Crazy about her Spanish Boss

Jillian clutched her purse in reaction. She might have known.

“He said you asked questions about the owner and he told you to call and make an appointment with me. When he told me what time you’d stopped to talk to him, I realized you couldn’t have been on the road ten minutes before the accident.”

“That’s true,” she whispered.

Silence ensued before he said, “Why did you want to see me? Obviously you had a particular reason in mind, otherwise you’d have been off somewhere on a tour bus for the day.”

She lowered her head. He had her squirming. “I—I’m afraid I made a mistake.”

At her remark, she felt his body tauten. “In what way?” he asked.

Afraid she’d offended him again, she moistened her lips nervously. “I wanted to discuss business with you, but since then I’ve changed my mind.”

“You send mixed messages, Senora. Did you not tell me I was an angel with some redeeming qualities?”

Without an honest answer, he would never let this go. She stirred restlessly in the seat. “It’s because you’ve already been so wonderful to me, I don’t want you to feel I’m taking advantage of your good nature.”

“I could hardly assume that when the accident happened after you’d made an effort to talk to me.”

Defeated, she exhaled softly before saying, “All right. I’ve been a tour guide for Europa Utimate Tours six years now. On occasion I help plan their itineraries. So far in France and Spain they’ve concentrated on the main tourist attractions along the French Riviera and the Costa del Sol. I’m trying to put a different trip together that includes the less-frequented parts of central Spain and Portugal.”

His penetrating gaze played over her features. “Most tourists want a beach vacation.”

“I agree, but then there are tourists like me who like to learn things and explore.”

He stared at her through veiled eyes. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

She decided he found her amusing. Taking a fortifying breath she said, “Our tour buses make stops at all kinds of places, including vineyards, but we’ve never offered an olive grove as an educational part of a tour before.

“As I was driving along yesterday, I passed several miles of them and the idea came to me to speak to the owner. When I came to the gate I saw the words Soleado Goyo fashioned in the grillwork. The man told me the estate was owned by the Conde.

“Before the accident happened I was hoping you might consider allowing our tour buses to stop at your estate and enjoy a small tour of the olive groves. To my knowledge our company has never offered an excursion like that here in Spain. It could be a big selling point to tourists if marketed properly. Naturally it would have to be beneficial to you.”

After a moment of quiet she heard his slow intake of breath, as if he carried a heavy weight few people would ever detect. It came from that dark place in his psyche. Though she didn’t know the reason for it, she wanted to cry for his pain laid buried so deeply.

He slowly removed his arm and sat back in the seat. “Come home with me and we’ll talk about it.”

She turned to look at him again. “You mean now?”

“Sí, but I would understand if you’re not feeling up to the drive yet.”

“I’ve never felt better,” she defended.

“Bueno. Until you’ve seen the estate from the inside, no meaningful discussion can take place. Since I need to get back, I suggest we take advantage of the time. As you just told me, you were going to spend the day working anyway.”

“But that would mean you’d have to drive me back here later. It would be too much to ask.”

“Believe me, anyone on my staff would be happy for a reason to escape.”

His comment caused the corner of her mouth to turn up. “Are you such a dreadful boss?”

The devil was in the smile he flashed at her. “I’ll let you be the judge. I should probably tell you ahead of time Diego would refuse his next paycheck for the privilege of escorting you anywhere.”

Jillian felt her cheeks grow hot. “He was very obliging.”

“I should imagine he and most men are, available or not.”

Remi was warning her about something. “Is Diego married?”

“Sí. Dangerously so.”

She laughed. “Dangerously?”

“With four children, his wife keeps very close tabs on him.”

“He’s very handsome, but she has no reason to fear a one-eyed American doing business with Count Goyo.” She loved the way that sounded.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw his hands tighten on he steering wheel. “Before 1850 that 0title migt have meant something, but no longer. 0I prefer you to think of me as Remi.”

That was the fourth time he’d told her.

“Beware of something else, Senora. Your patch adds an intriguing element some might find irresistible.”

“You’ve just given me an idea. If I find out I’m blind, I may have a set of designer patches made up in different colors to match my outfits. What do you think?”

