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 rus
h 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 cu
rves 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.
Swept Away by the Enigmatic Tycoon Page 2
