He closed his eyes and turned onto one side. He felt drained. So much had happened since that first meeting with Justine. He let some of the memories play in his mind for a while, but then, remembering that tomorrow evening was the opening of the Franklin & Casson on the Bay exhibition, he pushed those thoughts back.
He had checked his email earlier, and everything was ready to go at the Stockey Centre. The banner stands were in place, the paintings were arranged, the lighting adjusted. And the A. J. Casson painting was sitting regally on an antique brass easel next to the mahogany desk in the silent auction room.
The media would arrive at five-thirty p.m. to interview Casson and local dignitaries. The doors would open to the public at six. Casson would make a formal address at six-thirty, sharing his vision of Franklin’s Resort before unveiling the A. J. Casson painting.
He had arranged the hiring of two notable gallery owners, who were experts on the Group of Seven—especially the two featured artists—to interact with the public and enlighten them about the individual paintings on display. Casson would also mingle with the invited patrons and the public.
At seven, the invited guests would make their way to the banquet room, where they would enjoy a fabulous five-course meal. The event would close at nine o’clock.
Casson felt a twinge in his heart. The three banner stands he had ordered showed an enlarged photo of him and Franklin at their parents’ friends’ cottage in Georgian Bay. The title was at the top: Franklin & Casson on the Bay. One would be placed in the entrance of the Stockey Centre, another would be in the exhibition room, and the third would be in the room displaying the A. J. Casson painting for the silent auction.
The photo had been taken by his mother, in the summer two months before Franklin’s diagnosis. He and Franklin were standing on the dock, the bay a brilliant blue behind them, and he was helping Franklin hold up his fishing rod. The fish—a pickerel—wasn’t big, but it was a keeper.
The backs of Casson’s eyes started to sting. He squeezed them shut and turned his pillow over.
Okay, Franklin, tomorrow evening’s the big event. Get some sleep up there in heaven, buddy, ’cause you’re coming with me, and it’ll be past your bedtime when we’re done.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JUSTINE SCREAMED, AND seconds later her eyes fluttered open. She sat up, her back against the headboard, and then, her heart thudding, she heard the door clicking open. The light came on to reveal that it was Casson.
He turned the dimmer switch on low and closed the door behind him. He strode to the foot of the bed. “Are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?”
Justine felt her lip quivering.
The nightmare had seemed so real.
Casson had been walking her home, and they had arrived at the edge of her property when she’d caught sight of a wrecking ball, advancing toward her house. She’d started to scream, and Casson had tried to silence her with a kiss. She’d managed to pull away and had screamed again as one side of her house had caved in.
And then she’d woken up.
Justine blinked. The genuine concern in Casson’s eyes pushed her emotions over the edge. She felt her eyes filling up and, biting her lip, nodded. “I—I was dreaming that—that you were starting to have my house torn down so you could build your resort...”
She shivered and burst into tears, covering her face with her hands. Then sucked in her breath when she felt a shift in the mattress and Casson’s arms around her. She didn’t have the strength to move away from the warmth of his embrace. She felt herself sinking against his chest, and as he held her tightly she let the tears flow.
How could she have such conflicting feelings about Casson? Her wariness about his motives concerning Winter’s Haven was manifesting itself even in her dreams, and yet she couldn’t deny or resist his magnetic pull.
“It’s okay, Justine,” he murmured, gently stroking the back of her head. “I would never have your home demolished; I can promise you that.”
His heartbeat seemed to leap up to her ear, and for a few seconds she just concentrated on its rhythm while inhaling the heady pine scent of his cologne.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, moving her face away from the wet spot on his T-shirt. “I—I didn’t mean to slobber all over you.”
She looked up and met his gaze tremulously. His expression made her heart flip.
Slowly his hand slid from the back of her head to cup her chin. He held it there, and with his other hand slowly wiped the tears from her cheeks. His fingers fanned her face gently, and she felt an exquisite swirling in her stomach at his tenderness. When he leaned closer she stopped breathing, and when his lips kissed her forehead she blew out a long, slow breath and closed her eyes.
“Oh, Cass...”
His lips continued to trace a path over each eye, the bridge of her nose and her cheeks, before finding the lobe of her ear. There his mouth lingered, opening to catch the tip in his mouth. She drew in her breath sharply and a flame of arousal shot through her like the fuse on an explosive. By the time his lips made their way to her mouth her lips were parted and her whole body was trembling in anticipation.
His lips closed over her upper lip and then her lower one, pressing, tasting, before exploring deeper. Justine let out a small moan and felt herself surrendering, her senses flooded with the taste, smell and feel of him. Her body and his seemed to move in synchronicity, and in seconds the bedcovers were off and they were entwined on the mattress.
Casson pressed her against him and she wrapped her arms around his back, reveling in the heat and hardness of his body.
