Ally Blake - At His Service - Flirting with the Boss - Crazy about her Spanish Boss / Hired - The Boss's Bride / Blind Date with the Boss

“Remi?” she said at last. Her nerves were too frayed to sit there much longer like this. “Have you given any thought to my proposal?” He hadn’t broached the subject yet, but maybe talking about business would get them on a better footing.

“Before a discussion can take place, you need to tour the estate. If you’re up to it, we’ll get started. I need to change and will meet you in the courtyard in fifteen minutes.”

He put his napkin down and rose to his feet. She had the impression he couldn’t get away from her fast enough. “Stay here and enjoy the dessert that’s coming. Normally we would serve you oranges, a tradition of the Goyas. However, I asked Maria to prepare something unique for you.”

She flashed him a small smile, hoping to ease the tension. “Another specialty of the region?”

“That’s right. When you’ve finished, tell me if you don’t prefer chocolate mousse made with olive oil rather than butter.” On that parting note he disappeared through an alcove.

It turned out Jillian was late joining him.

The mousse was out of this world. She ended up following Soraya into the kitchen to have a discussion with Maria about how she’d made it. Jillian learned they used olive oil for everything.

“In Spain we’re surrounded with olive groves, not dairy land.” Her explanation made perfect sense.

“Did you put a little almond in the mousse?”

“No. Our olives have a fruity taste.”

Fabulous. Jillian had cooked with Goyo oil many times, but hadn’t realized how that particular flavor would come out in the chocolate. “I’d love to stay in here and talk, but the Senor is waiting. Thank you for the wonderful meal.”

“Thank you for the flowers.” She’d put them on a side table beneath the arched window.

After nodding to both women she hurried through the casa to get her digital camera. Then she ran out to the courtyard. Remi and one of his staff stood against the door of a truck with their heads together. He broke off talking when he saw her and moved toward her wearing jeans and a white cotton shirt his build did amazing things for.

“I’m sorry I’m late, but there was a reason,” she explained nervously.

His worried gaze swept over her. “If you’re too tired or hot, we can put this off.”

“If you must know, I was in the kitchen talking to Maria and the time got away from us.”

At her explanation, the frown lines around his eyes cleared up. “This is her husband, Paco.” He made the introductions.

Jillian shook the foreman’s hand. He had a full head of glistening black hair and was attractive like Diego. The Spanish were beautiful people.

“Your wife is a terrific cook.”

“I know,” he said in a teasing voice, patting his slight paunch. He made a playful fist against the boss’s shoulder. “On this one it doesn’t show.”

No. The Senor was a breed apart from everyone else.

“See you later, Remi.” He made a slight bow to her and walked toward the main house.

“If you’ll get in the truck, I’ll take you around the property so you can see if this is what you’d visualized. We won’t do anything on foot because it’s too hot.”

“Would you still say that if I hadn’t just had an operation?”

“No.”

Well, that answer was direct enough.

“I have no desire to be forced to send for another helicopter because this time I allowed you to suffer heat exhaustion.”

Her flushed cheeks darkened in color. “You weren’t responsible for what happened to me.”

“I’m responsible now,” came the obdurate response, bringing out the dark side in his nature. “Shall we go?”

He opened the door and helped her inside. She wasn’t able to prevent the hem of her dress riding up her thigh. The attempt to pull it down came too late. His dark eyes didn’t miss anything before she moved her sandaled foot inside so he could shut the door.

Remi climbed in the other side. When he started the motor, the air conditioner came on, much to her relief. He drove them behind the main house to the area where she could see a large number of outbuildings. The complex was more like a living museum and much bigger than she’d imagined.

“This is a part of the estate we don’t use anymore. You’re looking at the spot where Soleado Goyo had its earliest beginnings.”

“What does Soleado mean exactly?”

“Sunny, like your hair.”

The personal comment confused her. Sometimes at his most distant, he inserted some remark that quickened her pulse. Jillian forced herself to concentrate as he pointed out the old mill house and the primitive olive press house with its orange-tiled roof and tower. With the huge shade trees, she found the whole scene had an old world charm all its own, like a painting. She drew out her camera and began snapping pictures.

A little farther on beneath the trees they came upon a well and, beyond it, a barn. He drove the truck to the opening, where she could see one of those gorgeous black carriages from the past she’d envisioned being drawn around the courtyard. Near the entrance she noticed half a dozen huge antique storage jars once used to hold the precious oil.

“The moving and lifting in those days must have been backbreaking work,” she cried.

“It still is,” he muttered. “The only difference is that the oil processing and packaging is done in air-conditioned buildings. It might interest you to know that many of the homes in the region didn’t have ovens because of the heat. Fried foods ruled the day, making olive oil a necessity.”

She couldn’t learn enough. Everything he told her would be fascinating to tour groups.

They drove through several miles of neat rows of olive trees, providing her an unforgettable sight. “The harvest won’t take place until December,” he said, reading her mind.

“Do you use machines for that?”

“We grow the cornicabra olives. They must be handpicked in order to make extra virgin oil.”

“Cornicabra ? ”

His lips curved. Once again he seemed amused by her inquisitive nature. “The olives are pointed like a goat’s horn.”

“There’s so much to learn. It would take a lifetime.”

“ Sí, Senora,” he answered.

He sounded so far away just then, it struck her that this personal guided tour was the last thing he’d wanted to do with his busy day. Because of his misplaced sense of guilt over the car accident, he’d taken several days off from his work to see to her welfare and now he was playing tour guide.

While she sat there deep in thought, he drove on until they came to the newer buildings now in use to receive the olives and make the oil. Another one did the bottling, still another prepared the crates for shipping within the country and abroad. He had a huge concern to run.

It dawned on her that if there’d been no accident, she had a gut feeling she wouldn’t have gotten to even speak with him over the phone. Once she’d introduced herself as representing EuropaUltimate Tours and had explained her reason for wanting to talk to him, no doubt he would have been congenial, but he wouldn’t have had the time or the inclination to entertain the idea of tour buses stopping at his property.

This wasn’t a winery where the tourists could get off the bus and enter a wine cellar for a tasting party. Any visit guaranteed that the tourists would need a bathroom, a cold drink and respite from the heat. Without those amenities, she couldn’t possibly make this stop part of a day’s activity for the people in her charge.

Remi already knew that. It was the reason why he’d told her they couldn’t discuss business until after she’d seen the estate. He wasn’t set up to accommodate tour groups, but instead of giving her a flat-out no, he’d allowed her to figure it out for herself.