Swept Away By The Enigmatic Tycoon

“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—”