Justine knew there was no going back when Casson’s lips started tracing a path from her neck downward. She shivered when he lifted her T-shirt off, wanting to squirm as his gaze devoured her. Casson shifted to one side and in two quick movements his own clothes were off.
With a searing desire she had never felt before Justine extended her arms and Casson gave himself to her.
* * *
At the first light of dawn Casson woke up. He stretched languorously before easing himself off the couch. His body tingled with the memory of his lovemaking with Justine. After they had both been sated they had dozed off. Hours later, when Luna had started pawing at the door and whimpering, Casson had returned to the couch, not wanting to disturb Justine. Besides, he’d needed to be up early to prepare for opening night.
If he hadn’t had the exhibition to host this evening he would have been happy to nestle in Justine’s arms all day...but the reality was he had to drive back home to Huntsville, get his suit and shoes for the event, and exchange his Mustang for the Ferrari.
There was no way he’d be going to the opening gala without it. and with Franklin’s ball cap on the seat next to him. Then he’d go back to the cottage, and hopefully he’d see Justine before heading to the Stockey Centre.
He decided it would be better to leave Luna there, for when Justine woke up. He glanced at his bedroom door. He had left his laptop in his room but, much as he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to go in. He checked for new messages on his phone instead and then, satisfied that his committee had everything in place, changed into jeans and a shirt.
Casson started as Luna pawed at the front door. He opened the door as quietly as he could and when they’d returned prepared Luna’s dish and set it down.
“Now, you be a good girl until I get back, Luna. Shh...no noise.”
He gave her an affectionate scratch behind the ears and then started to walk to the door. Suddenly his footsteps slowed and he abruptly turned around.
What am I doing? I need to let Justine know about the event...
Casson had thought about telling Justine about it a few times before, but had always changed his mind, waiting for the right time to enlighten her as to the real reason for his resort venture.
Well, it was now or never...
Taking a
strip of paper off a notepad, Casson scribbled a note to Justine and left it on the table. She might be furious with him for arranging such an event before even securing Winter’s Haven, but he was willing to risk her wrath by having her come to the Stockey Centre and learn the real reason behind his actions.
Maybe then she would have a change of heart.
And if she was still absolutely against selling Winter’s Haven he would go ahead and make her a new offer.
She could keep Winter’s Haven and he would develop only the Russell properties for his venture, with her as manager.
It would be on a much smaller scale than he had originally planned, but he was willing to make some changes if that would keep Justine happy. And he would be happy having Justine as manager.
Who was he kidding?
It wasn’t just that he wanted a manager. He wanted the love of a woman.
One woman... Justine.
He finished the note, turned the coffee maker on and then slipped quietly out the door.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE AROMA OF coffee tingled Justine’s nostrils and she opened her eyes, disoriented. It took her a few seconds to realize that she wasn’t in her own room. Turning her head to look around, she felt it all come flooding back to her.
She was in Casson’s bed.
She had gone to bed in here and he had gone to sleep on the couch.
Her eyes widened at the onrush of memories...
She had screamed, and Casson had come to her immediately. She had been dreaming about her home being demolished... Casson had comforted her, making her forget her dream completely...
She caught her breath as she recalled the way he had ignited her with the gentle exploration of his lips and hands, the way her responses had made him bolder.
And she had done nothing to stop him.
She hadn’t wanted to; she had luxuriated in every masterful move he’d made, driving her to reciprocate just as passionately.
She retrieved his T-shirt and put it on, her limbs weak at the thought of Casson being in the kitchen. She wondered if he would be returning to the bedroom...
“Cass?” she said out loud, and then waited, her heartbeat accelerating.
A scuffle at the door seconds later along with a whimper made her smile.
“Good morning, Luna,” she called out.
She waited for Casson’s good morning, but all she heard was Luna pawing at the door. Justine opened it and Luna barged in, wagging her tail, and promptly jumped on the bed.
“I hope your master gave you permission to do that,” Justine said, wagging her finger at Luna.
She peeked out the door, expecting to see Casson, but he wasn’t there. She didn’t hear the shower, or water running in the washroom, so where was he?
Justine walked to the door and looked out. His Mustang was gone. And she hadn’t even heard it. Mystified, she walked into the kitchen. He must have only just left; the coffee was still dripping. But why?
Had last night meant so little to him that he could just take off like that? Or had something come up with Andy? Had Ronnie called with an emergency?
Her heart began to thud. And then she caught sight of her name on the piece of paper taped on the side of the coffee maker. She peeled it off, and praying it wasn’t bad news, began to read...
Good morning, Justine.
I hope you had a good sleep. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay, but I have some business to take care of. I’m heading to my home in Huntsville to pick up some things, and then I’ll be in and out of the cottage before an event I need to attend tonight.
I meant to tell you about it, and you may have heard about it anyway. The Stockey Centre is holding an exhibition this week of the work of two of the Group of Seven artists. It’s called Franklin & Casson on the Bay. It opens this evening. Please come.
