Millionaire's Secret Seduction(8)

"I guess every man's a fool sometimes."





Three




D ominic climbed the marble steps of the El Cubano cigar bar on Fifth  Avenue. Tarrant Hardcastle might only have a few months left to live,  but he liked to see and be seen. Despite the acres of retail space and  plush corporate offices Tarrant owned a few blocks away, he spent a good  portion of each day kicking back in his personal armchair at this mecca  for the wealthy and self-indulgent.

Without asking, Tarrant had secured him an impossible-to-get membership.  Now, although he'd never smoked anything in his life, there was a  polished wood humidor with Dominic's name emblazoned on it in engraved  gold plate.

Well, the name Dominic Hardcastle.

Glittering there among the names of Hollywood bad boys and Capitol Hill  big-wigs, that name gave him a stomach-churning dose of mixed feelings.

"Good morning, Mr. Hardcastle. Can I get you a drink?"

He shook his head at the immaculately attired waiter. He didn't need  alcohol. His head hadn't stopped spinning since last night, when a  brunette scientist with a soft pink mouth and a twisted agenda had  knocked him right off kilter.                       
       
           



       

He'd kissed her again at Grand Central. Fast, hot and hard. Then she ran for her platform and left him there, aching.

He shoved a hand through his hair, tried to dispel the stray energy that cramped his muscles.

"Dominic!" Tarrant Hardcastle held up his arms, as if welcoming the long-lost prodigal back to the fold.

Dominic moved toward him, jaw rigid. He wasn't the prodigal. He was the  steady, hardworking son who'd hung in there the whole time, only to have  the rules change when he wasn't looking.

"Wonderful to see you, dear boy!"

Tarrant grasped Dominic's hand between both of his. The glowing  man-about-town who ornamented the pages of various glossy Condé Nast  publications seemed thinner. He'd recently let his hair turn gray, which  made him look his sixty-seven years.

"Are you sure I can't tempt you down the road to ruin with one of these  magnificent Havanas?" He waved a fat stogie in Dominic's direction. The  state-of-the-art ventilation system prevented even a whiff of smoke from  straying into the air.

Dominic shook his head. He couldn't help an indulgent smile. It was easy  to see how Tarrant's childlike enthusiasm for everything charmed the  socks off people around him. "Good, good. Don't want you to get the big C  like your old man." Tarrant patted his arm.

His chest tight, Dominic settled into the leather armchair.  Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the treetops of Central Park.

"So you saw the lab, huh? What d'ya think?"

"Impressive."

"That Bella Andrews is a firecracker. Could have gone anywhere with a  research and business background like hers. Zurich, the Mayo-but no, she  wanted to come to Hardcastle. Came to me, don't you know?" His  satisfied grin revealed two rows of gleaming capped teeth. "Damned fine  gal."

Dominic wondered if his father had always talked like an escapee from an  Agatha Christie movie, or if his mode of speech was newly adopted to  complement the silver hair. He suspected the latter.

"Yeah. She's smart." Shame she's planning to take you to the cleaners.

Though whatever she claimed would no doubt be pocket change to Tarrant.

"I can't tell you how much it means to me to have you here." Tarrant  wrapped long fingers around Dominic's. "I'm only sorry it took my  illness to bring me to my senses. When you're in a certain position,  there's a tendency for everyone to want to dip their fingers in your  pockets, like they have a right to your hard-earned money. That made me  so defensive I pushed away the people who should have meant the most to  me."

Emotion thickened his voice and made Dominic look up. Tarrant's blue-green eyes glittered with moisture.

Dominic swallowed. He'd wanted a dad desperately when he was a kid.  Other kids had fathers who at least visited them on weekends or sent  presents on their birthdays.

Not him.

For years he'd searched the mail for a birthday card, listened for a  phone call. He'd imagined himself glancing up during his first communion     , or the time his Little League team made the regional finals, always  hoping he'd see a tall man standing there watching him.

Never happened.

