‘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.’
‘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