“So, I hear someone needs a little medical attention.” Hands fisted on her hips, Anamaría got down to business, not even wasting time with a hello. Fine by him. The faster they got this unwanted reunion over, the better.
“I’m good. No need for you to be here,” he told her.
“Alejandro!” His mami’s dismayed gasp was accompanied by a slap of his thigh. “No seas rudo!”
Anamaría smirked, the quirk of her lips reminiscent of times she had teased him for getting in trouble in the past. “No worries, Señora Miranda. Making house calls and dealing with occasional rudeness is in my job description. Lucky for Alejandro, I’m in a generous mood.”
Generous?
Please. It wasn’t like she was the one who’d been wronged. Instead of the one who had reneged on their shared dream. Then pushed him away.
Seeing as how she was about to poke around the leg now throbbing like an alien had implanted itself under his skin and decided this was the perfect time to burst out, Alejandro kept his accusation to himself.
The sooner they got this over with and she left, the sooner he could go back to reminding himself that he was better off without any of the pressures and recriminations being back in Key West presented. Better off without her.
Anamaría bent to peer at his leg. Her cool hand touched his left knee above the top external fixator ring, a soft caress that sent heat searing through him. He tensed and sucked in a sharp breath.
Her intuitive gaze cut his way. Eyes narrowed, she stared back at him, ensnaring him like a helpless insect caught in a spider’s silky web.
Something dark and primitive passed between them. Proof that while some things had changed in his absence, his instant reaction to the only woman he had ever loved remained brutally the same.
Lips pressed in an irritated line, Anamaría slid her glance away, breaking their connection as she leaned closer to peer at his injured leg. Her ponytail swung down to brush against his skin at the hem of his shorts. Lust made a beeline up his leg, straight to his crotch.
Fucking great. Annoyed, he folded his hands in his lap to cover himself.
“Okay, let’s see what we’re dealing with here,” she said matter-of-factly, as if the spark between them hadn’t singed her the same way it had him.
Shit, he already knew what he was dealing with. His own personal hell.
Her motions brisk, Anamaría unzipped her backpack, removed and opened a first-aid kit, then set it on the coffee table. She tugged on a pair of light blue medical gloves, the snap of the rubbery material against her skin loud in the quiet living room. Poor Lulu’s eyes widened with apprehension.
Anamaría straightened, her impassive expression grating on his frayed nerves. “You ready?”
Was she kidding? Of course, he wasn’t fucking ready. For a boatload of reasons he refused to admit out loud.
Unfortunately, there was no getting around this humiliation.
With a brisk nod, he braced himself for the discomfort her ministrations would bring—to his leg as well as to his traitorous heart.
Chapter 2
Heart pounding, Anamaría knelt between the floral sofa and wicker coffee table, her chest even with Alejandro’s elevated leg. Even knowing what she was walking into, she hadn’t been prepared for what greeted her.
Alejandro’s handsome face was thinner, his skin slightly jaundiced rather than the usual sun-kissed bronze she’d seen in the pictures he occasionally posted on social media. His usually clean-shaven, angular jaw sported thick scruff, evidence that he hadn’t shaved in at least a week. Pain pinched the edges of his mouth and shadowed his dark eyes in a broody expression she should not have found appealing.
Doggedly, Anamaría willed herself to concentrate on “the patient” and calm the nervous trembles humming through her. Steady hands were needed here. Both to ensure she didn’t cause him more discomfort when she cleaned his pin sites and to dispel any question about whether or not being near him again might be a problem for her.
It wasn’t. Not in the least.
She empathized with anyone who was injured, especially this badly. It was part of why she’d chosen her profession. And she was damn good at what she did.
Forget that the last time they touched had been the night they’d said good-bye. Back when she’d thought he would change his mind about staying away for good. And he apparently thought she’d eventually be okay leaving everything behind. Their home. His familia. Hers.
Wrapped in a tight hug, she’d held on to him as they stood on the concrete seawall behind her parents’ house in Big Coppitt Key. Above them, the midnight sky had sparkled with stars. A full moon shone its mercurial path over the dark open ocean at the end of the canal, disappearing in the distance. Just like he eventually would.
If she closed her eyes, Anamaría could sense the humidity and sorrow-laden air enveloping them. Smell the salty seawater mixed with the sweet scent of the bougainvillea trailing up the back stairs. Feel the harsh misery of her heart breaking.
Instead, she kept her eyes wide open, intent on doing her job, then getting the hell out of here.
Her fingers softly palpated the area a couple inches away from where one of the wires attached to the top ring on the external fixator pierced his skin. Two and a half weeks post-surgery, it was surprising to find bandages covering his pin sites. If there had been complications with healing, the surgeon in Puerto Rico wouldn’t have, shouldn’t have, let Alejandro travel.
“I’m assuming the bandages were placed here as a precaution to avoid germs during your trip home?” she asked.
When he didn’t answer, she glanced at him from under her lashes.
Sweat beaded his upper lip and brow. Teeth gritted, his jaw muscles straining, he gave a jerky nod in response. Pain flashed like lightning in his nearly black eyes.
“Anamawía make Tío Ale better?” Lulu asked, her high-pitched voice breaking the tension filling the room as all the adults watched with varying degrees of concern.
“She’s going to try, Mamita,” Cece answered.
Try being the operative word here. Based on the tension radiating off Alejandro, he was either really pissed to see her or experiencing a higher degree of discomfort than he should. Maybe both.
As for him being pissed, he’d have to suck it up. She wasn’t thrilled about their impromptu reunion, either. It had their scheming mothers written all over it.
But the pain from his injury . . . that she might be able to help. Not, however, with this particular audience breathing down her neck. All of them waiting for any sign that past hurts lingered. Or worse, a hint they’d been laid to rest and the potential for a new future for her and Alejandro still existed.
She’d bet her next Kelly day that her mom and Señora Miranda had already started praying a novena for the latter. And Anamaría, like most firefighters, wouldn’t bet her monthly extra day off on anything less than a sure winner.
Pushing aside the irritating thought of their mothers’ matchmaking, Anamaría turned back to her task. Not the person.
“Okay, everyone, while I’m sure Alejandro enjoyed the welcome home fiesta, we should move him to his room, where he’ll be more comfortable,” Anamaría announced. “After I finish checking his pin sites, Tío Ale needs to take a nap, like Lulu. Rest is important for his recovery.”