The Billionaire Of Coral Bay

‘Rich,’ he insisted. ‘Please. Only my colleagues call me Richard.’

They were a good deal less than colleagues, but it would be impossible now to call him anything else without causing offence. More offence.

‘Please, Mila. I think you’ll like the Portus.’ Then, when she still didn’t move, he added, ‘As much as I do.’

That one admission... That one small truth wiggled right in under her ribs. Disarming her completely.

‘I would love to see more, Rich, thank you.’

The name felt awkward on her lips and yet somehow right at the same time. Clunky but...okay, as if it could wear in comfortably with use.

The tour didn’t take long, not because there wasn’t a lot to look at in every sumptuous space but because, despite its size, the Portus was, as it happened, mostly boat. As Rich showed her around she noted a jet ski securely stashed at the back, a sea kayak, water skis—everything a man could need to enjoy some time on the water. But she saw nothing to indicate that he enjoyed time in it.

‘No diving gear?’ she commented. ‘On a boat with not one but two dive decks?’

His pause was momentary. ‘Plenty to keep me busy above the surface,’ he said.

Something about that niggled in this new environment of truce between them. That little glimpse of vulnerability coming so close on the heels of some humble truth. But she didn’t need super-senses to know not to push it. She carried on the tour in comparative silence.

The Portus primarily comprised of three living areas: the aft deck lounge that she’d already seen, the indoor galley and the most incredibly functional bedroom space ever. It took up the whole bow, filling the front of the Portus with panoramic, all-seeing windows, below which wrapped fitted black cupboards. She trailed a finger along the spotless black surface, over the part that was set up as a workspace, complete with expensive camouflaged laptop, hip-height bookshelves, a disguised mini-bar and a perfectly made up king-sized bed positioned centrally in the space, complete with black pillow and quilt covers. The whole space screamed sensuality and not just because of all the black.

A steamy kind of heat billowed up from under Mila’s work shirt. It was way too easy to imagine Rich in here.

‘Where’s the widescreen TV?’ she asked, hunting for the final touch to the space that she knew had to be here somewhere.

Rich leaned next to the workspace. ‘I had it removed. When I’m in here it’s not to watch TV.’

She turned to face him. ‘Is that because this is an office first, or a bedroom first?’

The moments the words left her lips she tried to recapture them, horrified at her own boldness. It had to be the result of this all-consuming black making her skin tingle, but talking about a client’s bedroom habits with said client was not just inappropriate, it was utterly mortifying.

‘I’m so sorry...’ she said hurriedly.

Rich held up a hand and the smile finally returned, lighting up the luxurious space.

‘My own fault for having such a rock star bedroom,’ he joked. ‘I didn’t buy the Portus for this space, but I have to admit it’s pretty functional. Everything I need is close by. But who needs a TV when you have a wraparound view like this, right?’

She followed his easy wave out of the expansive windows. There was something just too...perfect about the image he created. And she just couldn’t see him sitting still long enough to enjoy a view.

‘You work when you’re on board, don’t you?’

Those coral-coloured lips twisted. ‘Maybe.’

Mila hunted around for a topic of discussion that would soak up some of the cotton candy suddenly swilling around the room. ‘Where do your crew sleep?’

The business of climbing down into one of the hulls, where a small bed space and washing facility were, gave her the time she needed to get her rogue senses back in order.

‘...comfortable enough for short trips,’ Rich was saying as she tuned back in.

‘What about long ones?’

He glanced out of the window. ‘WestCorp keeps me pretty much tethered to the city. This is shaping up to be the longest trip I’ve taken since I got her. Three days.’

Wow. Last of the big spenders.

‘Come on.’ He straightened, maybe seeing the judgement in that thought on her face. ‘Let’s finish the tour.’

The rest of the Portus consisted of a marble-clad en suite bathroom, appointed with the same kind of luxury as everywhere else, and then a trip back out to the aft deck and up a spiral staircase to the helm. Like everything else on the vessel, it was a wonder of compact efficiency. Buttons and LED panels and two screens with high-tech navigation and seafloor mapping and a bunch of other equipment she didn’t recognise. The Portus’ captain introduced himself but Mila stood back just far enough that a handshake would be awkward to ask for. She’d rather not insult a second man today. Maybe a third.

‘Two crew?’ she murmured. The vessel was large enough for it, but for just one passenger...?

‘It’s more efficient to run overnight. Tag-teaming the skippering. Get up from the city faster. I left the office at seven two nights ago and woke up here the next morning. Same deal tonight. I’ll leave before sunset and be back in Perth just in time for my personal trainer.’

Imagine having a boat like this and then rushing every moment you were on her. This gorgeous vessel suddenly became relegated to a water taxi. Despite the wealth and comfort around her, she found herself feeling particularly sorry for Richard Grundy.

Captain Farrow pressed a finger to his headset and spoke quietly, then he turned to Rich.

‘Lunch is served, sir.’

‘Thanks, Max.’

They backtracked and found the sumptuous spread and the remainder of the wine set out on the aft deck. The deckhand known as Damo lowered his head respectfully then jogged on tanned legs up the spiral stairs to the helm and was gone.

Rich indicated for her to sit.

The first thing she noticed was the absence of the promised crayfish. In its place were some pieces of chicken. The little kindness touched her even as she wondered exactly how and when he’d communicated the instruction. Clearly, his crew had a talent for operating invisibly.

‘This is amazing,’ she said, curling her bare legs under her on the soft leather. The deep strains of wind chimes flew out of the back of the boat and were overwhelmed in the wash, but they endured. Mila loaded her small plate with delicious morsels.

‘So how long have you worked for the Department?’ Rich asked, loading a piece of sourdough with pâté and goat’s cheese.

It wasn’t unusual for one of her tour clients to strike up a personal conversation; what was unusual was the ease with which she approached her answer.

She normally didn’t do chatty.

‘Six years. Until I was eighteen, I instructed snorkelers during the busy season and volunteered on conservation projects in the off-season.’

‘While most other teens were bagging groceries or flipping burgers after school?’

‘It’s different up here. Station work, hospitality or conservation. Those are our options. Or leaving, of course,’ she acknowledged. Plenty of young people chose that.

‘Waiting on people not your thing?’

She studied her food for a moment. ‘People aren’t really my thing, to be honest. I much prefer the solitude of the reef system.’

It was the perfect in if he wanted to call her on her interpersonal skills. Or lack of.

But he didn’t. ‘What about working on the Station? Not too many people out there, I wouldn’t have thought.’