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

Jillian stared hard at him. “How do you dare put yourself at risk again?”

“For one thing I now have you for a business partner.”

“But I haven’t proven myself yet.”

His fierce eyes glittered. “Do you honestly think we’d be having this conversation if I didn’t have faith in you?”

“That’s very flattering,” she said, her voice shaking.

“Have you forgotten the drought could last several more years? I’m already at risk. Fortunately the enterprise you and I’ve entered into isn’t affected by the weather to keep it going. We can depend on a certain amount of tourist traffic year-round barring terrorist attacks at the airports worldwide or all-out global war,” he said.

“Heaven forbid,” she muttered.

He chuckled. “If that happens we’re all doomed anyway. In the meantime I’d like your ideas about advertising for drop-in customers.”

She gave him a half smile. “Are we talking about the Holy Toledo?” They’d just passed the city in question and would be back on the estate shortly.

“I don’t see why not. Even if the Americans are the only ones who get the point, the association with Toledo will be enough to make a lasting impression on tourists of other nationalities. Especially my countrymen. We Goyos are descendents of one of the Dukes of Toledo.”

“You’re kidding.” She hid her head in her hands. “I had no idea. Your ancestors would probably turn over in their graves.”

“Undoubtedly. That’s why I’m so taken with your suggestion.”

“Dangerous and irreverent, too,” she quipped daringly, producing a laugh from him.

He really liked her idea. She could feel it. “I’m getting excited, Remi.”

“So am I,” he said in his deep, vibrant voice, “and that hasn’t happened in a long time.”

“I know what you mean.” But she wasn’t talking about business. Clearing her throat, she said, “The tour bus crowds will be the best source of advertising, but to get things started we could promote the grand opening in the newspaper.”

Peeking at him out of her good eye she said, “I looked up your Web site on the Internet. We could make an announcement there. I’ll work up a flier to place at the local tourist agencies in Toledo and Madrid. Being a tour guide, I know some of the people. They’ll distribute them for us. If we have a good turnout, word of mouth will do the rest.”

He reached for her hand.

When he’d held it in the hospital, it had been to comfort her. In the pastry shop he’d grasped her wrist for support. This time his strong fingers twined with hers, sending out a different message, one she was afraid to read for fear she would interpret it wrong.

At a glance their joined hands reminded her of the other evening while they’d taken the carriage ride around a portion of the property. In one of the groves the trees had been planted in pairs almost like they were lovers. The odd notion had jumped into her mind then and wouldn’t leave.

When she’d asked Remi about it, he’d drawn the horses to a stop and had turned in the seat to explain. As he spoke to her, the slanting rays of the sun bathed his arresting features, causing his eyes to look slumberous.

“We call these trees cultivars. Since this type is self-sterile or nearly so, we plant them in pairs with a single primary cultivar and a secondary cultivar selected for its ability to fertilize the primary one.”

He’d supplied the answer and she’d been shaken by it.

That odd notion was still in her mind, only now it had taken root in her heart.

Remi didn’t let go until they drove through the gate. After parking the car, he carried her suitcase into the casa and put it down inside the bedroom. “Meet me in the patio room in fifteen minutes. We’ll soak in the pool and plot.”

The glint in those black eyes rocked her to her foundation.

Remi waited in the water for Jillian. They were alone in the house for the first time. Paco was at the plant. Maria and the others had gone to the nearest village of Arges to do some shopping. She’d left food prepared, but after the meal he and Jillian had enjoyed in Madrid, he doubted his guest was hungry yet.

Fifteen minutes turned into twenty-five. He had half a mind to walk back to the bedroom and knock on her door. Just as he started to get out of the pool, she came out on the patio with those long elegant legs exposed carrying a towel over her arm. A thigh-length beach coat in small green and white stripes covered up the suit he couldn’t see. The sunglasses had been removed. Now he could look into her eyes.

His pulse rate picked up. He swam the length of the pool, but didn’t get out. “Before we do anything else, let’s wash your hair.” He lifted a bottle of shampoo he’d brought out with his towel. In the hospital he’d noticed she liked strawberry so he’d purchased something similar.

She looked stunned. “You mean here?”

His mouth quirked. “This isn’t a natural swimming pool. It’s fresh water, no chlorine. A few suds aren’t going to hurt anything. Put your towel down by mine and lie on it with your head hanging over the edge. I’ll support you.”

He sensed her reluctance.

“Didn’t your husband ever wash your hair for you?” Remi held her gaze until she murmured yes.

“I promise not one drop of water will get in your eyes.”

She still seemed hesitant. “Did I just imagine you asking the doctor how soon you could have a shampooing?”

She shook her head.

I can wait as long as you can, Senora.

Another few seconds and she arranged the towel on the tiles next to his. Without removing her modest cover-up, she sat down and lay back, inching her body until he could cup her well-shaped head in his palm.

With his other hand he poured the cool water over her hair, careful to protect her beyond her hairline.

“Oh …” Her sigh invaded his body.

“You like that?” he whispered.

“You can’t imagine.”

Yes, he could. He leaned over her. The lines of her generous, heart-shaped mouth mesmerized him. She had a widow’s peak, too, and shell-like ears. Most women had pierced lobes, but hers were as smooth as petals and her roots were pure gold like the ends of her hair.

From this angle, with the light shining between the latticework, he saw something he hadn’t noticed before. The surgery had changed the configuration of her pupil. It now resembled a pear. Had she already seen it and suffered in silence because that part of her eye would never be restored? His gut clenched.

Jillian …

He felt his eyelids prickle and had to will himself to stop trembling before getting on with the task.

Once he’d steeled back his emotions, he poured some shampoo onto her golden mass of hair and began to massage her scalp. Slowly he covered every inch, all the while breathing in the fruit-scented fragrance. Her skin exuded warmth. He could feel every breath she took.

As he worked up a lather, his senses filled until his body grew heavy with longing for this woman who was still in mourning for her husband. Remi had no right to touch her except like this. He would drag it out as long as she would let him.

“You have magic in your fingers, Senor. ”

“When we pick the olives, we have to treat them like newborn babies.”

Her lips curved. “One day when you have your own babies, they’ll be lucky to have you for their father.”

His hands stilled in her hair. “You think?”

“I know. I’ve been the recipient of your strength and tenderness when I needed help most. Maybe it comes from working with the gift from the gods. I read that Homer called olive oil ‘liquid gold’.”