Running from heartache...

only to find a second chance where she least expects it?

There’s no place like home for brokenhearted Justine Winter. Until her sanctuary comes under threat from property developer Casson Forrester. Determined not to let anyone take advantage of her again, Justine goes head-to-head with the formidable millionaire but must resist his charms! For the man she glimpses beneath the brooding exterior could be far more of a threat—to her heart...

ROSANNA BATTIGELLI loved Mills & Boon Romances as a teenager and dreamed of being a romance writer. For a family trip to Italy when she was fifteen, she packed enough Mills & Boons to last the month! Rosanna’s passion for reading and her love of children resulted in a stellar teaching career, with four Best Practice Awards, and she also pursued another passion: writing. She has been published in over a dozen anthologies, and since retiring her dream of being a Mills & Boon writer has come true!

Swept Away by the Enigmatic Tycoon is Rosanna Battigelli’s debut title Look out for more books from Rosanna Battigelli Coming soon

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Swept Away by the Enigmatic Tycoon

Rosanna Battigelli

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07764-4

SWEPT AWAY BY THE ENIGMATIC TYCOON

© 2018 Rosanna Battigelli

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Nic, who has always believed in me as a writer, read every draft, made delicious meals and gone along with my dreams. Here’s to a new chapter in our lives, Nic! xo

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

JUSTINE SURVEYED THE peaceful tableau lazily. The waters of Georgian Bay were calmer today, and she watched the gentle undulations with pleasure, letting her senses revel in the rugged beauty before her.

The clear blue water, shimmering with pinpoints of reflected sunlight, was dazzling—mesmerizing, really. The water lilies clustered along the water’s edge looked like they were straight out of a Monet painting, their crisp white petals and yellow centers resting among dozens of flat, round, overlapping green pads. Occasionally the seagulls announced their monopoly on the sky with their shrill, almost human-like cries as they swooped and glided, tail feathers outspread, but even that wasn’t enough to disrupt Justine from her contemplative mood.

She breathed in the fresh July air and congratulated herself again for exchanging the smog and humidity of the big city for this...this nature lover’s paradise on Georgian Bay. She had made the right decision in accepting her parents’ offer, Justine assured herself again as she rubbed sunscreen over her legs. Their proposal had come at the perfect time.

Working in the Toronto law office of attorney Robert Morrell had become too stressful—she’d had no choice but to resign. The memory of how she had trusted him in the first place still caused her pangs of remorse. Her mouth twisted cynically. How naive she had been, falling for a man who was going through a turbulent divorce.

After leaving her resignation notice on his desk she had immediately headed home to Winter’s Haven. As she’d pulled into the driveway, seeing her parents sitting together on the porch swing holding hands had made her burst into tears. Why couldn’t she have been so lucky? In all her years at home she had never doubted her parents’ trust, respect and devotion to each other. And to her. With such loving role models how could she settle for anything less?

Their love and support had cushioned her for the next four days, and then the morning she had thought herself ready to drive back to Toronto, eyes still puffy and shadowed, they’d made her an offer that took her breath away.

They had talked extensively, they’d said, and had decided that the time had come for them to retire from managing their cottage resort and to enjoy their golden years. They wanted to travel around the world while they still had their health and energy. If Justine were willing, they would sign Winter’s Haven over to her and move into the smallest of the twelve cottages there. Justine could enjoy her inheritance early, and they would be delighted that the business would stay in the family.

“Take your time to think it over, sweetheart,” her father had said, hugging her tightly. “But we have every confidence in your skills—business or otherwise.”

Her mother had nodded and joined in the embrace, her eyes misting, and after kissing them both Justine had left, her own eyes starting to well up.

A month later the lease on her apartment had been up and she’d headed home to Winter’s Haven for good.

The sting of Robert’s deceit had begun to subside, and although she still had down days, feeling alternately embarrassed and angry for letting herself be fooled, she had come to terms with the end of their relationship. Taking over from her parents would occupy her time and her energy, and Justine was looking forward to exploring new ideas for the business while enjoying the more relaxed pace of the area.

Now, two months after her return, Justine could flick away any thought involving Robert almost nonchalantly. Usually followed by any number of silent declarations.

I am so over it! I’m done being a bleeding heart! Done with men and their games!

Justine closed her eyes and listened to the gentle lapping of the waves. She allowed herself to be soothed by the rhythmic sounds, enjoying the touch of the sun over her body as she settled back on the chaise longue. Tilting her sunhat to protect her face, Justine felt the familiar magic of Winter’s Haven ease the stress out of her, and with a contented sigh she allowed herself to drift into a peaceful nap.

The sound of typewriter keys and a telephone ring jolted her awake. She fumbled for her cell phone, by her side on the chaise. Squinting, she read the text.

Good God, Justine! Where the heck are you? Did you forget the two o’clock appointment I arranged for you?

Justine sat up, her heart skipping a beat. It was one fifty-five. She’d never make it in time.

She leapt up and ran the short distance from the beach to her house, not stopping until she reached the washroom on the second floor. She usually enjoyed taking leisurely showers after a soak in the sun, but on this occasion she was in and out in less than five minutes. Her shoulder-length hair would have to dry on the way there. And there was no time for make-up.

She hastily put on a flowered wrap-around skirt and a white cotton eyelet top, and made a dash to her car. She usually walked to the main office, but she wanted to avoid any further delay.

She had managed this place efficiently since her parents had turned over the business to her two months earlier. “I’ll run this place as smoothly as you did,” she’d promised them before they left for their retirement travels, and she had done just that—except for today.

Justine had never been late for anything in her life. She’d have to make sure it didn’t happen again. It didn’t make her look very responsible. She should have never given in to Mandy, who had uncharacteristically scheduled an appointment on her day off.

The sight of a sleek silver-green Mustang convertible in the parking lot dashed her hopes that her visitor might be late.

She took the steps to the office two at a time and entered the building, taking deep breaths. Mandy Holliday, her friend since high school and her assistant and office receptionist, smirked at her from behind the wooden desk, cocking an eyebrow toward the double doors leading to the diner.

“He’s been waiting there thirty minutes. The last time I checked he was talking to the Elliots in Cottage Number One.”

“Of all the times to doze off on the beach...” Justine grimaced. “I wonder why this Forrest man has insisted on seeing me. If he wants to rent a cottage, you could have dealt with him. I wish you had been able to squeeze some information out of him.”

She adjusted the tie belt on her wrap-around skirt.

“I hope he’s not one of those pompous business types. You know—the punctuality nuts, the arrogant ‘you must be as perfect as I am’ professionals who—” She stopped at the sudden furrowing of Mandy’s eyebrows.

“Perhaps you should reserve your judgment until after our meeting,” a cool voice suggested directly behind her.

