The Billionaire Of Coral Bay

Who knew she found leather so soothing!

The colour scheme was conflicting, emotionally, even as it was perfect visually. The tranquillity of white, the sensuality of black. Brown usually made her feel sad, but this particularly rich, oiled tone struck her more specifically as...isolated.

But it was impossible not to also acknowledge the truth.

‘This is so beautiful, Richard.’

To her left, timber stairs spiralled up and out of view to the deck above.

‘It does the job,’ he said modestly, then pulled open two glass doors into the vessel’s gorgeous interior, revealing an expansive dining area and a galley twice as big as her own kitchen.

She just stared at him until he noticed her silence.

‘What?’

‘Surely, even in your world this vessel is something special,’ she said, standing firm on the threshold, as though she needed to get this resolved before entering. False humility was worse than an absence of it, and she had a blazing desire to have the truth from this man just once.

On principle.

‘What do you know about my world?’ he cast back easily over his shoulder, seemingly uncaring whether she followed him or not.

She clung to not and hugged the doorway.

‘You wouldn’t have bought the boat if you didn’t think it was special.’

He turned to face her. ‘It wouldn’t be seemly to boast about my own boat, Mila.’

‘It would be honest.’ And really, what was this whole vessel but big, mobile bragging rights? ‘Or is it just saying the words aloud that bothers you?’

He turned to face her, but she barrelled on without really knowing why it affected her so much. Maybe it had something to do with growing up on two small rural incomes. Or maybe it had something to do with starting to think they might be closer to equals, only to be faced with the leather and timber evidence very much to the contrary.

‘I’ll say it for you,’ she said from the doorway. ‘The Portus is amazing. You must be incredibly relaxed when you’re out on her.’ She glanced at the massive dining table. ‘And you must have some very happy friends.’

‘I don’t really bring friends out,’ he murmured, regarding her across the space between them.

‘Colleagues, then. Clients.’

He leaned back on the kitchen island and crossed his ankles. ‘Nope. I like silence when I’m out on the water.’

She snorted. ‘Good luck with that.’ He just stared at her. ‘I mean it’s never truly silent, is it?’

He frowned at her. ‘Isn’t it?’

No. Not in her experience.

She glanced around as the Portus’ massive engines thrummed into life and they began to move, killing any hope of silence for the time being. Although they weren’t nearly as loud as she’d expected. How much did a boat have to cost to get muted engines like that?

Richard didn’t invite her in again. Or insist. Or cajole. Instead, he leaned there, patience personified until she felt that her refusal to step inside was more than just ridiculous.

It was as unfriendly as people had always thought her to be.

But entering while he waited felt like too much of a concession in this mini battle of wills. She didn’t want to see the flare of triumph in his eyes. Her own shifted to the double fridge at the heart of the galley.

‘I guess lunch won’t be cheese sandwiches out of an Esky, then?’

The moment his regard left her to follow her glance, she stepped inside, crossing more than just a threshold. She stepped wholly into Richard’s fancy world.

He pulled the fridge doors wide. ‘It’s a platter. Crayfish. Tallegio. Salt and pepper squid. Salad Niçoise. Sourdough bread.’

She laughed. ‘I guess I was wrong, then. Cheese sandwich it is.’ Just fancier.

He turned his curiosity to her. ‘You don’t eat seafood?’

‘I can eat prawns if I have to. And molluscs. They don’t have a strong personality.’

That frown just seemed to be permanently fixed on his face. ‘But cray and squid do?’

Her heart warmed just thinking about them and it helped to loosen her bones just a little. ‘Very much so. Particularly crayfish. They’re quite...optimistic.’

He stared—for several bemused moments—clearly deciding between quirky and nuts. Both of which she’d had before with a lot less subtlety than he was demonstrating.

‘Is it going to bother you if I eat them?’

‘No. Something tells me I won’t be going hungry.’ She smiled and it was easier than she expected. ‘I have no strong feelings about cheese, either way.’

‘Unlucky for the Tallegio then,’ he murmured.

He pulled open a cabinet and revealed it as a small climate-controlled wine cellar. Room temperature on the left, frosty on the right. ‘Red or white?’ he asked.

‘Neither,’ she said regretfully. Just looking at the beading on the whites made her long for a dose of ocean spray. ‘I’m on the clock.’

‘Not right now you’re not,’ he pointed out. ‘For the next ninety minutes, we’re both in the capable hands of Captain Max Farrow, whose jurisdiction, under international maritime law, overrules your own.’

He lifted out one of the dewy bottles and waved it gently in her direction.

It was tempting to play at all this luxury just for a little while. To take a glass and curl up on one of those leather sofas, enjoy the associated wind chimes and act as if they weren’t basically complete strangers. To talk like normal people. To pretend. At all of it.

‘One glass, then,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

He poured and handed her a glass of white. The silent moments afterwards sang with discomfort.

‘Come on, I’ll give you a tour,’ he eventually offered.

He smiled but it didn’t ring true and it certainly didn’t set off the five-note harmony or the scent of candyfloss that the flash of perfect teeth previously had. He couldn’t be as nervous as she was, surely. Was he also conscious of how make-believe this all was?

Even if, for him, it wasn’t.

She stood. ‘Thank you, Richard.’