His mom had told him his father's name, once he plucked up the courage  to ask. When he saw an article about Tarrant Hardcastle in the paper one  day, he clipped it. He'd stared at the grainy newsprint image of that  handsome face, imagining far-fetched reasons why his dad hadn't come to  claim him. He even started a scrapbook, gathering information and images  to piece together a picture of the father he longed for.

At fifteen, after nursing resentment mingled with painful hope for  several months, he'd angrily accused his mother of keeping his existence  a secret, at which point she'd sadly and gently told him about the  rejected paternity suit and shown him the court papers as proof.

He'd burned his scrapbook in the backyard brazier his mom used for  destroying trash. Since then he'd avoided anything to do with Tarrant  Hardcastle.

Now that he was grown up and didn't need or want a father any more, he'd turned up.

"I wasn't sure you'd come, you know?" Dominic's heart squeezed as  Tarrant patted his hand. "I don't deserve your forgiveness. I know that.  I'm not asking for it either. I just want to share what I've created."                       
       
           



       

Tarrant took a deep breath and lifted his chin. The morning sun played  over his weathered skin. "I put my life into this company. Ate, slept  and breathed it. It was my child." He fixed Dominic with a shiny stare.  "I thought that was enough. To build something and watch it grow."

He took a deep drag on his cigar, then puffed out a ball of smoke which  disappeared instantly, sucked out of existence. "It's not enough. Maybe  it's because I can't stand the thought that I'm dying. Because I want to  hang on and push my way into the future in whatever way I can. But I  have to pass it on. I need a successor to take the garden I've planted  and grow it into something even bigger and better."

Tarrant squeezed his hand again and Dominic fought the urge to squeeze back.

"You're the one. You're my heir. Hell, you even look just like me." He  slapped the leather arm of his chair with delight. The exertion made him  cough a bit.

Dominic looked him right in the face. "I'm not going to be your heir."

"What do you mean? Of course you are! You're perfect. Even a retail  entrepreneur yourself. I had no idea that young upstart revolutionizing  the way gourmet food was sold was my own flesh and blood. When Sam found  you and told me, I couldn't stop laughing. You can't fight destiny,  dear boy."

So Tarrant hadn't even recognized his name in the papers. That was a  cold splash of reality. Dominic had always imagined his famous father  sitting up and taking notice as his stores got raves in the press.

When Tarrant snatched those bankrupt stores out from under him, Dominic  had taken grim satisfaction in the idea that at least his father was  paying attention to him. Maybe even making some kind of alpha-dog jostle  for dominance.

Once again, like the snot-nosed kid with the scrapbook, he'd been kidding himself.

Dominic kept his eyes on Tarrant's. "I came here because I wanted to  meet you. I wanted to look you in the face. I wanted to know why you  abandoned me and my mom." He inhaled slowly. "I've done that now. I'm  glad of the chance to meet you, but I'm not going to take over your  company. You don't owe me anything, and I don't owe you anything."

Tarrant's eyes didn't dim. If anything they glowed brighter. "I can see  you're a tough customer." He patted Dominic's knee. I wouldn't expect  anything less. Why should you want to take on a big burden from some old  codger who needs a son all of a sudden? Hell, I wouldn't either."

Tarrant leaned forward. "Tell me, Dominic, what can I do for you? For  your business. I've got my fingers in a lot of pies and I can pull you  out a sweet cherry from one. Just say the word."

Here was his opportunity to ask for the stores he wanted. But he'd  rather die than take a handout from this man. He should throw his offer  back in his face with a stinging insult.

But he couldn't.

Dominic struggled to keep his face emotionless. He'd thought his  childish hopes and dreams of reconciliation with his absent father were  crushed out of existence and forgotten.

They weren't. They'd been festering away below the surface the whole  time and now they bubbled up like acid that stripped his insides raw.

"I've got to go." He stood, burning to be out of this place where  anything nasty was sucked out of the air so they could all pretend it  didn't really exist.