-heavy name her parents had lumbered her with. Maybe she should change that, too. Chopping off most of her hair had been downright liberating.

  Joe made another mangled attempt at pronouncing it as they lurched through the next junction and Saoirse laughed.

  “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you twice, just go with Murphy. If that’s too much for you, Murph will do just grand.”

  “Sorry, darlin’.” Joe spoke through gritted teeth as they shot through another red light. “I’m of the generation where you do not call a lady by her last name.”

  “Is that what you think I am?” Saoirse shot him a sidelong glance. “A lady?”

  “Well,” grumbled her partner of two months, “something like that, anyways.”

  Saoirse threw back her head and laughed. “Don’t you worry, Joe. I’ll get you to your party safe and sound tonight. Your wife won’t have to worry. There’s only one heart attack we’re fixing today and that’s whoever is...” she abruptly pulled the ambulance to a halt at the side of an overpass where a motorcycle stood without a rider “...under this bridge. You ready for a bit of off-roading?”

  * * *

  “Down here!” Santi shouted as loudly as he could once the siren’s wail was turned off in midscreech and he heard the slamming of doors. Keeping count as he took in the change of environment was second nature to him. What wasn’t was registering the stuntwoman-style entrance of the paramedic.

  The skid down the embankment was more snowboarder with a portable defibrillator than cautious EMT adhering to health and safety codes. First came the boots in a cloud of gravel and dust, then a set of...decidedly female legs...a swoop of a waist and... Ker-ching! This woman wore her regulation jumpsuit as if she were delivering a sexy singing telegram. Hard to do, harder to pull off.

  “How long you been at it?”

  The lilting voice and ultrafeminine figure didn’t match the C’mon, buckaroo, I dare you to say something unprofessional attitude her face was actively working. Fine. Suited him. He wasn’t here to pick up a date.

  “Twenty-four minutes. What took you so long?”

  “You look like you know what you’re doing,” she shot back, all the while pulling out the pads to her twelve-lead ECG. “Why haven’t you got him back yet?” Her blue eyes sparked with confrontation as she gave a satisfied “Humph!” in response to his lack of one.

  Feisty.

  “It’s a long time to carry out compressions.”

  “That’s very wise for an EMT.”

  “Paramedic,” she snapped, unshouldering her run bag on the ground opposite him and pressing two gloved fingers to Diego’s carotid pulse point, eyes glued to his. If this had been a staring contest he would’ve been happy to stay all day but they had a life to save.

  “Are you sure it’s been that long or are we just guesstimating?”

  “We’ve been timing.” His eyes stayed on hers. “Still early days yet.” He gave her a look that said You give up easy, received a glare in return as she ripped open the man’s shirt—all without blinking. Even the sea went cloudy sometimes, but not her blue eyes. They were as clear as could be. Limitless.

  Santi refocused on his hands. “He’s a vet.”

  “You, too?”

  Wasn’t much of a stretch to make the link. One life wasn’t worth more than another, but some prodded at your conscience a bit harder.

  “Marines.” He never gave much more information than that. He nodded toward the unconscious man. “Diego Gonzalez. That’s the name on his tags, anyhow. Thirty!” He gave the two breaths as she applied the monitoring pads to the heavily tattooed chest.

  “Joe! How’re you coming with the AED?” she shouted over her shoulder, a swish of short blond hair following in her wake as she began peppering Santi with questions. “Have you sprayed nitroglycerin, injected epinephrine, anything?”

  “Yeah. I keep it just here in my invisible magic bag of tricks.”

  “Easy there, cowboy. It was just a question.”

  He checked his tone before he continued. She was just doing her job. He needed to do his.

  “I saw him stagger at the side of the road when I was riding past. Then he fell down the embankment. I’m an off-duty doc—paramedic,” he quickly corrected. Coming to Miami was about looking forward, not what he’d left behind. “I was on my bike so...no run bag. That’s why I called you guys. There are some cuts and bruises that’ll need looking at and I’m pretty sure he could do with a saline drip.” He nodded down at Diego’s dry skin. “Dehydrated. Big time.”

  “Right. Guess we’d better get to it, then.” She raked around in her bag as her partner skidded to the bottom of the hill in a slow-motion version of—what was her name anyway? He hadn’t seen her around the depot when he’d checked in to get his schedule. Santi’s eyes flicked to her badge.

  Murphy.

  He gave a satisfied smile. Irish. He’d thought that was what her accent was. Hopefully she’d brought some of that fabled Irish luck along with her, too.

  “Open wide, Diego.”

  Santi watched as she swiftly carried out the tracheal intubation and attached the airbag and oxygen tanks together. The woman was no stranger to a cardiac arrest. That was for sure.

  “Joe! Have you got that AED ready or not? And how about some epinephrine for the poor lad?”

  “Give a man a chance, woman!” her partner huffed as he handed over the paddles for the AED unit after he’d pressed the power button. “I’ll load you up some epinephrine.”

  “Thanks, Joe. You’re the best tutor a girl could ask for.” Her eyes zapped to Santi as the AED began its telltale charging noise. “Are you clear? Wouldn’t want you getting shocked, now. Would we?”

  He lifted his hands away from Diego’s chest and, once again their eyes met. More of a lightning strike than a tiny click of connection. He didn’t know what she was seeing in his eyes, but the triumphant glint in hers made his raise
d hands feel more like a surrender than a safety measure.

  “Clear!”

  The corners of her lips twitched into a smile at his microscopic flinch. She’d cranked up the volume on purpose. It was easy enough to see she wasn’t flirting, but not so simple to put a finger on the rise she was trying to get out of him. The day was pulsing with tropical heat, but this woman didn’t sweat. But, válgame Dios, did she ever have a glow.

  He followed her gaze to the portable heart monitor. Nothing.

  “Joe?”

  Her colleague wordlessly handed her a syringe loaded with a one-milligram dose of epinephrine as Santi recommenced compressions.

  “Want me to get the backboard?” Joe asked with an unenthusiastic glance up the steep embankment. The poor guy looked like he could’ve done with an iced coffee in the shade. January wasn’t usually this hot, but it’s what the weather man had brought.

  “Don’t worry, we don’t need it for this phase. Too uncomfortable for the patient while we’re doing compressions.” Santi threw the guy a get-out-of-hard-labor option. “When I finish this round, why don’t you take over compressions and I’ll get it—”

  “Hey! You’ll stay exactly where you are, big shot,” Murphy jumped in. “You’re not raking round our ambulance. We don’t know you from Adam.”

  “He said he’s a paramedic,” Joe interjected, obviously still hopeful he wouldn’t have to clamber up the embankment. “Who are you with?”

  “No one today. I’m what they call in between positions.” He saw Murphy’s eyes narrow at his words. She didn’t need to know he’d already polished his boots in advance of his first day at Seaside Hospital. “Twenty-nine. Thirty.”

  He raised his hands away from Diego’s chest and looked directly into Murphy’s eyes as she pressed the charge button on the AED. Through the high-pitched whine of the charging defibrillator he felt an otherworldly surge of electricity hit him in the solar plexus. That indefinable connection that made a man cross a crowded room when his eyes lit on a perfect stranger and the organic laws of chemistry did their explosive best to bring them together. He hadn’t felt that charge of attraction in a while. On a roadside, giving CPR to a vet, wasn’t exactly where he’d thought he’d feel it next, but...he hadn’t really thought there’d be a “next.” Too many ducks already waiting to be put in a row. He scraped a tooth along the length of his lower lip, eyes still glued to hers... The hot Miami sun wasn’t the only thing warming him up.