“I’ll be in the diner if you need me,” Mandy murmured, before retreating hastily.

Justine turned around stiffly to face her visitor. He was not at all what she’d expected. But what had she expected after hearing that ice-tinged drawl?

She tried not to reveal her surprise as her gaze smacked into the chest of his impeccably tailored gray suit before moving slowly upward to his face. His height topped hers by at least a foot. Her pulse quickened as her eyes took him in. A five o’clock shadow she suspected he wore permanently. Dark brown hair with burnished bits, styled like someone out of GQ. Chestnut eyes with flecks of gold.

She felt sweat on her upper lip. To her horror, she ran her tongue over her lips without thinking. She felt like combusting.

How could he look so cool in that suit? She almost felt like suggesting he remove his jacket or tie... And then her mouth crinkled slightly, nervously, at the thought of how such a suggestion would sound to him.

He caught the crooked smile, but didn’t return it. He looked down at her imperiously, his jaw tense.

He’s angry, Justine thought, unable to tear her gaze from his face. It was so male and rugged, with a straight nose and firm, sensual lips clearly visible under the meticulously groomed shadow. At second glance she caught a slight curl in his hair, and his eyes, unwavering, were disturbingly hypnotizing.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I was irritated at myself for being late. It’s not like me.” She extended her hand, forcing herself to offer him an apologetic smile. “I’m Justine Winter.”

For a moment, he just stared at her, and Justine was about to withdraw her hand in embarrassment when he finally took it, his long fingers closing around hers completely in a firm clasp.

“Apology accepted,” he replied, motioning abruptly for Justine to sit down.

She did so and he pulled up a nearby chair.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Forrest?”

“Forrester. Casson Forrester.”

Her eyebrows shot up at his name. “Yes, of course. You made an appointment with Mandy to see me, but you didn’t state your reasons. Are you interested in renting a cottage? Did you want a tour of the grounds and facilities before making a reservation? We may have an opening, depending when it is you want to stay.” She paused, realizing she was babbling.

His lips curved slightly. “Yes, I’m very interested in the cottages. You see, I’ve just purchased the adjoining land on both sides of your property.”

Justine frowned. “I can’t believe the Russells have sold their properties—” She broke off, stunned. The Russells’ ancestors had been among the original homesteaders in the area.

“I made them a convincing offer.” He was unable to conceal the satisfaction in his voice. “Our transaction was mutually profitable.”

Justine looked at him warily. “I don’t suppose you arranged this appointment just for the sake of meeting your new neighbor...?”

He laughed curtly. “You’re perceptive, if nothing else.”

Justine flushed, her mouth narrowing. She didn’t like the negative implication of “if nothing else.” “Why don’t you come right to the point?” she suggested sweetly, trying not to clench her teeth.

His eyebrows arched slightly at her directness. “I have development plans for both lakefront properties,” he explained brusquely. “However, your property, being in the center, poses a number of problems for me. It would seem that the ideal solution would be for me to purchase this property in order to maximize the success of my venture.” His eyes narrowed. “Just name your price. You’ll have it in your bank account first thing tomorrow morning.”

Justine couldn’t prevent the gasp from her lips. “You can’t be serious!”

“I’m not the joking type,” he countered sharply. “Nor do I intend to play any money games with you, Miss Winter. Negotiations aren’t necessary here. I’m willing to pay whatever you feel is an optimum price for this place.”

Justine felt her eyes fluttering in disbelief. “I’m not interested in selling—no matter what you offer, Mr. Forrester,” she stated as firmly as she could muster. “It’s not a matter of money; it’s a question of principle.”

She stood up, both palms on the table, willing him to leave.

A muscle flicked at his jaw. He made no move to stand, let alone leave. “Kindly explain yourself, Miss Winter,” he said evenly.

Justine took a deep breath. “I would not want to see the natural beauty and seclusion of this area spoiled by a commercial venture. That’s what you have in mind, don’t you?” She put her hands on her hips, her blue-gray eyes piercing his accusingly.

“Let me clarify my intentions.”

He leaned forward, resting both elbows on Justine’s desk. His face was disturbingly close to her chest. She was mortified as she noticed her black bra peeking from under the white eyelet blouse. She hadn’t even thought about the selection of her bra in her after-shower haste. She sat down and crossed her arms in front of her.

“I think the rugged beauty of this stretch of Georgian Bay shoreline should be fully enjoyed—not kept a secret. I am contemplating the construction of a luxury waterfront resort and a restaurant that will enhance the experience of visitors. Nothing like high-rise condominiums; that would be unnatural in these surroundings.”

He rubbed his jaw with long, manicured fingers.

“I like the thought of luxury cottages nestled privately among the pines and spruces, each overlooking the bay.” He paused briefly, but as she opened her mouth to reply, added coolly, “Let me make one thing clear, Miss Winter. Even if you refuse to accept my offer, I intend to go ahead with my plans for the Russell properties.”

Justine had listened with growing trepidation as she thought of the repercussions his commercial venture would have—not only on her property, but on the surrounding area. She had no intention of giving in to him. His plans would not enhance the existing atmosphere of this stretch of the bay—she was certain of it. The seclusion and quiet ambiance her customers depended on would definitely be compromised with all the construction and traffic his venture would generate.

She felt her jaw clenching. No, she did not intend to let him bully her into selling.

“I cannot accept your offer,” she told him coldly. “Someone has to cater to common folk with regular incomes who want a holiday away from it all. I cannot, in all good conscience, agree to a proposal that would not only deprive my regular customers of a quiet, restful vacation retreat, but also exploit the natural wilderness of the area.”

She was unable to control a slight grimace.

“Have you even thought of looking into the Georgian Bay Biosphere Reserve? Or the Provincial Endangered Species Act? Obviously, Mr. Forrester, personal financial gain is higher on your list of priorities than the preservation of nature.”

Justine stood up again, hoping he would take the hint and leave.

Instead he leaned back in his chair and continued to gaze directly at her, an unfathomable gleam in his chestnut eyes. She cleared her throat uncomfortably, wondering what she could say to get him out of the office without resorting to being rude.

Stroking his jaw thoughtfully, he murmured, “Why don’t I just make you an offer anyway? How does this sound to you...?”

Justine only just stopped herself from swaying. Even half the amount he was offering would be exorbitant. No wonder the Russells had sold out to him if this was the way he conducted his business transactions. For a moment her mind swarmed with thoughts of what she could do with that kind of money, and she couldn’t deny that she felt the stirrings of temptation to consider his offer.

She looked at him, sitting back comfortably with his arms crossed, and the hint of smugness on his face gave her the impression that he knew exactly what she was feeling. He was counting on it that she would abandon her principles if the price were right.

