The Billionaire Of Coral Bay. Nikki Logan

      Her gaze flew to his, not least because it was the first time he’d called her by her name. It eased off his lips like a perfectly cooked salmon folding off a knife.

      ‘I underestimated how long it was going to take us to get north,’ she said, flustered. ‘It’s okay; I’ll adjust the schedule.’

      ‘Were you expecting something with a bit more grunt?’

      ‘No.’ Yes.

      ‘I really didn’t know what to expect,’ she went on. ‘A boat is a boat, right? As long as it floats.’

      He almost smiled then, but it was too twisted to truly earn the name. She cursed the missed moment. A tall man in the white version of her own shorts and shirt stood as they approached the end of the pier. He acknowledged Richard with a courteous nod, then offered her his arm aboard.

      ‘Miss?’

      She declined his proffered hand—not just because she needed little help managing embarkation onto such a modest vessel, but also because she could do without the associated sounds that generally came with a stranger’s skin against hers.

      The skipper was too professional to react. Richard, on the other hand, frowned at her dismissal of a man clearly doing him a favour.

      Mila sighed. Okay, so he thought her rude. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had assumed the worst. And she wouldn’t be seeing him again after today, so what did it really matter?

      The skipper wasted no time firing up the surprisingly throaty Zodiac and reversing them out of the marina and in between the markers that led bigger boats safely through the reef-riddled sanctuary zone towards more open waters. They ambled along at five knots and only opened up a little once they hit the recreation zone, where boating was less regulated. It took just a few minutes to navigate the passage that put them in open water, but the skipper didn’t throttle right up like she expected; instead he kept his speed down as they approached a much larger and infinitely more expensive catamaran idling just beyond the outer reef. The vessel she’d seen earlier, at Nancy’s Point. Slowing as they passed such a massive vessel seemed a back-to-front kind of courtesy, given the giant cat would barely feel their wake if they passed it at full speed. It was only as their little Zodiac swung around to reverse up to the catamaran that she saw the letters emblazoned on the big cat’s side.

      Portus.

      ‘Did you think we were going all the way north in the tender?’ a soft voice came to her over the thrum of the slowly reversing motor.

      ‘Is this yours?’ she asked, gaping.

      ‘If she’s not, we’re getting an awfully accommodating reception for a couple of trespassers.’

      ‘So when you said you were “dropped off” at Nancy’s Point...?’

      ‘I didn’t mean in a car.’

      With those simple words, his capacity to get his mystery development proposal through where others had failed increased by half in Mila’s mind. A man with the keys to a vessel like this in his pocket had to have at least a couple of politicians there too, right?

      The tender’s skipper expertly reversed them backwards, right up to the stern of the Portus, where a set of steps came down each of the cat’s two hulls to the waterline. A dive platform at the bottom of each served as a disembarkation point and she could see where the tender would nest in snugly under its mother vessel when it wasn’t in use. Stepping off the back of the tender and onto the Portus was as easy as entering her house. Where the upward steps delivered them—to an outdoor area that would comfortably seat twelve—the vessel was trimmed out with timber and black leather against the boat’s white fibreglass. Not vinyl... Not hardy canvas like most of the boats she’d been on. This was leather—soft and smooth under her fingers as she placed a light hand on the top of one padded seat-back. The sensation was accompanied by a percussion of wind chimes, low and sonorous.

      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.