Rebecca Winters - At His Service - Flirting with the Boss

Above the elaborately carved mantel hung an immense oil painting of a mature olive tree in full flower, its trunk gnarled and twisted. There was a plaque at the bottom. She moved closer to read it.

Gat Shemanim. The words were in Hebrew. What did they mean?

Her gaze flicked to the olive groves she could see from the window, then shifted back to the painting again. She could almost hear its silvery leaves rustling in the breeze, never realizing how fascinating an olive tree could be.

Senor Goyo had been tending them from boyhood, extracting the rich oil from their fruit revered by men over the centuries. The thought of him engaged in something so important throughout his whole life had a strange effect on her, moving her to tears for a reason she couldn’t comprehend.

To her dismay he’d come back in the room with her suitcase and his flowers, catching her in another emotional moment.

She heard him pause before he lowered her bag to the floor and walked over to her. “What am I going to do with you?” he asked in a husky tone.

Jillian knew what she wanted him to do, but that would be the worst thing she could do for herself, and it would only embarrass him.

“Great beauty always makes me emotional.” She tried to resist looking at him. “Tell me the meaning on the plaque of the painting.”

He studied her face briefly before he said, “The Garden of Gethsemane. Several olive trees still growing there would have witnessed the Lord’s suffering. My grandmother, devout in the faith, had it painted as a first anniversary gift for my grandfather. He insisted it hang in their bedroom. My parents kept up the tradition.”

“So this was their room, too.”

His dark head nodded. “Five generations of Goyos have slept in here.”

She stared at him. “Does that mean you, too?”

Lines broke out on his hard-boned features alerting her she’d stepped onto sacred ground. That was the trouble with asking questions that were none of her business. In her need to learn more about him, all she managed to do was upset him.

“I live in the house to the north of the courtyard.”

Not in the main house?

What terrible history had gone here to bring an end to traditions he clearly loved?

“Do you need a few more minutes alone?” he asked in a deceptively mild voice, but she wasn’t fooled.

“Give me five minutes to put in my drops and I’ll join you in the patio room. Where is it?”

“When you leave the bedroom, go left and you’ll soon come to it.” He put the flowers down on the bedside table and started to leave.

“Remi …” His black eyes swerved to hers. “Do you mind if I put the roses on that yellow table?”

“Why would I mind?” Before she could blink he’d done it for her.

“Thank you. It’s such an exquisite piece of furniture and the flowers look gorgeous against it. What kind of wood is it?”

His eyes scrutinized her. “Can’t you guess?”

“You mean that’s from an olive tree?”

“ Sí, Senora.”

“I had no idea.”

“When I was little my grandmother told me God loved the olive tree best of all the trees He created. To hide its beauty from the other trees so they wouldn’t be jealous, He gave it a flaw in the form of a gnarled trunk.

“She was a wise woman always trying to teach me, but I’m afraid I didn’t appreciate the greatness of her wisdom until very recently.”

Once Jillian was alone she pulled the drops from her purse to treat her eye. Throughout the process his haunting words refused to leave her alone. That was the way with riddles.

Like every riddle, it wanted solving …

JILLIAN LEFT THE BEDROOM a few minutes later and followed the passageway to the end. It opened up into an exquisite garden. Palm trees surrounded a rectangular pool of azure blue, decorated with colorful tiles. A latticed roof of Ottoman design sheltered it from the full brunt of the sun.

She felt like she’d come upon an oasis in the middle of the desert, yet it was deep inside this great casa. Charmed beyond words, she moved closer toward the inviting water.

Once again her lungs constricted, but this time it was because she suddenly noticed Remi’s sleek, powerful body maneuvering like a torpedo close to the floor of the pool. She watched in fascination while he did several laps before surfacing. He shook his head, sprinkling her unintentionally before he levered himself to the patio.

Jillian looked away, but it wasn’t fast enough for him to catch her staring. His black trunks rode low on his hips, revealing most of his well-cut physique to her vision.

He reached for a towel hanging over the back of one of the chairs to dry off. The whiteness of the material looked exaggerated against the dark gold of his olive skinned body. His house might be a great work of art, but so was he.

“I would have invited you to join me, but Dr. Filartigua says no swimming, at least until he sees you again.” He tossed the towel aside and shrugged into a short-sleeved cotton shirt he left unbuttoned. “Come and sit down.” He pulled a chair away from the square-tiled table to help her.

“Thank you.”

No sooner did he pull another chair around for himself than a dark-haired woman probably Jillian’s age approached carrying a tray of food and drinks. Her curious brown eyes looked at both of them before she set it down on the table.

“ Gracias, Soraya. Please meet my guest, Senora Jillian Gray.”

She lifted her head. “How do you do, Senora.”

“Soraya and her husband and children live in the house to the south of the courtyard.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Soraya.”

Remi lifted everything off the tray before handing it back to her. His gaze swerved to Jillian. “Soraya is Paco and Maria’s married daughter. She has two children, eight and six. Before the day is out you’ll meet them and her husband, Miguel.”

Jillian smiled at her. “I have a niece and nephew whom I miss terribly. What are your children’s names?”

“Marcia and Nina.”

“Perhaps you should warn them my eye got poked by some glass so they won’t be scared when they first meet me and think I’m some kind of alien from outer space.”

At Soraya’s puzzled expression Remi translated for her. A smile broke out on her pretty face. She said something back in rapid Spanish. He turned to Jillian. “She says her girls will think you look like Cinderella.”

“You mean from the fractured fairy tale version,” she fairly mumbled so the other woman wouldn’t pick up her words. She had to jest or go a little mad waiting for the result of her checkup next week.

Any light from Remi’s gaze faded before he declared, “Senora Gray says you’re too kind, Soraya.”

Jillian’s bad manners had not amused him. Horrified by her gaffe, she looked up at the other woman and nodded. What else could she do?

As soon as Maria’s daughter left them alone, Remi began eating as if nothing had happened.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I’ve been wondering when you would vent. It had to happen sometime. You wouldn’t be human otherwise. We can only carry pain inside us for so long.”

Her hand twisted the corner of the cloth napkin into a wad. “But not at Soraya’s expense.”

“She doesn’t know enough English to have understood. No harm done.”

“But you won’t forget. After everything you’ve done for me, I’m ashamed.”

He drank from his water goblet, then leveled his glance on her. “Don’t be. I assume you would have made the same remark to your brother in front of her. Since I promised to stand in for him, it must mean I’m doing an adequate job.”