The Billionaire of Coral Bay

by Nikki Logan

  Rich stared at the artwork.

  ‘My view when I’m working,’ she puffed, fighting the heat of a blush. ‘Could you put that by the door?’

  He positioned the opaque tub by the glass doors so that the moonlight could continue to work its magic on the coral spawn within until she could freeze them in the morning. Those first few hours of moonlight seemed critical to a good fertilisation result; why else had nature designed them to bob immediately to the surface instead of sink to the seafloor?

  She killed the light and turned to cross the deck. ‘I inherited this stack from someone else when I first moved out of home, but it was pretty functional then. I like to think I’ve improved it.’

  She opened French windows immediately opposite her office and led Rich inside. His eyes had barely managed to stop bulging at her makeshift office before they were goggling again.

  ‘You did all this?’ he asked, looking around.

  Her furniture mostly consisted of another timber sailing boat cut into parts and sanded within an inch of its life before being waxed until it was glossy. The stern half stood on its fat end at the end of the room and acted as a bookshelf and display cabinet, thanks to some handiwork flipping the boat’s seats into shelves; its round little middle sat upturned at the centre of the space and held the glass that made it a coffee table, and its pointed bow was wall-mounted and served as a side table.

  ‘I had some help from one of Coral Bay’s old sea dogs, but otherwise, yes, I made most of this. I hate to see anything wasted. Feel free to look around.’

  She jogged up polished timber steps to the bedroom that sat on top of the centremost sea container—the one that acted as kitchen, bathroom and laundry. She rustled up some dry clothes and an armful of towels and then padded back down to take a quick shower. Rich hadn’t moved his feet but he’d twisted a little, presumably to peer around him. Was it in disbelief? In surprise?

  In horror?

  To her, it was personalised expression—her little haven filled with things that brought her pleasure. But what did Rich see? Did he view it as the junkyard pickings of some kind of hoarder?

  His eyes were fixed overhead, on the lighting centrepiece of the room. A string of bud lights twisted and wove back on itself but each tiny bulb was carefully mounted inside a sea urchin she’d found on the shore outside of the sanctuary zone. Some big. Some small. All glowing their own delicate shades of pinks and orange. The whole thing tangled around an artful piece of driftwood she’d just loved.

  The room filled with sour milk again and it killed her that she could feel so self-conscious about something that had brought her so much joy to create. And still did. She refused to defend it even though she burned to.

  ‘I’ll be just five minutes,’ she announced, tossing the towel over her shoulder. ‘Then you can clean up too.’

  She scurried through the kitchen to the bathroom at the back of the sea container. If you didn’t know what you were standing in you might think you were in some kind of upmarket beach shack, albeit eclectically furnished. Rich had five minutes to look his fill at all her weird stuff and then he’d be in here—her eyes drifted up to the white, round lightshade to which she’d attached streaming lengths of plaited fishing net until the whole thing resembled a cheerful bathroom jellyfish—for better or worse.

  When she emerged, rinsed and clean-haired, Rich was studying up close the engineering on a tiered wall unit made of pale driftwood. She moved up next to him and lit the tea lights happily sitting on its shelves. They cast a gentle glow over that side of the room.

  ‘Will I find an ordinary light fitting anywhere in your house?’ he murmured down at her.

  She had to think about it. ‘The lamp in the office is pretty regular.’ If you didn’t count the tiny sea stars glued to its stand. ‘This is one of my favourites.’

  She lit another tea light sitting all alone on the boat bow side table except for a tiny piece of beach detritus that sat with it. It looked like nothing more than a minuscule bit of twisted seaweed. But, as the flame caught behind it, a shadow cast on the nearby wall and Rich was drawn by the flickering shape that grew as the flame did.

  ‘I found the poor, dried seahorse on the marina shore when it was first built,’ she said. ‘Took me ages to think how I could celebrate it.’

  He turned and just stared, something rather like confusion in his blue gaze.

