Swept Away By The Enigmatic Tycoon. Rosanna BattigelliЧитать онлайн книгу.
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 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