Mr. Misunderstood

by Sara Jane Stone

  “First time,” I admit. “As a rule, I don’t have sex in office. Maybe the value of my company will tank tomorrow.”

  “You’re breaking a lot of rules.”

  “That’s part of how I created a billion dollar company in the first place.” I step closer. I’d pictured laying her down on my desk and pushing her skirt up to her waist. Jeans and pseudo-gym sweatshirts weren’t part of my fantasy.

  She cocks her head to one side as her fingers toy with the edge of her sweatshirt. Shit, I can’t tell if she’s nervous, or ready to rip her clothes off. She’s thrown me off balance, and I’m struggling to find my footing.

  “You don’t exactly look like you’re dressed to seduce me,” I say.

  “I wasn’t planning on it.”

  My hard-on presses against my boxers as if begging her to take back those words. But then her fingers wrap around the edge of her top and draw it up over her head. She can call it whatever the hell she wants. It looks like seduction to me.

  “I’m here for me.” She slides off her boots and kicks them to the side.

  “Selfish.”

  “Hmm.” She releases the button on her jeans and shimmies them off. Her pants join her boots in the discard pile, leaving Kayla naked with her ass resting against my desk. She presses the heels of her hands against the edge and lifts her bare butt onto the surface.

  I stare at her. She doesn’t cross her legs, which in my world makes it pretty damn clear that she’s ready and waiting for me to follow through on my promise and feast on her.

  “You did forget your panties.” I cross the space and drop to my knees between her splayed legs.

  “I was in a rush.”

  “Bullshit.” I run my hands up her thighs, pushing them farther apart. Then I lean forward, my mouth an inch from the most sensitive place on her gorgeous, naked body. I’m tempted to look up and meet her gaze. But I’m fucking loving the view right now. “You left your underwear at home so I would spend the last hour picturing you without it. You were trying to distract me from the fact that all hell is breaking lose.”

  “Is that what we’re calling Alexandra now?” Her thigh muscles tighten beneath my hands as if she wishes to draw her legs closed and shut me out. “Ms. Hell?”

  “No.” I look up, and meet her gaze for a brief moment. I haven’t forgotten whom I’m with or where I am. I turn my attention back to the intimate space laid bare to me. “We’re not calling her anything. Because for the first time I’m about to do this.”

  I lean forward and press a teasing kiss between her legs. Her muscles relax beneath my touch, and her knees fall away.

  “Don’t make a sound.” I punctuate the sentence with a lick, swirling my tongue in a tight circle over the most sensitive part of her beautiful body.

  “Impossible,” she gasps.

  “Try.” My lips move over her as I speak.

  “But how … oh God Gavin …”

  My tongue traces a path over where I plan to thrust into her later. I’m enjoying this too much to think about driving my cock into her.

  “How will they know what we’re doing in here?” Her hips lift off the desk to meet my tongue.

  “I’m not doing this for them,” I murmur. I run my hands up her legs, until my fingers are close enough to join in the action. “This is for you, Kayla.”

  And for me because right now I want to feel her come against my mouth more than damn near anything.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Kayla asks after the waiter leaves our table.

  “Yes, the hostess thought you were underdressed.” I’ve attended dozens of business lunches at this particular Columbus Circle steak house. I selected this spot both for the view of Central Park and the fact that the staff wouldn’t care if Kayla wore a brown paper bag as long as she dined with me.

  “A personal question,” she clarifies.

  I raise an eyebrow as I reach for my water glass. “We’ve been friends since we were five, and I just had my face buried—”

  “That’s just it,” she interrupts, leaning forward over the edge of her menu. “Aren’t you uncomfortable? I feel amazing. And starving. But you—”

  “I’ll survive until after lunch,” I say. Then I drop my voice and add, “Doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking about getting you out of those jeans and into my bed.”

  “Do you have plans later?”

  “About a dozen meetings and—”

  “Kayla,” a familiar voice fills the restaurant. “This is a surprise.”

  I turn to see Jason Kemp, A.K.A. Mr. Mistake, heading for our table. His hand-tailored suit suggests New York City’s dermatology business is thriving. I push back from the table and stand to greet the tall, broad-shouldered bastard. About half a bottle of hair gel holds his blond hair in place, but a swift punch to the jaw would take care of that.