  Mila handed him a small stack of guest towels and pointed him in the direction of the bathroom. ‘Take your time.’

  As soon as he was safely out of view, she sagged against the kitchen bench. Nothing should have upstaged the fact that there was a naked man showering just ten feet away in her compact little bathroom, but Rich had given her spectacular fodder for distraction.

  That kiss...

  Not an actual kiss, but nearly. Cheek-brushing and chest-heaving and lingering looks. Enough that she’d been throbbing candyfloss while her pulse had tumbled over itself like a crashing wave. Lucky she’d built up such excellent lung capacity because she’d flat-out forgotten to breathe during the whole experience. Anyone else might have passed out.

  ‘An almost-kiss isn’t an actual kiss,’ she lectured herself under her breath.

  Even if it was the closest she’d come in a long, long time. Rich had been overwhelmed by his experience on the reef and had reached out instinctively, but—really—who wanted to kiss a woman soaked in spawn?

  ‘No one.’

  She rustled up a second mug and put the kettle on to boil. It took about the same time to bubble as the ninety seconds Rich did to shower and change back into his black sweater and jeans. When he emerged from the door next to her, all pink and freshly groomed, the bathroom’s steam mingled with the kettle’s.

  ‘I made you tea,’ she murmured.

  He smiled as he took the mug. ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve had tea.’

  Her eyes immediately hunted for coffee. ‘You don’t like it?’

  ‘It’s just that coffee’s more a thing in the corporate world. I’ve fallen out of practice. It was a standard at boarding school until eleventh form, when we were allowed to upgrade to a harder core breakfast beverage.’

  She started rummaging in the kitchen. ‘I have some somewhere...’

  He met her eyes and held them. ‘I would like to drink tea with you, Mila.’

  She couldn’t look away; she could barely breathe a reply. ‘Okay.’

  He looked around her humble home again. ‘I really like your place.’

  ‘It’s different to the Portus.’

  He laughed. ‘It’s not a boat, for one thing. But it suits you. It’s unique.’

  Unique. Yep, that was one word for her.

  ‘I hate to see anything wasted,’ she said again. Her eyes went to her sea urchin extravaganza. ‘And I hate to see beautiful things die. This is a way I can keep them alive and bring the reef inside at the same time.’

  He studied her light art as if it was by a Renaissance sculptor, his brows drawn, deep in thought.

  ‘What is your home like?’ she went on when he didn’t reply.

  The direct question brought his gaze back to her. ‘It’s not a home, for a start. I don’t feel like I’ve had one of those since... A long time.’ He peered around again. ‘But it’s nothing like this.’

  No. She couldn’t imagine him surrounded by anything other than quality. She sank ahead of him onto one of two sofas made out of old travelling chests. The sort that might have washed up after a shipwreck. The sort that was perfect to have upholstered into insanely comfortable seats.

  Rich frowned a little as he examined the seat’s engineering.

  ‘Home is something you come back to, isn’t it?’ he went on. ‘About the only thing I have that meets that definition is the Portus. I feel different when I step aboard. Changed. Ma
ybe she’s my home.’

  Mila sipped at her tea in the silence that followed and watched Rich grow less and less comfortable in her company.

  ‘Is everything all right, Rich?’ she finally braved.

  He glanced up at her and then sighed. Long and deep.

  ‘Mila, there’s something I haven’t told you.’

  The cloves made a brief reappearance but she pushed through the discomfort. Trust came more easily with every minute she spent in Rich’s company.

  ‘Keeping secrets, Mr Grundy?’ she quipped.

  ‘That’s just it,’ he went on, ignoring her attempt at humour. ‘I’m not Mr Grundy. At least... I am, and I’m not.’

  She pressed back into the soft upholstery and gave him her full attention.

  He lifted bleak eyes. ‘Nancy Dawson married a Grundy.’

  Awareness flooded in on a wave of nostalgia. ‘Oh, that’s right. Jack. I forgot because everyone up here knows them as Dawson. Wait...are you a relative of Jack Grundy? Ten times removed?’