Well, he was wrong. She might have been tempted in a moment of weakness, but she would never sell Winter’s Haven. It represented a lot of things for a lot of people, but for her it was home. Her special healing place. Even her hurt over Robert had lessened since she had come back. There was an atmosphere here that she had never felt in the city—or anywhere else for that matter. She had an affinity for this kind of natural lifestyle, and after leaving it once she had no intentions of ever leaving it again.

Her blue-gray eyes were defiant as she looked across at him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Forrest...”

“Forrester.”

“Mr. Forrester. I can imagine that your offer might be tempting to some, but nothing would make me sell my home and property. I belong here.”

Surprise flickered briefly in the depths of his eyes. “Bad timing.”

“What do you mean?” she demanded defensively.

“Your parents were almost ready to accept an offer I made on this place three months ago, then changed their minds when you showed up. It’s too bad for me that you didn’t time your arrival for a week later. The deal would have gone through by then,” he continued bluntly, “and I wouldn’t have had to waste my valuable time talking to you.”

He rose fluidly from the chair.

Justine could feel her cheeks flaming. She remembered her parents mentioning an offer somebody had made—it hadn’t been the first time—but that they had turned it down.

“What’s really too bad, Mr. Forrester,” she shot back indignantly, “is the fact that you’ve become my neighbor.”

He smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Not for long, perhaps,” he replied coolly. “I will come up with another offer soon—one you may not be able to resist, despite your lofty principles.”

“Don’t count on it,” she snapped.

“We’ll see,” he replied softly. “Any woman can eventually be bought. I don’t imagine you’re any different.” He turned to leave with a cynical smile. “Except maybe a little higher-priced,” he said, his tone cold as he opened the door and clicked it shut.

Justine stared at the door speechlessly. She slammed one palm down on the desk, furious that he had had the last word—and the last insult.

“Ouch,” she moaned, slumping into her chair.

She felt emotionally drained. The last thing she had expected from her visitor today was an offer to buy Winter’s Haven. And what an offer, she mused.

Casson Forrester obviously meant business, and money was no object. She didn’t imagine he would stop at anything until ultimately he got what he wanted. And he wanted Winter’s Haven. He hardly seemed the type to back away from any venture once he had made up his mind.

Justine recalled the set of his jaw and the steely determination in his eyes. Those dangerous tawny eyes. Tiger eyes, she thought suddenly, eyes that made her feel like the hunted in a quest for territorial supremacy.

How long would he stalk her? she wondered nervously, rubbing at her sore palm. What means would he use to try to break down her resolve and get her to give in to him?

It doesn’t matter what he tries, an inner voice reasoned. There’s nothing he can do to make you change your mind.

“Nothing!” She rose to leave.

At that moment Mandy returned to the office, unconcealed curiosity on her face. “What do you mean, ‘Nothing’? Tell me what that hunk of a man wanted... Please say he’s booked a cottage for a month. I’ll be more than happy to forego my vacation and tend to his every need—”

“He’s not worth getting excited about,” Justine sniffed. “He’s an assuming, boorish snob who thinks money can buy anything or anyone.” She felt her cheeks ignite with renewed anger. “He’s got a lot of nerve.”

“I take it you didn’t quite hit it off?” Mandy said, sitting on the edge of the desk. “What on earth did he say—or do—to get you so riled up? I’ve never seen this side of you.”

“That’s because no one has ever infuriated me so much,” Justine huffed.

She told Mandy the purpose of Casson Forrester’s visit.

“I’ll never sell, though,” she concluded adamantly. “To him or to anyone else.”

“Hmm...it doesn’t sound like we’ve heard the last of him, though, since he is our new neighbor.” A dreamy look came into her eyes. “I wonder if he’s married...”

“I pity his wife if he is,” Justine retorted. “Having to live with such an overbearing, narrow-minded brute!”

“I’d like to see what your idea of a hunk is if you consider this man a brute!” Mandy laughed.

Justine gave an indelicate snort. “All that glitters isn’t gold, you know. He may look...attractive—”

“Gorgeous,” Mandy corrected.

“But it’s the inside that counts. Trust me, Mandy, he has a terrible personality. No, it’s not even terrible. It’s non-existent.”

Mandy eyed her speculatively. “Not your kind of man?”

“Not at all,” Justine replied decisively, turning to leave. “If he calls again, think up any excuse you can; just tell him I’m not available. Whatever you do, do not set up another appointment. I’ve had enough personal contact with Casson Forrest... Forrester—whatever his name is—to last me a lifetime. All I want to do is forget him.”

Easier said than done, she thought, driving the short distance back to her house. How could she forget those tiger eyes? His entire face, for that matter... It was not a face one could easily forget. Not that she was interested, but she had to admit grudgingly to herself that Casson Forrester probably never lacked for female companionship.

Or lovers, she mused, stepping out of her car. She felt a warm rush as she imagined him in an intimate embrace, then immediately berated herself for even allowing herself to conjure such thoughts.

Justine sprinted up the stairs to her bedroom, changed into her turquoise swimsuit, grabbed a towel, and headed to her private beach.

The first invigorating splash into the bay immediately took some of her tension away. And as Justine floated on the bay’s mirrored surface, absorbed in interpreting the images in the clouds, the threat that Casson Forrester posed to Winter’s Haven already seemed less imposing.

What vacationers liked most about the place was the seclusion of each of the twelve rustic cottages tucked amidst the canopy of trees, only a short walk to their own stretch of private beach. They also appreciated the extra conveniences that Justine’s parents had added to enhance their stay. Along with the popular diner—which featured freshly caught pickerel, bass or whitefish—over seventeen years her parents had added a convenience store, a small-scale laundromat, and boat and motor facilities with optional guiding services.

Many of their guests came back year after year during their favorite season. Justine hoped that Casson Forrester’s plans wouldn’t change that.

She swam back to shore, towel-dried her hair, patted down her body quickly and decided she would change and eat at the diner instead of cooking. She liked to mingle with the guests, many of whom had become friends of the family.

Justine put on her flip-flop sandals, hung up her towel on the outside clothesline, and walked up the wide flagstone path. On either side myriad flowers bloomed among Dusty Millers and variegated hostas.

Ordinarily Justine entered through the back entrance after going for a swim, but the sound of tires crunching slowly up toward the front of her house made her change her mind. A new guest, she thought, mistaking her driveway for the office entrance.

She rounded the corner with a welcoming smile. The car sitting in her driveway had tinted windows, so she couldn’t make out the driver. But she didn’t have to. Her smile faded and she stopped walking. She knew who the silver-green Mustang convertible belonged to.

With the windows up he had full advantage, seeing her with her swimsuit plastered to her body, hair tousled and tangled. She wished she had wrapped her towel around her.

