Swept Away By The Enigmatic Tycoon

“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 freshnesshad 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.