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—”
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