Innocent of His Claim by Janette Kenny Read Free Book Online Page B

delicious skin-on-skin rub. Their intimacy had been a precious gift to her. She wouldn’t have jeopardized that.
    But her father would, she admitted, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, the same question plaguing her mind as well.
    She’d been so wrong about this man, certain he loved her, certain he believed her innocence. Certain that he would return for her. But he’d disappeared.
    When she’d needed him most, he’d proven to be no better than her father.
    That night at the restaurant with Marco and David Tate she’d hardened, realizing with a sinking heart that her father had used her to get to Marco and he’d succeeded. He’d used the one good thing in her life against her—used his daughter.
    “What did you do, Father?” she had demanded, ice crystallizing in her veins as she’d confronted her father, his light eyes devoid of any emotion.
    “What did I do?” he parroted then laughed, a nasty cackle that taunted—haunted her still. “You know exactly what I did. As you well know, one learns so much through pillow talk.”
    The insinuation she’d intentionally betrayed the man she loved had her face flaming—not with shame but with anger. She’d known her father was the ultimate manipulator, but she’d never dreamed he would go to such lengths to best Marco.
    A huge error on her part. Any man who beat his wife wasn’t above using his daughter to his benefit.
    “I didn’t give you any information,” she’d hissed, but her father only gave her that smug smile.
    She’d only mentioned her worry over Marco’s grandmother to one person: her own mother. But her mother wouldn’t have divulged something Delanie told her in private. She wouldn’t have betrayed her. Would she?
    She’d turned to Marco ten years ago, standing at their table tall and proud and so very angry. “He’s lying, Marco. I would never hurt you. Never betray you.”
    He’d stared at her a long time before he stepped closer, dragging one finger down her cheek that was slick with tears she hadn’t realized she’d shed, his palm strong yet gentle as he cupped her chin. She leaned into that hand, her gaze on his, begging him to believe her.
    “Then how could your father possibly know things that I shared only with you?” he asked, pulling his hand back, denying her his touch, his trust.
    She shook her head, having no solid answer. “He spied on us. He must have.”
    The anger in his beautiful brown eyes cooled to a brittle glaze that chilled her to the bone. And she knew that the torrid love they’d shared was freezing over.
    Marco had backed away from the table, the epitome of arrogant pride. And she held her breath, praying for him to see the truth, waiting for him to extend his hand to her.
    Instead, he turned and walked away with brisk determined steps, spine straight, broad shoulders girded in an impossibly stiff line.
    She’d pressed trembling fingers to her lips, stilling the cry that tried to escape. Rejection bludgeoned her and she shrank in her chair, humiliated. Stunned. Hurt beyond words.
    “That was unpleasant,” her father said, returning his attention to his beef Wellington and topped-off glass of port, dismissing her heartache as if it were nothing.
    Because to her father, she was nothing. It had never been more clear to her than at that moment.
    She pushed to her feet on shaky legs, the scrape of chair legs blaring over the din of happy customers.
    “I hate you,” she hissed, batting tears from her eyes.
    Her father had lifted one sardonic brow then laughed, a dark sound edged with sarcasm. “Of course you do. Perhaps you should hurry after Mr. Vincienta. Beg him to take you back,” he said. “I don’t need you and neither does your mother.”
    But her mother did need her.
    Delanie could see the retribution gathering in his light eyes and her stomach twisted into a tighter knot. She knew his pattern. He would need to release his tension over being confronted publicly by Marco and now her.
    Her