  “Gavin.” Kayla’s ex-husband stops by the side of the table and takes my hand. “Congratulations. I heard the news about your engagement.” He glances over at Kayla. “After all these years. I never would have guessed you two would fall in love.”

  Snide, sarcastic bastard.

  I release his hand but stay on my feet. When we sat down at Kayla’s kitchen table, I promised to walk away the minute we saw Mr. Mistake. I reach for my wallet, ready to pull out some cash for a tip and leave before ordering our lunch.

  Jason raises his hands, palms out. “Don’t go on my account. I came over to wish you well. I never thought I’d see the day Kayla took another walk down the aisle. You must have offered quite the incentive.”

  The pieces click into place. He’s not here, in this restaurant, by accident. I don’t know how the hell he knew we’d be here, but he did. Maybe he bribed the hostess to call when I made a reservation. But why would he go to the trouble?

  Unless he’s behind Alexandra’s scheme.

  I glance at Kayla. Could this entire mess be part a revenge plot concocted by her ex-husband? Was this Mr. Mistake’s way of getting back at her for leaving? And payback for my role in helping her escape?

  I turn the idea over in my mind, but it feels implausible. Kayla never shared my secrets with anyone.

  But they were married. They shared a bed.

  My hands form tight fists at my side. I want to start throwing punches fueled by pure jealousy. I hate that he’s seen Kayla naked almost as much as I despise him for what he did to her. If he’s behind the blackmail …

  I’ll kill him.

  Jason looks at Kayla again. “I know how hard this is for you. You never liked all the attention, did you? Now there are news reports about us. A friend forwarded a link to the morning show. They made it sound as if you ran away from New York City, and now you’ve been dragged back by a new man pulling the strings in your life.”

  “Thank you,” Kayla snaps, her tone riding the edge of civil conversation and vicious snarl. “I’m fine.”

  “Hmm.” He nods and makes a damn show of taking in her comfortable clothes. “I see.”

  My fist cuts through the air and connects with his jaw. That dismissive glance, the one designed to make Kayla feel inferior because she’s not wearing fancy clothes to our impromptu lunch—that look pushed me over the edge. I’ve wanted to hit this man for a long, long time. But I’ve always put Kayla first, focusing on getting her out, making sure he didn’t have a hold on her anymore.

  The doctor’s head snaps back, and he raises his hand to his jaw. I swear I see a flash of triumph in Jason’s ice blue eyes before he remembers his audience. A dining room full of well-heeled New Yorkers and a handful of tourists are staring at us, their over-priced steaks forgotten. The wide-eyed wait staff jumps into action, rushing forward as if they might jump into the fray to prevent an all-out brawl.

  They don’t need to worry. I’m done here.

  “Gavin.” Jason shakes his head. “What was that for? You’re marrying my wife.”

  “Ex-wife,” I snap. But that slip tells me a helluva lot about his mindset. He still looks at Kayla
as if he fucking owns her.

  She’s mine.

  But only if I can rise above Mr. Mistake and treat her with the respect she deserves. And that means getting out of here.

  “I could press charges,” Jason says.

  “Go ahead.”

  He steps forward, still holding his hand to his jaw. “You had no reason to hit me. She’s yours now.” He glances over at Kayla, who has seemingly recovered from the shock and is now standing, ready to leave.

  “Maybe she always was,” he adds.

  “I’m not the reason your marriage fell apart,” I say in a clipped tone. “But I accept full responsibility for your jaw. I’ll pay your medical bills. Plastic surgeon. Whatever you need to return that smug grin to your pretty boy face.”

  “I can take a punch, Black.” He nods to Kayla. “But I know she can’t handle the storm heading your way.”

  I grind my teeth together before I give into the temptation to ask if he’s involved. Margaret will uncover the connection if one even exists. If he is working with Alexandra, I can’t risk him knowing that I’m running scared from her threats. And I sure as hell don’t want him questioning our engagement.

  “She can handle it,” Kayla says firmly. She sets her napkin on the table and offers me a small smile. “I think we’ve worn out our welcome here. Maybe we should go home so I can feast on something else?”

  I walk in front of Mr. Mistake and take her hand. Damn, she’s trembling. I knew an encounter with her ex would shake her.