She felt her insides churn with annoyance. Frustration.

Was he going to come out of his car, or did he actually expect her to walk up to his window?

She stood there awkwardly, her arms at her sides, feeling ridiculous. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it anymore, the convertible top started to glide down. Spanish guitar music was playing.

He had shades on, which annoyed her even further. He had taken off his jacket and tossed it on the seat beside him. His shirt was short-sleeved, and even from where she stood Justine could tell it was of high quality, the color of cantaloupe with vertical lime stripes. His arms were tanned, and she watched him reach over to grab a large brown envelope, turn down the music slightly and step out of his car. Without taking his gaze off her.

“I wanted you to have a glance at this, Miss Winter.” He held out the envelope.

Justine crossed her arms and frowned.

“It’s a development proposal drafted by an architect friend of mine. I would be happy to go over it with you.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “I would appreciate it if you at least gave the plan and the drawings a glance. They might help dispel some of your doubts about my venture.”

Justine stared at him coldly. “I’m not interested, Mr. Forrest. You’re wasting your time.” Her entire face felt flushed, the refreshed feeling after her swim completely dissipated.

He stood there for a moment, his mouth curving into a half-smile. He held the envelope in front of her for a few moments, then turned and tossed it into the Mustang. “Very well, Miss Wintry. Perhaps you need some time to think about it.”

“Not at all,” she returned curtly. “And my last name is Winter.”

“So sorry, Miss Winter.” He took off his sunglasses. “And mine’s Forrester.”

Justine’s knees felt weak. His dark eyes blazed at her in the sunlight. She knew she should apologize as well, but when she opened her mouth no words came out. She watched him get behind the wheel and put on his sunglasses.

“But you can call me Casson,” he said, and grinned before turning on the ignition.

He cranked up the music and with a few swift turns was out of her driveway and out of sight.

* * *

Now that he could no longer see Justine Winter in his rearview mirror, Casson concentrated on the road ahead. He loved this area. His family—which had included him and his younger brother Franklin—had always spent part of the summer at their friends’ cottage on Georgian Bay, and the tradition had continued even after they’d lost Franklin to leukemia when he was only seven years old.

Even after his parents and their friends had passed away, and the cottage had been sold, Casson had felt compelled to return regularly to the area. There would always be twinges of grief at his memories, but Casson didn’t want the memories to fade, and the familiar landscape brought him serenity and healing as well.

Determined to find a location for what would be “Franklin’s Resort,” he had spent months searching for the right spot. After finding out that the Russell properties were for sale, he’d hired a pilot to fly him over Georgian Bay’s 30,000 Islands area to scope out the parcels of land, which were on either side of Winter’s Haven.

The seductive curve of sandy beach, with the surf foaming along its edge, and the cottages set back among the thickly wooded terrain had given him a thrill. The bay, with its undulating waves of blue and indigo, sparkling like an endless motherlode of diamonds, had made his heartbeat quicken.

The sudden feeling that Franklin was somehow with him had sent shivers along his arms. Casson had always sensed that the spirit of Franklin was in Georgian Bay, and he’d had an overwhelming feeling that his search was over. He’d made the Russells an offer he was sure they couldn’t refuse and had then turned his attention to Winter’s Haven.

Now, as he sped past the mixed forest of white pine, birch and cedar, he caught glimpses of Georgian Bay, its surface glittering with pinpoints of sunlight. A mesmerizing blue.

Just like Justine Winter’s eyes.

The thought came before he could stop it. His lips curved into a smile. He hadn’t expected the new owner of Winter’s Haven to be so...striking. So outspoken. From the way her father had spoken he had expected someone a little more shy and reticent, someone more fragile.

“I’ve decided not to sell after all,” Thomas Winter had said, when he’d phoned him a few months earlier. “My daughter Justine has had enough of the big city—and a bad relationship—and she needs a new direction in life. A new venture that will lift her spirits. My wife and I have decided to offer the business to her and finally do some travelling. Winter’s Haven will be a good place for Justine to recover...”

Recover?

Casson had wondered if Mr. Winter’s daughter was emotionally healthy enough to maintain a business that had obviously thrived for years under her parents’ management. Which was why he’d decided to wait a couple of months before approaching her with his offer. With any luck the place would be in a shambles and she’d be ready to unload it. And even if that wasn’t the case, he’d come to learn that most people had their price...

At first glance Justine Winter had seemed anything but fragile. She had dashed into the office with damp hair, flushed cheeks, tanned arms and shapely legs under a flowered skirt that swayed with the movement of her hips. And as he’d sauntered toward her his eyes hadn’t been able to help sweeping over that peekaboo top, glimpsing the black bra underneath...

He had felt a sudden jolt. He had come to Winter’s Haven expecting a depressed young woman who had needed her parents to save her by offering her a lifeline. Not a woman whose firm curves and just-out-of-the-shower freshness had caused his body to stir uncontrollably...

And then she had turned to face him, her blue-gray eyes striking him like a cresting wave. And, no, it hadn’t looked like the place was anywhere near in a shambles, with her pining away for her former lover.

He had watched her expression flit from disbelief about his purchase of the adjoining Russell properties to wide-eyed amazement at his offer. And he had felt a momentary smugness when her gaze shifted and became dreamy.

She had been thinking about what she could do with the money. He’d been sure of it.

And then her gaze had snapped back to meet his, and the ice-blue hardness of her eyes and her flat-out refusal of his money had caused something within him to strike back with the prediction that she would eventually cave at a higher price.

He had almost been able to feel the flinty sparks from her eyes searing his back as he’d left...

Casson drove into the larger of the Russell properties—his properties now—and after greeting his dog, Luna, he grabbed a cold beer and plunked himself down into one of the Muskoka chairs on the wraparound porch.

Luna ran around the property for a while and then settled down beside him. Casson stared out at the flickering waters of the bay. It already felt like he had been there for years.

This really was a slice of heaven. Prime Group of Seven country.

Casson had grown up hearing about the Group of Seven as if they were actual members of his family. His grandfather’s friendship with A. J. Casson—who had been his neighbor for years—and the collection of Casson paintings he had eventually bequeathed to his only daughter, had resulted in Casson’s childhood being steeped in art knowledge and appreciation. Not only of A. J. Casson’s work, but the work of all the Group of Seven artists.

And now here he was as an adult, just days away from sponsoring and hosting Franklin & Casson on the Bay—an exhibition of the paintings of Franklin Carmichael and A. J. Casson at the Charles W. Stockey Centre for the Performing Arts in Parry Sound. The center was renowned for its annual Festival of the Sound summer classical music festival, as well as for housing the Bobby Orr Hall of Fame—a sports museum celebrating Parry Sound’s ice hockey legend.

