narrowed and he silently dared her to continue.
“I need to know, Father,” she said, doing just that. “I have the right to hear it from you. I have to know if everything he said was true.”
“You want to talk about rights? What about my rights to not have this distasteful matter resurrected?” he muttered, tapping his fingers against the desk in a nervous tattoo. “You’re Erica Prentice. My daughter, and by heaven, that should be enough for you.”
God, she wished it were. She wanted it to be enough. But just looking at Walter’s face told her that there was so much more she needed to know. All her life, she’d loved this man. Wanted him to be proud of her. Had strived to be the best—at everything—just to win his approval.
Now, she wanted him to tell her this was all a mistake. Some cruel trick. Yet even before she’d come here, she’d known it wasn’t. “Father, please. Talk to me. I don’t even know what to think about all of this.”
He ground his teeth together, his jaw working furiously before he said, “That bastard Jarrod. This is all his fault. Even from the grave he tries to steal from me.”
“What?” That was not the opening she’d been expecting.
Walter pushed back from his desk and stood up. “He left orders in his will to contact you, didn’t he?” He shoved one hand through his hair, startling Erica. It was the first time she’d ever seen him actually rattled.
“I knew he would,” Walter was muttering. “It was the one sure way he could get around me. Should have known he wouldn’t keep his word.”
This was getting more confusing by the moment. “Don Jarrod left me an equal share in his estate.”
Walter snorted derisively. “Of course he did. He knew I couldn’t stop him and this was the only way he had left to stick it to me.”
“To you?” Erica shook her head and felt the sting of tears she wouldn’t allow burning in her eyes again. “This isn’t about you, Father, this is about me.”
“Don’t you fool yourself.” Walter stabbed his index finger at her. “This was always about Don Jarrod and what he could take from me. No better than a damn thief, that man.”
Heart sinking in her chest, Erica watched as Walter’s features went florid with the rush of temper. Even knowing it was foolish, she’d been harboring one small flicker of doubt inside her. The hope that this was all wrong. That Don Jarrod had made a mistake. That Walter was her father and really did love her. So much for hope.
“So he really was my father?”
“Yes.” Walter bit the word off as if it had tasted foul. “The bastard.” He glanced at her, then looked away again and stalked across the room to stare out at the gloomy view of gray sky and sea. “Your mother and I were having … problems. No point in getting into them now, it’s over and done years ago. But we separated for a time. I went to England for several months, setting up the European branch of the company. Thought it best if Danielle and I each had some space. Some time to consider what we wanted.”
She stared at his broad back as he kept his gaze fixed on the window and the world beyond the glass. He couldn’t even look at her as he spoke and that ripped another tiny shred out of her heart.
He had thought it best to leave her mother for a while, Erica told herself and wondered what her mother’s wishes had been. Then Walter was talking again and she paid attention.
“Don Jarrod was here, in town, supposedly buying up a hotel or two. They met at the theater. Introduced by mutual friends,” he said that last word with a sneer, as if the sting of betrayal were still too sharp. Then he inhaled deeply and exhaled on a rush of words. “The bastard took advantage of her. I was out of the country, and Jarrod saw she was vulnerable, sad. He romanced her, seduced her and got her pregnant.”
Erica swayed unsteadily, but kept standing. It all sounded so awful. So … tacky. How was she supposed to feel about this? She was the unplanned result of a hurried affair. Not the sort of thing a woman wants to hear.
Walter was still talking. “Of course,” he told her, with a glance over his shoulder, “I didn’t realize your mother was expecting you until after we’d reconciled …”
That’s when it hit her. “So you were separated when—” It didn’t really make it better, but at least her mother hadn’t been cheating.
“Hardly matters,” Walter argued. “We were still married. Not that Don Jarrod would care about that. I loved my wife. I wanted our marriage back. Danielle assured me the affair was long over. Jarrod had returned to Colorado and we put it behind us. When she discovered she was pregnant, she went against my wishes and told him because she felt he had the right to know about his child.”
“He knew all these years.”
Walter snorted. “Yes. Naturally he got in contact. He wanted to be a part of your life—as if I would ever have allowed that. The scandal of it would have rocked this city. Ruined business, cost me clients. I couldn’t have that.”
“Of course not,” she whispered, feeling another sharp slice of pain. Scandal was the one thing Walter wouldn’t tolerate. The idea of his friends and business associates knowing about his wife’s affair would have been unbearable for him. He hadn’t hidden the truth because of his desire to protect and love her, but to save himself embarrassment.
This explained a lot, she told herself, her mind racing, darting from one thought to the next so quickly she could hardly keep up. As a girl, she had dreamed of a daddy who doted on her. After all, she was the youngest in the family by quite a bit. The youngest of her older brothers was still fifteen years older than she. Erica had grown up practically an only child. Her brothers were out and building lives of their own by the time she was a teenager.
But Walter had never been the kind of father she’d yearned for. At last, she knew why. And Erica wondered sadly if Don Jarrod would have been any different. He was—or had been—much like Walter, a businessman first last and always.
And yet.
“He wanted me,” she said softly, more to herself than to Walter.
“He wanted to ruin me,” Walter told her flatly. Some of the hot color drained from his features. “He tried to convince your mother to leave me. Go with him to that backwater out in the country. But she knew what was best. What was right.” He nodded with satisfaction. “Besides, I told her I wouldn’t hold her mistake against her.”
“No,” Erica said softly. “You held it against me.”
He stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”
Erica’s pain was enveloped by a rising tide of regret and sadness. “Father, my whole life you’ve looked at me with barely concealed revulsion.”
“Not true,” he said, but his gaze slipped to one side, avoiding her eyes.
Even now, he couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t meet her gaze and admit to the truth. But she wouldn’t play the game anymore. She finally understood why she’d always been a little less worthy than her brothers and that in itself was liberating.
“Yes,” she said, “it is. I used to wonder what