“I think you’re thinking too much,” sounded his gravelly voice.

“I’m only planning ahead. You have to admit the tourists on my bus wouldn’t have any trouble finding me in a crowd.”

“Did they ever?”

“It’s been known to happen.”

She felt his gaze on her. “What do you do in that case?”

“I find them.”

“In certain quarters that could also prove dangerous.” “My husband taught me some moves.”

A strange sound came from his throat. “Now you’ve made me curious. When you are feeling stronger and the doctors say you can lower your head below your heart, you’ll have to use me for a demonstration.”

She turned to look out the passenger window. “I didn’t say they worked on everyone.”

“Shall we agree to reserve judgment until then?” he queried silkily.

They’d left the city and were traveling on the open road toward Toledo. She felt so alive it was painful. Somehow she needed to get hold of herself. When Remi had been wiping her tears a little while ago out of comfort, she’d come close to burying her face in his neck. She’d wanted to touch him.

The next time one of her friends tried to line her up, Jillian had better accept. Otherwise she was going to deserve the labels put on widows who couldn’t control themselves when the first temptation came their way.

Except that he wasn’t offering to satisfy her physical needs, not in that way. Since talking only seemed to get her into more trouble, she rested her head against the corner of the window and closed her eyes.

If Remi didn’t keep his eyes straight ahead, there was going to be another accident in the same place on the highway. She insisted she’d never felt better, yet she’d been asleep for well over an hour. Jillian Gray needed many things, but above all she required rest. He would make certain she got it.

Her bravado only increased his fear that even a partial recovery from that freakish eye injury might not happen. When he’d heard her laughter in the face of such a possible loss, it ripped him apart. The idea of a patch covering up one of those beautiful eyes produced a groan from him. Unfortunately it was loud enough that Jillian’s eyelid fluttered open. She looked the slightest bit disoriented.

“Welcome back, Senora.”

Recovering quickly, she straightened in the seat. “H-how long have I been asleep?”

“We’re almost to the entrance of the estate.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“After what you’ve been through, I can.” After a few more kilometers, he swung the car beneath the Gothic-type arched gate she’d passed two days ago.

Jillian undid her seat belt as they drove into a large, deep courtyard flanked by two residences reminiscent of the Ottoman Empire. The larger one beyond the fountain was a small palace. She gasped at the unmatchable plasterwork of the Mudejar style. Never had she seen more exquisite brick ornamentation.

“How absolutely beautiful…”

In her mind’s eye she could picture those elegant Spanish carriages from the past pulled by dark spotted Appaloosa horses circling the ornate fountain in the center. To think Remi had been born here…all the fabulous tile work…the detail…roses everywhere…

She turned her head toward him. “When was your home built?”

“1610, to be exact.”

Jillian shook her head in disbelief. “I bet this enthralls you every time you drive in.”

Her enthusiasm was like an unexpected breath of fresh air.

“I can feel the heart of old Spain throbbing in my veins whispering her secrets.” She sat back again, taking everything in. “If I lived here, I’d never want to leave.”

“I try to stay here as much as possible.”

In a small voice she said, “I take it something of vital importance brought you out of seclusion the other day.”

“Correct, Senora.”

It had been a day like none other. One moment Remi was driving along trying to absorb the first good news in two years, in the next he was plunged into a life and death situation with this remarkable woman whose inner strength continued to humble him.

He drove them to the front of the main house where he parked the car. “Welcome to La Rosaleda, Jillian,” he said, helping her from the car.

She turned to him. “What does Rosaleda mean exactly?”

“The rose garden. The house has been called that for almost four hundred years. The indoor rose garden serves as an oasis in this dry heat.”

His housekeeper opened the double doors and stepped forward to greet them.

“Maria? Meet Senora Jillian Gray from New York City,” he said in English. “Jillian? Maria runs this house. She and her husband Paco live upstairs.”

“Welcome, Senora.” They shook hands.

“Gracias, Maria. It’s a great pleasure for me.”

“I prepared your room. Follow me.”

“Just a moment, Maria.”