It was all close to falling into place. This exhibition was the first step in making his resort a reality. Franklin’s Resort would be a non-profit venture, to honor the memory of its namesake and to provide a much-needed safe haven for families.

At the exhibition Casson would outline his plan to create a luxury haven for children after cancer treatment—a place to restore their strength and their spirit with their families, who would all have experienced trauma. The families would enjoy a week’s stay at the resort at no cost.

He had no doubt that the Carmichael/Casson exhibition would be successful in raising awareness and backing for his venture. And the pièce de résistance was a painting from his own personal collection. It was one of A. J. Casson’s early pieces, Storm on the Bay, and had been given to Casson’s grandfather when A.J. had been his neighbor. It was the prize in a silent auction, and Casson hoped it would attract a collector’s eye and boost the development of the resort.

A lump formed in his throat. He had been only ten when Franklin had died, and although he had not been able to articulate his feelings at the time, he knew now that he had coped with his feeling of helplessness by overcompensating in other ways. Helping with chores; learning to make meals as a teen and excelling at school, in sport and at university. Subconsciously he had done everything he could not to add to his parents’ misery.

After pursuing a Business and Commerce degree in Toronto, Casson had returned home to Huntsville—an hour away from Parry Sound—to purchase a struggling hardware store downtown. He had been grateful for the money his grandfather had left him in his will, which had enabled him to put a down payment on the business, and he’d vowed that he would make his grandpa proud.

Within a couple of years the store had been thriving, and Casson had set his sights on developing a chain. Six more years and he’d had stores in Gravenhurst, Bracebridge, Port Carling and—his most recent acquisition—a hardware store in Parry Sound, just outside the Muskoka area.

Casson had revived each store with innovative changes and promotions that would appeal both to the locals and the seasonal property-owners. The Forrest Hardware chain had made him a multi-millionaire by the time he was thirty-four.

Losing his brother at such a young age had affected Casson deeply; he hadn’t been able to control what happened to Franklin, so he had learned to take control of his own life early. He was still in control now, steering his expanding hardware chain, and yet he had no control over Justine Winter. Not that he wanted to control her; he simply wanted control of Winter’s Haven. Her property was the last piece of the puzzle that he needed to fit into his plan.

Earlier, the thought had flashed into his mind to invite Justine to go with him to the Stockey Centre the following day—to show her that his motive when it came to the Russell properties and Winter’s Haven was not one of financial gain, as she had immediately assumed. However, the fact that he’d even considered telling Justine the truth shocked him... He never talked about Franklin. He’d learned to keep those feelings hidden.

Why had he nearly told her?

It might have had something to do with those initial sparks between them...

Anyway, he hadn’t wanted to show his vulnerability or how much this venture meant to him as a tribute to his brother. So instead he had thrust his offer upon Justine with the arrogant expectation that she would be so dazzled by the amount she’d agree to it, no questions asked.

And if she had asked questions he wouldn’t have been prepared to open up his soul to her. Tell her that he was doing this not only for Franklin, but for himself. For all the lonely years he had spent after his brother’s death, unable to share his grief with his mother, whose pain at losing Franklin had created an emotional barrier that even Casson could not penetrate. His father had thrown himself into his work, and when he was at home had seemed to have only enough energy to provide a comforting shoulder for his wife.

It was only in later years that Casson had contemplated going to a few sessions of grief counselling. It had been emotionally wrenching to relive the past, but Casson had eventually forgiven his parents. It had been during that time that his idea for a resort to help kids like Franklin had begun to take root. What he hadn’t been able to do for Franklin at ten years of age, he could now do for many kids like him—including his godson Andy, his cousin Veronica’s only child.

Andy’s cancer diagnosis a year earlier had shocked Casson, and triggered memories and feelings of the past. Supporting Andy and Veronica during subsequent treatment had made him all the more determined to see his venture become a reality. Casson just wished his parents were still alive to witness it as well...

Franklin & Casson on the Bay was only a few days away. His plan was on target. There was one key missing.

And Justine had it.

Casson took a gulp of his beer. Damn, it was hot. He loosened his tie. As he contemplated changing and going for a swim, a vision of Justine Winter standing with wet hair in her bathing suit flashed in his memory. That turquoise one-piece had molded to the heady curves of her body, and her tanned thighs and legs had been sugared with white beach sand that sparkled in the sun. Her hair, straight and dripping water over her cleavage... An enchanting sea creature...

He had sensed her discomfort, knew how exposed she’d felt. If only she knew what the sight of her body had done to him.

Casson unbuttoned his shirt and went inside to change. A dip in the refreshing waters of Georgian Bay would cool him down—inside and out...

* * *

Casson stretched out on the edge of the dock to let the sun heat his body. There was nothing like that first dive into the bay when your body was sizzling hot. He closed his eyes for a few moments, and when he opened them, wondered if he had dozed off. Although he had slapped on some sunscreen earlier, his skin felt slightly more burnished.

He scrambled to his feet and Luna shuffled excitedly around him. Casson heard a faint voice calling him, but when he turned there was nobody there. There was some rustling in the trees and a flash of blue, followed by the shrill call of a blue jay.

Casson looked down at the water, anticipating the bracing pleasure awaiting him. A hint of a breeze tickled his nose, followed by the faint smell of fish. He blinked at his reflection, wiping at the sweat prickling his eyes. In the gently lapping bay he imagined Franklin beside him, wearing his faded Toronto Blue Jays cap, his skinny arms holding a fishing rod with its catch of pickerel and his toothy grin. And the sparkle in his eyes...

And then the sparkle was lost in the sun’s glittering reflection and the image was swallowed up by the waves. Casson dropped down to sit at the edge of the dock, his original intention forgotten. He continued to peer intensely into the water, and it was only moments later, when Luna pressed against him to lick his face, that Casson realized she was licking the salty tears on his cheeks.

CHAPTER TWO

THE RAIN DRUMMING on the roof woke Justine an hour before she’d intended. She didn’t mind at all, though. Rainy days were good for doing odd jobs, renovating an empty cottage, or just relaxing with a good book in the window seat in her room. It was one of her favorite reading spots, with its plush flowery cushions and magnificent view of the bay.

Justine changed into jeans and a nautical-style T-shirt, brushed her hair back into a ponytail, and went downstairs. After having a quick coffee and one of the banana yogurt muffins she had made last night, she grabbed her umbrella and dashed to her car.

Despite the fact that she had always liked this kind of weather, Justine couldn’t help but feel a twist in her stomach, remembering the rainy day she’d walked into Robert Morrell’s law office for an interview. She’d been twenty-four, and had graduated summa cum laude in Law and Justice from the University of Toronto. That and her business electives had impressed Robert and Clare, his senior administrative assistant, who would be retiring in six months, and Robert had offered her the job the following day.