  ‘No times removed, actually.’ Rich took a long sip of his tea. As if it were his last. ‘Jack was my great-grandfather.’

  Mila just stared. ‘But that means...’

  Nancy’s Point. She’d stood there and lectured him about his own great-grandmother. The more immediate ramification took a little longer to sink in. She sat upright and placed her still steaming mug onto the little midships coffee table. The only way to disguise the sudden tremble of her fingers was to lay them flat on the thighs of her yoga pants. Unconsciously bracing herself.

  ‘Are you a Dawson? Of the Wardoo Dawsons?’

  Rich took a deep breath. ‘I’m the Dawson. The only son of an only son. I hold the pastoral rights on Wardoo Station and the ten thousand square kilometres around it.’

  Mila’s hands dug deeper into her thighs. ‘But that means...’

  ‘It means I hold the lease on the land that Coral Bay sits on.’

  The back of her throat stung with the taste of nail varnish and it was all she could do to whisper, ‘You own my town?’

  Rich straightened. ‘The only thing I own is the Station infrastructure. But the lease is what has the value. And I hold that, presently.’

  Her brain finally caught up and the nail varnish dissipated. ‘Wardoo is yours.’

  Because there was no Wardoo without the Dawsons. Just as there was no Coral Bay without them either.

  Rich took a deep breath before answering. ‘It is.’

  Her eyes came up. ‘Then you’ve been stopping the developers in their tracks! I thought you were one!’

  His skin greyed off just a bit. Maybe he wasn’t comfortable with overt gushing, but the strong mango of gratitude made it impossible for her to stop.

  ‘WestCorp has been denying access for third-party development, yes—’

  Whatever that little bit of careful corporate speak meant. All she heard was that Rich was the reason there were no towering hotels on her reef. Rich had kept everyone but the state government out of the lands bordering the World Heritage Marine Park. Rich was her corporate guardian angel.

  Despite herself, despite everything she knew about people and every screaming sense she knew she’d be triggering, Mila tipped herself forward and threw her arms wide around his broad shoulders.

  ‘Thank you,’ she gushed, pressing herself into the hug. ‘Thank you for my reef.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  RICH COULDN’T REMEMBER a time that he’d been more comfortable in someone’s arms yet so excruciatingly uncomfortable as well.

  Mila had only grasped half the truth.

  Because he had only told half of it.

  He let his own hands slide up and contribute to Mila’s fervent embrace, but it was brief and it took little physical effort to curl his fingers and ease her slightly back from him. The emotional effort was much higher; she was warm and soft under his hands and she felt incredibly right there—speaking of going home—yet he felt more of a louse than when he’d nearly kissed her earlier.

  Telling her had been the right thing to do but, in his head, this moment was going to go very differently. He’d steeled himself for her shock, her disappointment. Maybe for an escaped tear or two that he’d been keeping the truth from her. Instead, he got...this.

  Gratitude.

  He’d confessed his identity now but Mila only saw half the picture... The half that made him a hero, looking out for the underdog and the underdog’s reef. She had no sense for the politics and game playing behind every access refusal. The prioritising.

  It wasn’t noble... It was corporate strategy.

  ‘Don’t be too quick to canonise me, Mila,’ he murmured as she withdrew from the spontaneous hug, blushing. The gentle flush matched the colour she’d been when she came out of the bathroom. ‘It’s business. It’s not personal. I hadn’t even seen the reef until you showed me.’

  Even now he was avoiding putting the puzzle fully together for her. It would only take a few words to confess that—yeah, he was still a developer and he was planning on developing her reef. But he wasn’t strong enough to do that while he was still warm from her embrace.

  ‘How could you go to Wardoo and not visit such a famous coast?’ she asked.

  ‘Actually, I’ve never been to Wardoo either,’ he confessed further. ‘I flew over it once, years ago.’

