Читать книгу Hot Latin Docs Collection - Tina Beckett, Amalie Berlin - Страница 19

CHAPTER NINE

“HOT SAUCE, PLEASE.” Saoirse stuck out a hand.

“Someone’s getting a taste for Latino spices.” Santi laughed, pushing the bottle of fiery hot sauce across the breakfast bar counter.

“I don’t know what they put in this stuff, but it’s great!” She gleefully applied splash after splash of the green sauce to her enchiladas.

“I know. Our bodega is one of the only places to stock it. We can hardly keep it in stock.”

“Listen to you!” Saoirse teased through a mouthful of burn-your-lips-off enchiladas. “‘Our bodega.’ ‘We can hardly keep it in stock.’ When am I going to meet these mythical shopkeeping surgeons anyhow?”

Santiago bristled.

“I’m not stopping you from doing anything.”

Saoirse pulled away from the counter where they’d been wolfishly attacking their after-shift meals and gave him a wary look. One that said, Qué paso, hombre? And what’s with the arm’s-length business?

He’d felt it.

She’d felt it.

But joining up the two parts of his life that meant the most to him was proving tougher than he’d thought.

“Valentino,” she finally began, “of all the people in your life, you can count me as number one cheerleader in the thank heavens Santi’s made friends with his brothers’ club!”

“And why is that exactly? Enjoying having the place to yourself now that I’ve got more responsibilities?”

“Whoa!” Saoirse pushed her plate away and looked at him as if he’d sprouted horns. “Who put grumpy sauce on his chimichurris?”

“No one!” he bit back, confirming that someone had, in fact, put not only grumpy sauce but defensive sauce and a splash of get-off-my-back sauce into the mix, as well.

She gave him a gentle smile and a look of infinite tenderness he most assuredly didn’t deserve. “C’mon, you big macho man. Tell your...” she hesitated for a fraction of a second “...friend, Murphy, all about it.”

He opened his mouth to reply and found he couldn’t. Her choice of words was exactly the problem. Or, more accurately, just the one.

Friend.

Was that how she really saw their—whatever it was?

Sure, it hadn’t been a conventional start to a relationship. The order had been all wrong and the proposal hadn’t been a proposal, it had been...a proposition. But so much had changed in the weeks since she’d come into his life, including the way he saw her.

Much more than a friend.

Which was exactly why he didn’t want her meeting his brothers yet. She deserved more than being introduced as a green-card fiancée. Much more.

And until he found some way to pull off the jokey veneer he used to keep the mood between them light and tell her how he really felt? That he loved her? He couldn’t—wouldn’t—introduce her to his brothers. She was precious to him. And the last thing he was going to do was give his brothers even the slightest reason to think less of her than she deserved.

“This whole strong, silent type thing is making me nervous, Valentino.” She stabbed at her enchiladas, but was rearranging them now rather than eating. “What gives?”

“I thought you hated it when I talked. Last night you shushed me about a zillion times.” He forced on his jocular banter voice. It sounded strangled to him, but her shoulders shifted downward. Less nervous hunch and more feisty blonde.

“That’s because you were talking through my show.” Saoirse swooped her fork across the top of her enchiladas, gathering up a wealth of cheese and hot sauce as she did. She circled the fork in front of her mouth, forcing his gaze onto the pair of lips he never failed to be mesmerized by. “You should never, ever talk through my show.”

“The paramedics show? Your favorite show is what we do for work all day?”

“Uh-huh.”

He smiled as she popped the cheesy blob into her mouth, eyes disappearing under her lids as she gave a satisfied groan.

He was usually the reason she made that sound. Who knew he’d be reduced to duking it out with a forkful of queso blanco to be Saoirse’s favorite thing. Then again, the queso blanco probably would’ve taken her home to meet the family by now.

“I like watching it to reassure myself that I’m better,” she said after making the most of her mouthful of cheese. “Work’s the reason I get up in the morning!”

Santi nodded, eyes quickly averting to the takeaway menus on the freezer door, the stack of phone books holding up one corner of the secondhand sofa—anywhere but on Saoirse.

He wanted to be the reason she got up in the morning. They worked together. They slept together. And he liked it. For the first time in his life he wanted more. He felt his chest grow thick with emotions he usually never let bang around his rib cage.