As time had progressed the initial rapport between them had developed into an easy friendship. Justine had sometimes stayed at the office during lunchtime, catching up on paperwork between bites of her sandwich or salad. And Robert, to her surprise, had often done the same, claiming he wanted to go home at a decent hour so his wife wouldn’t complain that he was “married to the job.”

Shared conversations had begun to take on a more personal note during Justine’s second year at the office, and when Robert had started to hint at his marriage breakdown she had felt compelled to listen and comfort him as he’d revealed more and more.

The underlying spark of attraction between them had not come to the forefront until after his divorce had almost become final. Then, with nothing and nobody to hold them back, Justine and Robert had begun dating...

Justine forced Robert out of her thoughts as she turned the corner and drove into the parking lot of the hardware store, finding a spot near the front doors. Something looked vaguely different about the place, and then she realized the signage had changed. New ownership, she had heard.

Without bothering to get her umbrella, she dashed into the store and toward the wood department.

“May I help you?”

Justine turned to find a middle-aged employee smiling at her.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Blake,” she said, smiling back. “Glad to see you’re still here. I’d like to order some cedar paneling for one of the cottages.”

“I thought it was you. Back from Toronto, I hear. Your dad told me you’d be taking over Winter’s Haven.”

Justine nodded. “I’m glad to be back.”

As she handed him a piece of paper with the measurements a feeling of contentedness came over her. She had made the right decision, coming back home.

This was what she loved about living in a small town—knowing the names of local merchants, dealing with people who knew her parents.

She had felt the call of the big city, and had enjoyed it for a time, but the breakup with Robert and the lonely month that had followed had made her realize how truly alone she was. With no job and no meaningful friendships—the people Robert had introduced her to didn’t qualify—she’d yearned for the small-town connections of Parry Sound. Home. The place she had always felt safe in, nurtured and supported by family, friends and community.

“Are you thinking of running the business on a permanent basis?” Mr. Blake glanced at her curiously.

“I sure am.” She beamed. “I can’t imagine ever leaving Winter’s Haven again.”

Mr. Blake glanced over her shoulder, as if he were looking for someone, and then gave her a hesitant smile. “Well, good luck to you. When your order is ready I’ll give you a call. You can let me know then when you want the job done.”

“Sounds good!” Justine leafed through her bag and took out her car keys. “Thanks, Mr. Blake, and have a great day.”

Justine strode toward the exit, wondering why the expression on his face had seemed to change after her saying she couldn’t imagine ever leaving Winter’s Haven. She grimaced when she came to the door. The rain was coming down in torrents now, and she regretted leaving her umbrella in the car. She would get drenched despite the short distance.

She made a run for it, giving a yelp as she stepped in a sizeable puddle.

“Damn,” she muttered as she inserted the wrong key in the lock. She should have brought a rain jacket, she berated herself, slamming the door at last.

Her top was plastered against her, and although she had planned to do some further shopping she was not about to go anywhere in this condition. Her jeans were soaked as well—front and back—and she couldn’t wait to get back home, strip everything off and take a shower.

She backed out carefully and drove out of the parking lot. Although it was barely mid-morning the sky had darkened, and she could hear ominous rumbles of thunder. Her wipers were going at full-tilt, but the rain was pelting the windshield so hard that she could barely see through it.

As Justine drove slowly out of the town limits and toward the long country road that would take her home she tried to ignore the clammy feeling of her wet clothes against her skin.

A sudden beeping noise behind her startled her, and she glanced immediately in the rearview mirror. She could see a burgundy pickup truck, but it was impossible to see the driver.

To Justine’s consternation the honking became more persistent. The truck didn’t have its indicators on, so the driver couldn’t be in any kind of trouble. And she didn’t imagine it was an admirer. She wasn’t unused to appreciative smiles from male drivers once in a while, along with the occasional whistle or honk of their horn, but she doubted that this was the case today.

The rain was subsiding—thank goodness. And as she looked in the rearview mirror again she saw that the driver had his arm out the window, signaling for her to pull over. Now she felt alarmed. Was it a cop? No, not in a pickup truck. And it wouldn’t be for speeding...

He honked again and she looked back, but a sudden rush of oncoming cars made her concentrate on the road. She cautiously pressed on the gas pedal. Too many weirdos on the road, she thought. She swerved around a bend, and a quick look reassured her that the creep was gone.

She reached the turnoff to Winter’s Haven. The rain had stopped and the sun was breaking through the clouds. She clicked off her wipers, headed directly past the office building and turned into the road through a lengthy wooded stretch that led to her driveway. She sighed, but had barely turned off the ignition when she heard the crunch of an approaching vehicle.

A moment later the burgundy pickup truck she’d thought she had seen the last of pulled up right next to her.

She was more angry than worried now. How dare he? Without a thought to any potential danger, she flung the car door open and got out, her cheeks flaming. The man had gotten out of his truck and was leaning against it, casually silent, as he watched Justine march stormily up to him.

“Why are you following me?” she demanded, stopping a few feet away from him. “It was bad enough trying to drive with you tailgating and honking incessantly. Can’t you find a more civilized way of pursuing a woman? Highway dramatics don’t do anything for me.”

The man’s mouth twisted and he continued to stare at her through dark sunglasses. A few seconds passed. Why wasn’t he answering her? Maybe she should have stayed in the car. He might have a knife. She could scream, but nobody was close enough to hear her.

She looked at him closely. She might need to file a report if she managed to get away from him. His faded jeans and jacket seemed ordinary enough, but his bearded face, dark glasses and baseball cap might very well be concealing the face of an escaped criminal. Would she be able to run back to her car? No, she’d never make it if he intended to pursue her.

She shivered and said shakily, “What do you want?”

Another twist of his lips. “Your hubcap flew off a few miles back,” he drawled. “So you can relax. I’m not about to attack you.”

Justine let out an audible sigh. And then she felt her cheeks start to burn. She had accused him of pursuing her.

“I’m usually more civilized when it comes to pursuing women,” he said, and laughed, as if he had read her thoughts. “And ‘highway dramatics,’ as I believe you put it, are not my style.”

Justine’s discomfiture grew. “I apologize for jumping to the wrong conclusion, but you can hardly blame me, can you?” Her eyes narrowed. “Your voice sounds familiar...”

For some reason, the realization bothered her.

A suspicion suddenly struck her in a way that made her knees want to buckle.

“Haven’t figured it out yet?” he said, removing his sunglasses.

Tiger eyes. Damn!

With the cap, sunglasses, casual clothes and truck, and two weeks’ growth of beard, she hadn’t even suspected.

“It’s...you!” she sputtered, wide-eyed.

