Page 63 of Playboy Boss

Fabian smiled at them as they approached carrying the lighter boxes. “Good morning, ladies! Do you have more in the car?”

“Yes. A lot more,” Tara said, handing him a box.

“Greggory will get the rest of it. Is that your SUV?” He pointed to the SUV parked next to a Bentley, which was clearly his. Greggory, the crew member, took both boxes and disappeared down the ramp, Tara at his side.

“Come. Let me show you around.” Fabian briefly touched Scottie’s elbow. “You’re Scottie, right?”

“Yes, Scottie Roberts.”

“I’m Fabian Pallis. My better half, Antonia, should be here any minute.”

“Your fiancée is very beautiful. She’ll make a stunning bride.” Scottie felt weird talking to Fabian.

Fabian nodded. “She is amazing.”

She glanced at him, taking in his expression. Everything that was hard and angled about his face softened. This big, muscular, strong man had turned to complete mush at the mention of his fiancée. Scottie knew that was the look of love. It was beautiful and made her feel hopeful for once in her life.

When they’d finally reached a full-sized kitchen in the labyrinth that was the yacht, he turned to face her. “This is the main kitchen. Set up here.”

He pointed to the long counter space and the island in the middle. It was larger than the kitchen she and Tara shared. The display of wealth was outright obscene.

“Okay. Where will you and your guests have brunch?” She lifted the box that had been put on the floor.

“The upper deck has a table set up for ten. We’ll have brunch there. The buffet will be there too, but I would like for you to come around and refill drinks as needed.”

“Of course. We are here for your every need.” She pulled her hair up, her heart fluttering.

He winked, his white smile emerging from his tan face. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“So, I’ll let you get to it.” Fabian pulled the sunglasses from his polo pocket and slipped them on before he left her in the kitchen.

Thirty minutes later, Scottie balanced a tray of mimosas on one hand and a tray of mini almond raisin cinnamon rolls on the other.

“Just don’t drop them,” Tara called over her shoulder, busy chopping and seasoning and performing her culinary magic.

“I won’t.” She took one step at a time until out of the kitchen and into a living room decorated in a nautical theme of stripes, shiny Cherrywood, and chrome finishes.

“Watch your step, love.” The voice came from the left.

Before she could rebalance or catch a breath, both trays went crashing down to the floor, drenching her—and the ottoman nearby—with sticky orange mimosa.

“Shit!” she screamed.

His lip curled up in humor. “Indeed.”

Scottie met Konrad’s eyes, and she knew exactly what he was thinking because she was thinking the same thing. He reached for her, his mouth crashing down on hers with a passion that made her feel weightless.

With lips against hers, he said, “God, you look adorable in an apron. I want you to wear this later and nothing else.”

“Stop,” she whispered, pressing into his kiss again.

When they parted, he looked down at her. “Am I dreaming?”

She took in every part of his face. “No.”

He moaned, his nose dipping down to her neck. “Good.”

Tara’s voice stopped them from falling into each other further. Good thing. Scottie needed to remember what she was doing. And who she was doing it with. They separated quickly.

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