To Remi’s surprise his guest hurried around to the back of the car. Before he could warn her not to bend over, she’d retrieved her brother’s bouquet. She walked toward the housekeeper and handed the carnations to her.

“Knowing the Senor and how good he has been to me since the accident, I have no doubts he’s asked you to go to a lot of trouble for me. I want you to have these as my way of saying thank you. If my brother were here, he would thank you too.”

At Jillian’s explanation Remi couldn’t have been any more surprised than Maria. Her mouth suddenly broadened into a wide smile at their visitor. “Muchas gracias, Senora.”

“Call me Jillian, por favor.”

“J-Jil-yan?”

“That’s good.”

Both women laughed in the face of Jillian’s lie before Maria disappeared with the flowers.

Remi’s mouth curved upward. “Flowers for Maria from a guest? That’s a first for her. She won’t forget your generosity.”

“I’m the one imposing.”

“Let’s get you out of this heat, shall we? You’ll find the thick walls keep house much cooler.”

She accompanied him inside, but only took a few more steps before she let out another gasp and came to a halt.

Alarmed, he reached for her in case she was feeling light headed. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

“No.” She turned toward him. “Forgive me for startling you,” she said, slowly easing her arm from his grasp. Every time he touched her now, he started a small fire.

“It’s just that I’ve known private homes with honeycomb vaulting such as this existed, but I’ve only seen the rare pictures of them in books. Outside of the Alhambra I’ve explored, I never thought I’d be privileged to experience a true Spanish treasure first hand. It’s like coming upon a mystical kingdom where Othello and Don Quixote would be at home.”

Her explanation helped his muscles to relax. The description of his birthplace was very moving. Indeed it paralleled his own thoughts formed from the cradle, but never expressed aloud.

“When you’ve freshened up, we’ll eat lunch in the patio room.”

“That sounds lovely. For the first time in several days I’m actually hungry.”

She followed him down a passageway of glazed, multicolored tiles to the right of the arched foyer. They had to be four hundred years old yet still retained their brilliant colors of blue, red, orange and green. Fabulous!

He came to a set of carved double doors with brass studs and opened them, revealing a magnificent room befitting a nobleman’s house.

“The bathroom is through that door on the left. Make yourself at home. I’ll be back with your suitcase. In case you’ve forgotten, it’s time for your eyedrops.”

He left her standing there bemused by her surroundings. In the midst of this kind of splendor, she had forgotten. A huge chandelier with real candles hung from the stalactite ceiling. At her feet lay an intricately inlaid wood floor in a striped Moorish design, making it difficult to know where to look first.

The big canopied bed of white lace would have dominated a smaller room. Her fascinated gaze passed from the brass wall sconces to the massive armoires and writing desk. The dark wood had been inlaid with mother-of-pearl, a long lost art.

In one end of the room she spied a round table of an unusual shade of yellow wood tinted with darker veining. Several ornately upholstered chairs in jewel tones surrounded it. At the other end she saw a grouping of damask love seats and an ottoman arranged around a fireplace.

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…

CHAPTER FOUR

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.”

Ping. Did you hear what he just said, Jillian?

“The next time I talk to Dave, I’ll tell him that being taken care of by Senor Goyo is like having another protective brother around. I couldn’t possibly be in better hands.”

If she truly looked on him the way she did Dave, she wouldn’t have given it a thought, but that wasn’t the case. To be this aware of Remi was pure torture and she still had the rest of the day to get through before someone drove her back to Madrid.

She thought, of course, her comment would have pleased him, but those shuttered eyes revealed nothing to her gaze. He continued to eat without saying anything. Maybe she’d better concentrate on the food before he thought she wasn’t hungry after all.

Trying not to look at him sitting there with a portion of his tanned chest showing, she took her first bites of food. “Um…is this lamb?”

“Sí, Senora. It’s called cuchifrito.”

“And what’s the other dish?”

“Queso manchego, a local cheese specialty made from ewe’s milk.”

“Everything’s delicious.”

“I’m glad you approve.”

Though he seemed to have a healthy appetite, there was an awkward silence between them she didn’t know how to breach. It was her fault. Not knowing what else to do, she ate everything on her plate before putting down her fork.

“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.”