“Nice to see you again, too,” Casson Forrester murmured, with the slightest hint of sarcasm. “Actually, I spotted you in the hardware store, but you left before I could reach you. There are a few things I want to discuss with you.”

“You didn’t have to follow me.”

“I didn’t think you’d accept my call.” His eyes narrowed. “Among other things, I was going to suggest you don’t bother paneling or doing any other kind of work if you’re going to end up selling the place...”

Justine’s eyes flashed their annoyance. “That’s your mistaken presumption,” she retorted. “And were you eavesdropping on my conversation?”

“I didn’t have to. Mr. Blake happened to mention it when I called a staff meeting.”

“You own Forrest Hardware?” she said slowly. “And Forrest Construction....”

Of course. Forrest was simply an abbreviated form of his name, and an appropriate choice for his chain of stores in the Muskoka area—including the latest one in Parry Sound. She had briefly noticed the new sign, but the name hadn’t registered in her consciousness—least of all the connection with its owner.

She gave a curt laugh. “No wonder you can buy practically anything—or anybody—you want.”

“Not always,” his tiger eyes glinted. “Although it’s not for lack of trying.”

She shivered. And at the sudden clap of thunder they both looked up to the sky. The clouds had blocked out the sun again, and a few errant raindrops had started coming down. Realizing she had been standing there in her wet T-shirt and jeans, her hair flattened against her head except for the few strands that were now curling with the humidity, she crossed her arms in front of her.

“Excuse me,” she said icily, “I’m going to have to leave.” She turned away, then glanced back. “I’ll look for the hubcap later.”

She retrieved her keys and bag from her car and strode toward the house. When she was halfway there the rain intensified, making her curse indelicately as she ran the rest of the way. Breathing a sigh of relief as she reached the door of the porch, she closed it behind her as another clap of thunder reverberated around her.

Hearing the porch door creak open again, she turned around to close it tightly. But it wasn’t the wind that had forced it open. It was Casson Forrester. And a big dog.

“I hope you don’t mind if we wait out the storm in your house.” He closed the porch door firmly. “Driving would be foolish in almost zero visibility. And Luna is terrified of storms.” He took off his cap and grinned at Justine. “Would you be so kind as to hand me a towel? I’d hate for us to drip all over your house.”

Justine blinked at the sight before her. Casson Forrester and his big panting dog, both dripping wet.

Casson took off his baseball cap and flung it toward the hook on the wall opposite him. It landed perfectly. He looked at her expectantly, one hand in a pocket of his jeans, the other patting Luna on the head. Both pant legs were soaked, along with his jean jacket.

She tore her gaze away from his formfitting jeans and looked at Luna. She’d make a mess in her house, for sure. She sighed inwardly. Did she have any choice but to supply this dripping duo with towels? She couldn’t very well let them stand there.

Anther clap of thunder caused Luna to give a sharp yelp, and she rose from her sitting position, looking like she wanted to bolt.

Justine blurted, “I’ll just be a minute,” and hurried inside, closing the door with a firm click. She wasn’t going to let either of them inside until they were relatively drip-free.

She scrambled up the stairs to the hall closet near her room, fished out a couple of the largest towels she could find and then, as an afterthought, rifled through another section to find a pair of oversized painting overalls. He could get out of his jeans and wear these while his clothes dried.

Unable to stop the image of his bare legs invading her thoughts, she flushed, and hoped her cheeks wouldn’t betray her.

She walked slowly down the stairs, and after taking a steadying breath re-entered the porch.

“I found a pair of painting overalls. You can get out of your wet clothes and throw them into the dryer,” she said coolly. “There’s a washroom just inside this door, next to the laundry room. If you want, I can pat down your dog.”

She handed him the overalls and one of the towels.

He reached out for them and the towel fell open. His eyebrows rose and he glanced at her with a quirky half-smile. “I like the color, but I’m afraid they’re a tad too small for me. But thanks.”

Justine wanted the floor to split open and swallow her up. She snatched the hot pink bikini panties from where they clung to the towel and shoved them in her pocket. They must have been in the dryer together. She bent down to dry Luna, not wanting Casson to see how mortified she felt.

She let out her breath when she heard him enter the house.

Luna whimpered at the next rumble of thunder and started skittering around the porch. “Come here, Luna, you big scaredy-cat,” she said. “Come on.” To her surprise the dog gave a short bark and came to her, tail wagging. “Good dog. Now, lie down so I can dry you.”

Luna obeyed, and Justine patted her head and dark coat with the towel. She was a mixed breed—Labrador Retriever, for sure, and maybe some German Shepherd. Her doleful eyes and the coloring around the face and head—tan and white, with a black peak in the middle of her forehead—made Justine wonder if there were some beagle ancestry as well.

“Don’t you have pretty eyes?” she murmured, chuckling as Luna rewarded her with a lick on the hand.

They looked as if someone had taken eyeliner to them. And the brown of her coat tapered off to tan before ending in white paws, making it seem as if she had dipped them in white paint.

“You’re such a pretty girl—you know that?” Justine gave her a final patting and set down the towel. “Even if you’ve left your fur all over my towel.”

Justine crouched forward and scratched behind Luna’s ears. Before Justine could stop her Luna had sprung forward to lick her on the cheek. Unprepared for the considerable weight of the furry bundle, Justine lost her balance and fell back awkwardly on the floor.

“Luna, come!”

Casson’s voice was firm, displeased. She hadn’t heard him come back.

“It’s all right, she was just being affectionate,” Justine hurried to explain. “I lost my footing.”

She scrambled to get up, and her embarrassment dissipated when she saw him standing there in a T-shirt and the white overalls. It wasn’t the T-shirt that made her want to burst out laughing. Under different circumstances those muscled arms would certainly have elicited emotions other than laughter. It was the overalls—the not-so-oversized overalls.

They fit him snugly, and only came down to just above his ankles. How could someone so ruggedly handsome look so...so dorky at the same time? She covered her mouth with her hand, but couldn’t help her shoulders from quaking as she laughed silently. Here was Mr. Perfect—the stylish, wealthy entrepreneur Casson Forrester—wearing something that looked like it belonged to Mr. Bean.

Casson’s eyes glinted. “What? You find this fashion statement humorous? Hmm... I suppose it does detract from your previous impression of me, however—”

The boom of thunder drowned out his words, and as the rain pelted down even harder Justine motioned toward the door. Once they were inside she ran to make sure all the windows were closed. The rain lashed against the panes, obliterating any view at all. She turned on a lamp in the living room.

“Have a seat.” She gestured toward the couch. “I need to check the windows upstairs and change my clothes too.” She glanced at Luna, who was whimpering. “You might want to turn on the TV to drown out the thunder.”