He pushed away from the counter, brusquely scraping the remains of his meal into the garbage can. Sure, it was his own fault she didn’t know how he felt. Didn’t make feeling them any easier.

All he had to do was say the words—those three precious words that could change his life forever—but he just wasn’t there yet. If he lost Saoirse... He swore under his breath, slamming the lid to the garbage can down as he did.

“What’s got into you?” Saoirse was eyeing him warily.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

Santi put his plate into the dishwasher, closed it with an exasperated huff and looked her square in the eye.

“I don’t think we should sleep together anymore.”

The bright, cheery expression on Saoirse’s face completely disappeared. “Okay.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say about it? Okay?”

“You’re the one who said it, not me.” She grabbed her plate, jumped off her stool and in the process of putting the scraps in the garbage can managed to lose the entire plate. She slammed the lid down, leaving the plate to languish among the debris. “And you’re the one who hasn’t been using the guest room I very specially made up for you.”

“Well, I’ll be using it now. Don’t worry about that.”

“Good.” She crossed her arms and glared at him.

“Good.” He mirrored her defensive stance.

Great. A standoff.

He smacked his forehead suddenly remembering that Ángel down at Mad Ron’s knew about their marriage plans. He’d have to tell him to stay shtum as his brothers were no strangers to the cantina.

“Now what? Forgotten to tell me you’ve also put in for a request for a change of partners while you’re at it?” Saoirse was staring at him with undisguised fury and he didn’t blame her. He was making a complete and utter hash of things.

“Murph—”

“Oh, so we’re back to Murph now, too, are we? And just when I was going to give you a certificate of approval for being able to pronounce my name.” She uncrossed then recrossed her arms, foot tapping rapidly against the wooden floor, hands balled into little fists. “May as well get to the point, Santi, and just spit out what you really want to say—the wedding’s off.”

“No!”

They both froze at the hoarse passion in his voice. “No, Saoirse. That’s not what I’m saying at all.”

“Would you mind, then, please, telling me what the blue blazes is going through that pea-sized brain of yours because I’ve had just about as much disappointment at the altar as a girl can take. I will not be humiliated a second time. Especially if the blasted thing isn’t even meant to be real!”

Santi’s heart shot out searing rays of pain in his chest. He didn’t want to cause her pain. The total opposite, in fact. Every time her face lit up when he appeared from around a corner, or she laughed at one of his ridiculous jokes, she made the world—his world—a better place to be. But he needed to restart or reboot or wipe the slate clean or whatever the hell a man did when truth and honesty and love needed to be at the fore of everything he was feeling.

“This isn’t coming out the way I meant.”

“You think?” Saoirse bit back. “As a breakup conversation it’s going pretty well from where I’m standing.”

“Saoirse, please. I’m juggling a lot of things right now and I just want to make sure I get all of them right. If you hadn’t noticed, the whole feelings thing isn’t really my forte.”

“I could’ve told you that for nothing,” Saoirse replied, a bit of the anger slipping away from her c’mon-I-dare-you-to-just-say-it stance. “But what’s that got to do with, you know...” She flicked her thumb in the direction of her bedroom. “Not good enough for you, am I?”

“That is definitely not the problem, mija,” Santi replied, suddenly seeing the conversation from her perspective. Another knock back. Another hurdle to leap to turn the tables in her own life.

“What is it then?”

Oh, Dios. Was that a wobble in her voice?

“C’mere, you.” Santi opened his arms and gestured for her to come to him.

“I’m not budging or letting you lay your sexy hands on me until you explain what on earth is going on with you.”

“I just want to square things with my brothers. And with you...”

Her eyebrows lifted expectantly, emotion shining brightly in her eyes.

“Men can’t multitask,” he finished pathetically.

“So, let me get this straight. You’re saying if you sleep with me, you’ll be so busy being bewitched by the wonders of my good self you won’t be able to sort out your relationship with your brothers?”

“Precisely.” He heaved a sigh of relief, only to catch the unchecked roll of Saoirse’s eyes. He’d bought himself a bit more time. Time to set things right. For all of them.

“For the record...” Saoirse crossed to him and gave him a narrow-eyed stare “...men are stupid.” She zeroed her pointy finger in on his chest and gave him a much-deserved jab in the solar plexus. “Enjoy the guest room, muchacho.”