I’ve already taken Luna out this morning, and she’s had her breakfast—don’t let her tell you otherwise!
Please make yourself at home—I know; it is your home!—and help yourself to coffee and the fabulous lemon blueberry muffins on the counter. A special friend made them.
Casson
P.S. I would have really liked to have had breakfast with you, Justine...
He had added a happy face, and relief flooded her that Casson’s leaving had nothing to do with Andy. But she couldn’t help feeling disappointed at how impersonal the letter seemed. Until she got to the part where Casson called her “a special friend.” Her heart skipped a beat at that. And his last line lifted her spirits tenfold.
It wasn’t exactly a declaration of love, or passion, and he had made no reference to the time they had spent together—or how they had spent the time—but it told Justine one thing for sure: Casson would have remained at the cottage this morning if he could.
Which meant that he wasn’t running away from her, and that the previous evening must have meant something to him. That maybe he might be wanting to continue spending time with her...
Feeling a little giddy with happiness, Justine poured herself a cup of coffee. She had already made up her mind; she was definitely going to see Franklin & Casson on the Bay!”
And the man she loved.
* * *
Casson rolled down the windows of his Mustang, enjoying the feel of the morning breeze as he exited the main highway and turned on to the country road leading to Huntsville. He smiled at the thought of Justine reading his note in the kitchen. He pictured her in his T-shirt, relaxing with a mug of coffee.
When had he realized that he loved her company, loved everything about her?
Falling in love had not been on his agenda. It hadn’t even been on his wish list. But, despite their awkward start, he and Justine had more than made up for it.
His abdomen tightened at the memory of her body, soft and hard in all the right places. It would be sweet torture to be away from her for the entire day. He hoped she would be free to spend some time with him when he drove back to the cottage. And he hoped she would accept his invitation to come to the opening night of the exhibition. It was time she saw for herself what his resort venture was really about.
He’d wait until after the event to break the news about the deed, though. He couldn’t predict her reaction, but if she felt the same about him as he felt about her—and he was sure that she did—he was confident that they could come up with a solution.
After tonight there would be no more secrets between them. Not that he had kept any information from her with the intention of gaining the upper hand. No, he had simply tried to assess what would be the appropriate time to reveal his real motive in wanting Winter’s Haven. And when she would be most receptive to hearing the news about the deed.
It was time for Justine to know the truth. He had seen passion in her eyes, and his body had been rocked with the passion they had shared, but he was certain that what they had experienced was more than just physical. He was confident he had gained her trust.
Realizing that he had increased his speed in anticipation of seeing Justine, he eased his foot on the pedal. Getting a ticket now would just delay his return.
Patience, he told himself. You’re minutes away...
He had been successful on one count. Now all he needed was Winter’s Haven.
And Justine Winter.
* * *
Justine finished her muffin and coffee, gave a lazy stretch, and padded back to the bedroom. Luna followed, and Justine ruffled her fur affectionately. She sauntered to the window and opened the blinds fully, letting in the early-morning sun. Turning, she let her eye fall on the brown envelope on the dresser.
She pressed her lips together and picked it up. Casson had wanted to show her the documents inside it from the very beginning. And yesterday as well... She didn’t suppose it would bother him if she went ahead and looked through it without him.
She brought the envelope into the living room and curled up on the couch. She took out the contents: a number of files separated by clips. She riffled through them quickly, her eyes registering survey documents and reports, a deed, architectural designs, and a typed letter.
Seeing her name in the salutation startled her, and she pulled the letter from the pile and started to read.
Dear Ms. Winter,
As you know, I have recently purchased the properties on either side of Winter’s Haven from Mr. and Mrs. Russell. In perusing the documents I discovered that their ancestors—the pioneers who first owned the acreage that comprises both their and your properties—had partitioned the land and eventually sold the parcel that years later became Winter’s Haven.
Well, a few generations have come and gone, and it seems that the original papers were misplaced. After the Russells sold to me, and started packing, the original deed turned up and they passed it on to me. I looked it over the other night and compared it to the surveyor’s report I received when my transaction was finalized.
To make a long story short, it seems that a section of Winter’s Haven is actually on the Russells’ property.
“That’s insane!” Justine blurted, letting out a hollow laugh before continuing to read.
I have verification that a section of your house and some of your property is actually sitting on what is now my property. You are welcome to check with your lawyer. I already have with mine.
The properties passed hands years ago, between neighbors and friends, and in one of those subsequent transactions a new survey report had to be drawn up when the original deed couldn’t be located.
Justine clenched her jaw as she rifled through all the documents and reports. Her cheeks burned. She bit her lip.
This couldn’t be true.
After poring over them a second time she sank back against the couch, the truth turning her body cold.
I am willing to discuss the ramifications of this finding with you, and anticipate our working together to discuss options that will result in a mutually satisfying solution.
Swept Away by the Enigmatic Tycoon Page 14