* * *

After Justine had left, Casson smirked at the memory of her face when she’d turned to find him and Luna inside her porch. Her eyes had almost doubled in size, with blinking lashes that had reminded him of delicate hummingbird wings. Peach lips had fallen open and then immediately pursed. It had taken him everything not to burst out laughing.

Although laughing was not what he’d wanted to do when her pink panties had emerged from that towel... Her cheeks had immediately turned almost the same intense color, and he’d felt glad he hadn’t given in to the impulse to hand them to her.

It had been her turn to smirk, though, when he’d appeared in these painting overalls. Casson knew he looked ridiculous—but, given the situation, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

He grabbed the remote and found a classical music channel that would diffuse some of the thunder noise. Sitting back on the couch, he looked around with interest. The stone fireplace across from him was the focal point of the room, with its rustic slab of oak as mantel, and the Parry Sound stone continued upward to the pine-lined cathedral ceiling.

He drew a quick intake of breath as his gaze fell on the Group of Seven print above the mantel. Mirror Lake, by Franklin Carmichael. His eyes followed the curves of the multi-colored hills, the bands of varying hues of red, blue, purple, turquoise, green and gold and the perfect stillness of the lake, its surface a gleaming mirror.

This piece always tugged at his emotions and brought back so many memories—memories he didn’t want to conjure up right now, with Justine set to return at any moment.

Casson’s gaze shifted to the oversized recliners flanking the fireplace, one with a matching ottoman. Their colors, along with the couch and love seat, were an assortment of burnt sienna, brown and sage-green, with contrasting cushions. The wide-plank maple flooring, enhanced by a large forest green rug with a border of pine cones and branches, gave the place an authentic cottage feel, and the rustic coffee table and end tables complemented the décor.

The far wall behind the love seat featured huge windows of varying sizes, the top ones arching toward the peak of the ceiling and the largest one in the middle a huge bay window, providing what must be a spectacular view of the bay when the rain wasn’t pounding against the panes.

A well-stocked bookshelf against one wall, eclectic lighting, and a vase containing a mix of wildflowers enhanced what Casson considered to be the ideal Georgian Bay cottage. He sat back, nodding, making mental notes for his future resort cottages.

After making a few investigative circles around the room Luna plunked down at his feet, panting slightly, her ears perked, as if she were expecting the next clap of thunder. Casson leaned forward to give her a reassuring pat and she grumbled contentedly and settled into a more relaxed position.

Casson wished he could feel more relaxed, but the painting overalls were compressing him in too many places. He wondered what Miss Wintry’s reaction would be if he stretched out on the couch. At least then he wouldn’t feel like his masculinity was being compromised, he thought wryly. He checked the time on his watch. Sighing, he lay back and rested his head on one cushion.

Ah, relief.

He closed his eyes and listened to the classical music, accompanied by the rain pelting against the windows. A picture of Justine changing into dry clothes popped into his head.

Would she be slipping on those pink panties?

What was he doing?

He was here to wait for his clothes to dry and the storm to pass, not to imagine her naked...

* * *

Upstairs in her room, Justine peeled off her clothes, dried herself vigorously, and wished she could jump into a hot shower. But that would have to wait until Casson was gone. She didn’t want to be thinking about him while she was...undressed. She changed quickly into white leggings and a long, brightly flowered shirt.

As an afterthought she opened her closet and moved a few boxes until she found the one she was looking for. Although Christmas was months away, she stashed away presents whenever she could instead of waiting for the last minute. The box she opened contained a dressing robe she had picked out for her dad. It was forest green, with burgundy trim at the wrists and collar, and she had embroidered the letters ‘WH’, for Winter’s Haven, on one side. She had wanted to surprise her dad with this as a new idea—providing a robe in each cottage, like they did in hotels.

She lifted it out of the box and its tissue wrapping and hooked it over her arm. At the door she hesitated, feeling a sudden twinge of guilt, and then, before she could change her mind, she strode downstairs.

The TV was on and Luna was lying at Casson’s feet. Justine held out the robe. “I thought you might appreciate this instead,” she said.

He stood up and took it from her, before tossing the cushion he was holding back on the couch. “Indeed I do,” he said, his jaw twitching. “Now I know you’re not all flint and arrows.”

Justine opened her mouth to voice a retort but his hand came up.

“No offence intended,” he said. “I realize we didn’t start off on exactly a positive note but, given the present circumstances, could we perhaps call a truce of some sort?”

Justine was taken aback. “We’re not in a battle, Mr. Forrester. So there’s no need for a truce. Excuse me. I’m going to put on some fresh coffee. Care for a cup?” She turned toward the open-concept kitchen/dining room.

“Love some coffee,” he replied. “Just milk or cream, no sugar. And you’ll have to excuse me as well. I’m dying to get out of these overalls.”

He smirked and headed toward the washroom. Luna lifted her head quizzically, gave a contented grumble, and promptly settled back into her nap.

When Casson came back into the living room he had the overalls neatly folded. He placed them on a side chair and then sat down on the couch. The robe fit him well, which meant it would have been a size or two too big for her dad.

“That coffee smells great,” he drawled, tightening the sash on the robe before crossing his legs.

Justine came out of the kitchen with a tray holding two mugs, a small container of cream and a plate of muffins. She caught her breath at seeing him there, one leg partially exposed. She felt a warm rush infuse her body. It was such an intimate scenario: Casson leaning back against the couch, totally relaxed, as if he were the owner of the place.

She saw his gaze flicker over her body as she approached. She wanted to squirm. Her jaw tensed. This was her place. Why did she suddenly feel like she was at a disadvantage?

She would not let him know that his presence was affecting her. She would treat him like any other cottage guest. Politely, respectfully. And hopefully the heavens would soon clam up and she could send him on his way. His clothes shouldn’t take too long to dry.

She set the tray down on the coffee table and, picking up the plate of four muffins, held it out to him. “Banana yogurt. Homemade.”

“Thank you, Miss Winter.”

He reached forward and took one. At the same time Luna lifted her head, sniffing excitedly. Before Justine had a chance to move the plate Luna had a muffin in her jaws. Startled, Justine tipped the plate and stumbled over Casson’s foot. She felt herself falling backward, and a moment later landed in the last place she’d ever want to land. A steaming volcano would have been preferable.

She felt his arms closing around her. The muffin was still in his hand.

“Now that you’ve fallen right into my lap,” he murmured huskily in her right ear, “would you like to share my muffin?”

CHAPTER THREE

JUSTINE COULD FEEL Casson’s breath on the side of her neck. She shivered involuntarily. His left arm was around her waist and his right arm was elevated, holding the muffin. His robe had opened slightly in the commotion and, glancing downward, she saw to her consternation that one bare leg was under her.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.