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 complem
ented 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.
She was sitting on his bare leg.
Her head snapped up. She was glad he couldn’t see her face. She needed to get off him. But to do so would mean pushing down against him to get some leverage. She bit her lip. Why didn’t he just give her a push? That would avoid her needing to grind into him.
She cleared her throat. Luna had downed one muffin and was eyeing the two that had flipped onto the coffee table.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Casson’s voice was firm. “Luna, lie down.”
His tone brooked no argument. With a doleful look at the muffins, and then at her master, Luna obeyed with a mournful growl. And then Casson gave Justine a gentle push and she was out of his lap.
He set down his muffin and crouched down to face Luna. “Dogs don’t eat muffins,” he said emphatically, before giving Luna a low growl.
Justine knew that Casson was emphasizing his alpha male status. Luna responded with a look of shame at being reprimanded, and Justine couldn’t help chuckling—which caused Luna to begin wagging her tail, her doggy enthusiasm restored.
Casson lifted an eyebrow and Justine wondered if he was going to growl at her for interrupting his disciplinary moment. She saw his mouth twitch and he rose, grabbed his mug and muffin and sat down again.
“And no whining!” he reproached Luna, who flopped back on her side.
Flustered, and trying not to show it, Justine sat down on the love seat. She sipped her coffee and turned to glance out the big bay window. Through the sheets of rain battering the pane she could glimpse patches of sky and bloated gray-black clouds. The water in the bay would be churning, the whitecaps foaming.
“Good muffin.” Casson reached for the two still on the coffee table and handed one to her. “I hope these are for sale in the diner.”
Justine took it from him and broke off a piece from the top. He seemed totally comfortable sitting in her living room, lounging with nothing on but a robe. She concentrated on pulling the paper back from the muffin and forced herself to avoid
glancing at his well-muscled calves and bare feet. And the slight patch of hair in the V below his neck.
She hoped the rain would abate soon. She nibbled at her muffin and took long sips of her coffee, and then realized she hadn’t responded.
“Um...yes, we do have muffins for sale in the diner. I usually make a fresh batch every morning...”
The thought of being alone with Casson for much longer was disturbing—mostly because her body was betraying her physically, reacting in a way that was not in sync with her mental perception of Casson Forrester. Her mind had reacted coolly to him from his first arrogant appearance; however, her body was becoming increasingly warm...in ways that made her want to squirm.
“What made you want to return here?” Casson asked with a note of genuine curiosity.
Justine looked up from her muffin and stared blankly at him, her mind scrambling to come up with an alternative explanation, since she had no intention of revealing the truth to him. Her involvement with Robert was none of Casson’s business.
“It really doesn’t matter,” she said, making her voice light. “I’m just glad I returned when I did...to save our humble property from certain demise.” She finished her muffin and folded the paper muffin cup several times, before setting it down on the table. “But I’m willing to forget our first negative meeting if you are. We might as well be civil to each other, since you own the Russell properties now.”
She picked up her mug and sipped while gazing at him, wondering how he would reply.
Casson stood up and walked to the bay window. He drank his coffee and stared out at the storm. Justine wondered if he intended to ignore her peace offering. Her heart thudded against her chest as she watched him, standing there in the robe. The dark green suited him. His hair was thick, and slightly longer than when she had first seen him, and his short beard did not detract from his good looks. In fact, she was having a hard time deciding if he was more handsome with or without it.
Swept Away by the Enigmatic Tycoon Page 4
