Page 22 of Playboy Boss

Konrad put the car in “reverse,” glancing at her before he set his eyes on the navigation screen. “Don’t worry. I’m a fantastic driver.” From his periphery, he saw her glance at him. At that, he smiled, though small. Something was between them. He was acutely aware of how their energies played. In the small space, it was impossible not to feel it.

Once on the road for a few miles, just as they were leaving downtown proper, she uncrossed her arms, her hands falling on her lap. He wanted to press his hand against her thigh, get her attention. Attention had come to him without fail from anyone he wanted it from, yet she left him wanting hers. The need was disturbing to him, making him feel a desperation he didn’t know how to reconcile.

“You’re quiet, Scottine.”

“Scottie,” she corrected.

“Sorry. Scottie.” He chuckled to himself. “I don’t know why you don’t like Scottine. It’s a gorgeous name.” Gorgeous. He seemed to struggle to pick his words carefully when he spoke to her casually. But her name was gorgeous. Just like her. He turned his gaze to her thigh again, wishing she’d worn the black skirt.

She caught his stare, and quickly he turned back to the road. She stumbled over her words. “Who said I didn’t like Scottine?”

“I just assumed.”

“Well, you know what happens when you assume.” Humor laced her voice, and he liked how it sounded on her lips.

“Indeed, I do.” They came to a stop sign. With his eyes still on the red circular light overhead, he asked, “Is Scottine a family name?”

“It’s my father’s name. Well, his name is William Scott Roberts.” Her voice lowered, as though she were talking to herself. “God only knows why my mom wanted to name me after him.”

Frozen, without a response, he waited for her, but she didn’t continue. A tug in his heart made him feel for her. It was the most profound information she’d offered, and it was so private and intimate. He knew he didn’t deserve it, although he was honored to hear it. In that sharing moment, of her opening her door a little, he worried he’d mess it up. For that he let the light turn green and stepped on the gas again. Not another word for minutes.

“Tell me more about yourself.” He took the initiative, hoping it wasn’t too soon.

She hesitated. “Well … I went to the University of Houston. Studied Business Administration—”

“Tell me something I can’t find on your résumé.” He laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

She stalled. “Uhh… I think your accent is strange.”

With a chortle, he said, “Thank you. I think.”

She laughed, a lovely sound. “Why is it so strange? Where are you really from? Mars?”

He chuckled, though she didn’t. “I suppose because I lived in more than one place. And I have been everywhere.”

“That’s vague.”

His laugh has louder, from his belly. He loved their banter. “I’m German born but was educated in the UK and in France for a little while.”

“You speak French?” She seemed impressed, finally. And he wanted her to always sound that way around him.

“Oui, mademoiselle.”

A sigh fell from her lips, loud enough for him to hear, and it sent chills down his spine.

“And you speak German, too?”

“That’s my mother tongue, Schatzi.” He should not have said tongue to her. “And I speak other languages, too.”

“What’s Schatzi mean?”

He stalled, not wanting to explain. Schatzimeant sweetie in German. That was inappropriate. But, hell, he couldn’t help himself. “It’s a German term of endearment…”

She turned to face him, and from his periphery, he saw she’d lifted her eyebrows. “Oh.” She turned again, and he was glad she’d seemed to let it go. “Do you speak Spanish?”

“A little. Do you?”

She scoffed. “Yes.”

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