Michaela had always wondered how long or short a New York minute actually was. But she gave in to her mother’s insistence. She did love the material they’d chosen, colorful fish on a blue background. So now she had fish swimming over her breasts, as well as fish swimming across her derriere, though they were covered up by the sarong.
They gazed down at the sparkling waters of the Pacific Ocean. There wasn’t another cove like this along the stretch of Highway 1 heading south. Mostly, the coast was craggy cliffs leading down to a narrow strip of beach, if there was a beach at all. But Walter Braedon had managed to find the perfect spot for his resort. Michaela wondered if this beach was man-made, with even the slope down to the water having been wrestled into submission by Walter’s engineers. She suspected even the deepwater cove had help.
But whether it was man-made or not, this place felt like heaven on earth. The perfect scene for a Maverick wedding.
The sloping gardens of the Regent Resort were resplendent with blooming azaleas, rhododendrons, camellias, and hydrangeas, and the guests wore beachwear as bright as the flowering bushes. The cove was perfect for sailboats, yachts, and sightseeing boats, which could moor along the dock, while the other side of the cove provided the perfect beach for sunbathers, swimmers, and body surfers.
Buffet tables had been set up on a flat, grassy area where the food would later be served. These were accompanied by several dining tables, including a long, elaborately decorated head table for the wedding party. A large deck covered with parquet flooring—presumably for dancing later on—fronted the dock. From the grass and across the deck, a red carpet led to the boarding steps of Troy’s yacht. Chairs had been set out on the parqueted deck, providing a perfect view of the yacht’s bow, where Lyssa Spencer and Cal Danniger would say their vows. How Troy had arranged for the use of his yacht—since he’d just signed the papers on Monday—Michaela could only marvel at.
But then, he was a billionaire, and all it took was money.
She crushed the reminder of all the reasons she couldn’t be with him. Her mother had made her promise to try to fit in and enjoy herself.
Beside her, Flo said in an awed whisper, “This is mind-boggling.” She scanned the scene filled with café tables and drinks carts. Waitstaff moved through the milling crowd, handing out champagne and canapés.
Michaela had a feeling her mother wasn’t gazing at the scenery, but searching for Walter.
As if the thought of Troy had conjured him, he leaped off the last step of the yacht and beelined for them. Dressed in orange board shorts and a Hawaiian-style shirt covered in bird of paradise flowers, he outshone her in color.
He hugged her mother first, then stood back, holding out her arms, surveying her beautiful cover-up. “Do not tell me you made this magnificent outfit, Flo.”
Michaela’s mother blushed, saying almost coquettishly, “We had to have something new and fabulous for such a lovely wedding.”
Then, finally, Troy took Michaela’s hand, still holding her mother’s as well. “You’re both stunning.” Which was the effect they’d been going for.
His gaze roamed Michaela’s curves, and instead of seeming pervy, the way his eyes alighted on her made her feel like a goddess. A little voice inside whispered, Do not throw yourself at him.
Not dropping their hands, Troy backed up. “I’d love to show you the yacht, Flo. Michaela has already seen it, having brokered the deal for me. But it has everything I wanted. You have to see it.”
Michaela was dimly aware this could be a trick to get her on board. But her mother would be there for protection. The yacht’s railings had been decorated with garlands of silver and gold wedding bells, along with vases of sweetly scented flowers that led to the bow, where the arbor stood for the wedding ceremony.
Then she saw it along the forward hull. The yacht’s new name. It was no longer Splendid.
Gasping, she put her hand to her mouth. “You’re kidding. You didn’t.”
Flo asked, “What?”
Michaela pointed, and her mother read aloud, “Matchmaker.” Then she clapped her hands. “I love it.”
Michaela turned on Troy, who was smiling that enticingly wicked smile of his. “How did you do this so fast?” There was paperwork, documentation, red tape.
He shrugged, the answer obvious. Because he was a billionaire who had probably paid an extraordinary amount of money to expedite everything.
“But why?”
His gaze traced her features like a caress. “Because the billionaire matchmaker found me the perfect boat.”
“It’s a yacht,” she whispered. But he hadn’t called it the Perfect Match. He’d named it the Matchmaker. After her.
“Without you, I wouldn’t have this beautiful yacht,” he said. “I wanted to give you credit.”
She wanted to throw her arms around him. If her mother hadn’t been there, she might have.
Then he added, “I know you always make your match.”
Oh, there was meaning there, all right. But for some reason, it didn’t scare her as much as it usually did. She’d been doing a lot of thinking these past few days.
Her mother waved a hand. “Well, I’m dying to see the Matchmaker. Lead on.”
