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

“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.