  The quizzical smile turned into a gape. ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Because there’s no need. I get reports and updates from the caretaking team. To me, it’s just a remote business holding at the end of one of my spreadsheets.’

  The words on his lips made him tense. As though the truth wasn’t actually the truth.

  Her gape was now a stare. ‘No. Really?’

  ‘Really.’ He shrugged.

  ‘But... It’s Wardoo. It’s your home.’

  ‘I never grew up there, Mila. It holds no meaning for me.’

  A momentary flash of his eight-year-old self tumbled beneath his determination for it to be the truth.

  She scrabbled upright again and perched on her seat, leaning towards him. ‘You need to go, Rich.’

  No. He really didn’t.

  ‘You need to go and see it in its context, not in some photograph. Smell it and taste it and...’

  ‘Taste it?’

  ‘Okay, maybe that’s just me, but won’t you at least visit the people who run it for you? Let them show you their work?’

  It was his turn to frown. Her previous jibe about minions hit home again.

  ‘I’m sure they’d be delighted with a short-notice visit from their CEO,’ he drawled.

  She considered him. ‘You won’t know if you don’t ask.’

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re very keen for me to visit, Mila. What am I missing?’

  Her expression grew suspiciously innocent. ‘I might be thinking about the fact that you don’t have a car. And that I do—’

  ‘And you’re offering to lend it to me?’ he shot back, his face just as impassive. ‘Thanks, that’s kind of you.’

  Which made it sound as if he was considering going. When had that happened?

  ‘Actually, it’s kind of hinky to drive. I’d better take you. Road safety and all.’

  ‘You don’t know the roads. You’ve never been out there.’

  Hoisted by her own petard.

  ‘Okay, fine. Then take me in return for the coral spawn.’ She shuffled forward. ‘I would give anything to see Wardoo.’

  Glad one of them was so keen. ‘You know there’s no reef out there, right? Just scrub and dirt.’

  ‘Come on, Rich, it’s a win-win—I get to see Wardoo and you get to have a reason to go there.’

  ‘I don’t need a reason to go there.’

 
And he didn’t particularly want to. Though he did, very much, want to see the excited colour in Mila’s cheeks a little bit longer. It reminded him of the flush as he’d stroked her cheek. And it did make a kind of sense to check it out since he was up here on an official fact-finding mission. After all, how convincing was he going to be if that government bureaucrat discovered he’d never actually been to the property? Photos and monthly reports could only do so much.

  ‘What time?’ he sighed.

  Mila’s eyes glittered like the emeralds they were, triumphant. ‘I have a quickish task to do at low tide, but it’s on the way to Wardoo so... Eight?’

  ‘Does this task involve anything else slimy, soupy or slippery?’ he worried.

  ‘Maybe.’ She laughed. ‘It involves the reef.’

  Of course it did.

  ‘How wet will I be getting?’

  ‘You? Not at all. I might, depending on the tide.’

  ‘Okay then.’ He could happily endure one last opportunity to see Mila in her natural habitat. Before he told her the full truth. And he could give her the gift of Wardoo, before pulling the happy dream they were both living out from under her too.

  The least he could do, maybe.

  ‘Eight it is, then.’

  Her gaze glowed her pleasure and Rich just let himself swim there for a few moments. Below it all, he knew he was only delaying the inevitable, but there really was nothing to gain by telling her now instead of tomorrow.

  ‘I should get back to the Portus,’ he announced, reaching into his pocket for his phone. ‘Need my beauty sleep if I’m going to wow the minions tomorrow.’

  Her perfect skin flushed again as she remembered her own words and who she’d been talking about all along. But she handled the embarrassment as she handled everything—graciously. She crossed the small room to get her keys off their little hook.

  ‘I’ll drive you to the marina.’

  * * *

  Not surprisingly, given the marina was only a few minutes away, there was no sign of Damo when they climbed out of the four-wheel drive at the deserted ramp, although Mila could clearly see the Portus waiting out beyond the reef. Had it done laps out there the whole night, like a pacing attendant waiting for its master?