want everything from a grand tour of five weeks down to an overnight excursion. The lure of visiting the Soleado Goyo olive groves would be one of those unforgettable highlights.”
“Your company has the perfect ambassador in you, Jillian.”
“Thank you.” She was inordinately pleased by the compliment. “Before we go any further, let me give you a ballpark figure of what you could make in a year with say a hundred and fifty stops. Depending on the scope of your financial goal, it should tell you if a venture like this would be worthwhile.”
She told him and then held her breath waiting for a reaction. He was quiet so long she said, “Isn’t it even close to what you’d need?”
He studied her features for a moment. “On the contrary. It would supplement things very nicely.”
Her heartbeat sped up. “But—” She’d heard one in there somewhere. He had to have many reservations.
“I’m thinking of the winter months during the harvest.”
“After what I learned from you yesterday, I factored that in. Naturally you can’t be worried about tourists at such a critical time. The figure I quoted was based on nine months, leaving out December through February.”
His intelligent eyes flashed her a glance that said he was impressed. And interested. She was jumping out of her skin with excitement. He really was considering it.
“Will you show me inside the mill house?”
“Do you read minds, too?” His unexpected question provoked a smile from her, which he returned. She was thankful for that. Minutes ago his austerely handsome face had been a study in pain. “I was about to take you inside.”
They moved in companionable silence toward the building with its attached storage shed. He opened the heavy wooden door. A heavy giant oak beam ran the length of the rectangular room. The millstones were still in place.
“Oh—This is fantastic!” Ideas were pouring into her head faster than she could contain them.
“If you’re this taken with it, then you’ll like our next stop. Come with me.”
She followed him to the other house with its unique tower and charming mullioned windows. Once inside, she marveled over the ancient olive press. It was still intact. “You’ve kept everything in such beautiful condition,” she exclaimed in a daze.
The wood flooring of these buildings and the barn had a patina built up over years of use. She touched the thick plastered walls with their beamed ceilings. They were the real thing. Combined with the influence of Moorish and Gothic architecture, her mind was flooded with flashes of El Cid and Philip of Spain.
She glanced over at him. “Any tourist privileged enough to step foot on your property will be swept back in history and never want to leave. Will you be able to handle that?”
He cocked his head. There was a mysterious look in his eyes. “Suppose we find out.”
Jillian could hardly breathe.
“I’m an olive tree farmer, not a carpenter or a tour guide. I know the exact moment to pick the olives for their oil, but I wouldn’t know where to start with these relics. You know what you need and what will work, so here’s my proposition … Why don’t you stay here and sketch out some ideas for me? Use the writing desk in your bedroom and take all the time you need.
“While I’m at work, make La Rosaleda your home. Feel free to spend time wandering around the property to come up with your plans. When you need transportation, I’ll arrange for it. On the drive to Madrid I’ll be able to give you my full attention. We’ll talk everything over then and I’ll look at your ideas. Does that meet with your approval?”
Four more days to be with him legitimately … She would take them and hug them to herself. Part of her knew she should walk away, but already she found she couldn’t.
Now that she knew his dark painful secret, she wanted to help him any way she could. It would take years for him to put a tragedy like he’d lived through behind him, but if she could bring even a modicum of peace to his mind through financial means, then she wanted to do it. She owed him.
“Thank you, Remi. I’ll take you up on your gracious invitation since I’ll need that long to do a thorough job.” Aware he’d given her too much individual time already she said, “Please don’t let me keep you from your work. I’m going to stay here for a while.”
“If you’re sure you’ll be all right.”
“I promise I won’t overdo it.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m going to hold you to that. Maria will be serving lunch at noon. You can eat by the pool or in your room.”
It didn’t sound like he’d be joining her. What did she expect for heaven’s sake? He was her boss now, not her rescuer.
“How about the kitchen? Maria and I have something in common because I enjoy cooking, too. I’d like to pick up some tricks from her. She’s a pro.”
A gorgeous smile broke from him, transforming his severe expression. It robbed her of breath. “I’ll pass on your remarks. It will delight her, especially when she already has a high opinion of you. Hasta despues, Jillian.”
He walked away. With every stride of his long, powerful legs her heart ached a little more for his suffering.
What kind of a woman would wound Remi that way? He was a man of such noble character and depth, she couldn’t imagine his wife not loving him beyond reason.
Affairs happened, but not like this …
Intuition told her that Javier had never measured up to Remi. No man could. She could imagine that in his pathetic jealousy and selfishness of his elder brother, Javier had found a soul mate in Remi’s shallow wife. Together they’d broken Godly covenants without counting the cost, but they hadn’t broken the Senor.
Through power that came from his soul, he’d risen above their perfidy. With sheer grit and determination he’d been triumphant in protecting his heritage. Betrayed in the ugliest way possible, he hadn’t let it destroy his life.
Any other man would have been lost in despair by now. She knew he carried the scars, but they hadn’t destroyed him.
Not Remi.
Her admiration for him couldn’t be measured. To think she came so close to hitting him with her car. A shudder passed through her body, not wanting to contemplate that tragedy.
After one more look around, she left the olive press house and walked outside with no particular destination in mind. Before she knew it, she found herself at the barn. The carriage beckoned her closer.
Had Remi ever ridden in it with his family?
Several years earlier one of the tour buses had stopped in Seville for the city’s famous spring festival. Jillian still had photos of those lantern-lined streets. Hundreds of black carriages passed by filled with dark-haired senoritas in colorful flamenco dresses. The men were equally gorgeous in their black, form-fitting suits and hats set at jaunty angles.
Bemused
