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

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’.”

“That’s what it is,” Remi mused aloud, studying the golden strands he swirled in his fingers.

“I want to watch you make it.”

He liked the sound of that. “Next week I’ll walk you through the process. Then you can decide which parts will be of interest to the tourists.”

“I’m sure every aspect will be utterly fascinating.”

Her enthusiasm made him see everything through new eyes. No matter what life threw at her, she was a woman who embraced it head-on. Being in her company imbued him with an excitement he’d never experienced before. Not like this.

Smothering a groan because this erotic experience had to come to an end, he began to rinse out the suds, but he took his time.

“How does that feel?” he said at last, giving her one last rinse.

She reached behind her head and pulled on one of the strands, trying to break the tension hanging thick in the air. “Hear that?” she laughed softly. “I’m squeaky clean for the first time in over a week. What luxury.”

He squeezed as much water as he could out of her hair. “Now hold still while I get you dry.”

Remi reached for his towel and wrapped it turban style around her head, making sure no water dripped down her forehead. “Go ahead and sit up.”

While she did his bidding he levered himself out of the pool onto the tiles. “Let me help.” He held out his hand and pulled her to her feet before letting go. Maybe he was mistaken, but he thought she was trembling. Then again he was so affected by her nearness, it could have been him.

He thrust his hand through his damp hair in frustration, wondering how she would react if he suggested they both get back in the pool and let the cool water lap against their bodies. This ache for her was so real it was driving him out of his mind.

She sat down in the nearest chair to finish drying her hair, then she looked up at him. “Tell me what I can do to repay you.”

Remi thought she sounded way too composed after what he’d just experienced touching her like that. He sank down in the other chair. “You already have. Today you agreed to be my business partner, pending your company’s willingness to give you a leave of absence.” Her brother was another matter but he’d think about that later. “I’ve been operating for a long time without one.”

“That won’t be a problem. Pia already told me to take all the time I need before coming back. At this point it’s just a formality to tell her.”

“Then I’m relieved.” Just keep on talking, Goyo, before you give yourself away and grab her. Taking a deep breath he said, “How long do your tour groups usually stop at a vineyard?”

“Two hours from start to finish.”

“That sounds doable here.”

“I don’t know. Once they start eating Soleado Goyo tapas, we’ll never be able to get rid of them. I’ll build the cost of soft drinks into the itinerary price. Food and wine will be extra. We’ll make them pay cash.” He heard the satisfaction in her voice. “You’ll bring in a small fortune on that alone.”

“With your business savvy, I don’t doubt it.” Apparently business was the only thing on her mind, or was it? She was a deep one.

“I think we should get some postcards made up showing the mill house and the olive press house with the groves in the background. We’ll sell them in the store. It’s another great way to advertise and keep the cost down. Once we’ve set our budget, I promise we won’t go over it. What do you think?”

I can’t take sitting next to you without touching you.

“I think we have our work cut out for us.”

“We do. One of the things we haven’t talked about is the furniture for the bar. If it held a maximum of sixty people, then we’d need maybe eight large, round tables that could seat eight, but bistro size would be more charming.”

“We have a couple of old refectory tables and matching armoires that haven’t seen use in years.”

She let out a happy sound. “How old are they?”

“Seventeenth century. Cherry wood with lyre-styled legs.”

Another squeal came out of her. “Are they very long?”

“They can seat sixteen each.”

“Oh, Remi … if we had benches built on either side of the entry, we could put the tables there and have room for all the chairs and bistro tables.”

Jillian had no idea how tempting she looked with her golden hair in sensual disarray.