  “You were incredible,” I whisper as we head for the exit. “He’s still trying to lift his jaw off the floor after your pointed BJ reference.”

  “Let’s just get out of here,” she mutters. “Please.”

  It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Kayla close to begging. Sure, she pled for help after Luna was shot, but that was different. Whatever courage she carried into her encounter with her ex, she shed beside the lunch table. A sideways glance tells me her eyes are brimming with tears.

  “We’ll be back at my place in a few minutes,” I say.

  “Your meetings—”

  “Canceled.” My firm tone doesn’t invite objections. “I’m going to order you a selection of your favorites. Pad Thai, Indian curry, sushi—I’ll have it all delivered. We can put on sweatpants and feast on something that you want to eat.”

  “I want you too,” she whispers as we reach the elevator. “But food first. Please.”

  I nod and wrap my arm around her as we head for the ground level. She’s still shaking. Her small frame presses against my side as if seeking shelter and comfort.

  “I’ve got you,” I murmur.

  With my free hand, I pull out my phone and start ordering take-out. Fifteen minutes later, I’m still holding her close as we enter the apartment.

  Kayla pulls free to greet her four-legged herd. With the pups dancing around her feet, she heads for the living and sinks to the floor. The dogs surround her. Ava lies at her side, rolling onto her back in anticipation of a belly rub. Luna’s cone brushes Kayla’s shoulder as if the injured Labrador can’t figure out her place in the love-fest with that contraption around her neck.

  “Of all the restaurants in Manhattan, Jason went to ours,” she says, drawing Cleveland onto her lap. The terrier puppy curls up with his head resting against her knee.

  “He planned it,” I say simply.

  She looks up at me, her right hand hovering over Ava’s belly. “Really?”

  “I think he wanted to catch you by surprise.” I don’t mention my theory that her ex might have launched the blackmail campaign. “After what? Three years? You’re back in the city, in what he considers his world.”

  The elevator door dings and glides open. “May I leave your take-out?” the doorman calls.

  “Yes.” I walk into the foyer and pick up the bags before the door fully closes. “Thank you, Jimmy.”

  “You don’t think it’s a coincidence that he showed up on the same day Alexandra went on a morning show and questioned if our engagement is real,” she says as I return to the table.

  “Might be.” I set the food on the coffee table and pull it over to Kayla. Then I open the bags and pull out the plastic to-go containers. “But I eat lunch at that steakhouse two or three times a month. The hostesses greet me by name. And I always have someone from my office call ahead for a table. My best guess? Someone on the staff tipped him off.”

  “Jason hated you by the end.” Kayla reaches for the curry.

  “Really? Just at the end?” I want to ask her why he changed his view of me. I’m also searching for a way to inquire if she spilled my deepest, darkest secrets while curled up in bed with that bastard. But I’m afraid if I attempt the question, I’ll accidentally say I fucking hate that you slept with him.

  “Oh, Jason loved you, or the idea of you, in the beginning. He had a direct connection to a famous billionaire.”

  “Through you,” I say pointedly.

  “It took him a while to realize I didn’t use our friendship to further my place in New York society.” She spoons white rice on top of the curry dish. The smell of spices seems at odds with the sushi tray I selected from the take-out extravaganza.

  “You’ve never used our friendship,” I say. “That’s all on me. I dragged you into this mess.”

  She meets my gaze across the table. “I want to be here.”

  “You wanted to marry Mr. Mistake too, and that was a clusterfuck in the end,” I say. And yeah, I’m probably going to regret those words. But the parallels can’t be ignored.

  “True.” She turns her attention to her curry. “This is different.”

  “Because of everything we’ve been through together?” I ask.

  “I’m different this time.” She fills her spoon and then pauses before lifting it to her lips. “I know what’s important to me. You’re on that list. But image and status?”

  “Doesn’t make the cut?”

  “No.”

  There’s an unmistakable hint of warning in her voice. I live and die by my public persona. If I’m not Gavin Black, New York’s most eligible bachelor and famous software designer, then I’m just a kid destined to live in the shadow of a traumatic childhood. Kayla knows that or she wouldn’t be here.

  Still, she’s not going to lose herself to save me, and I would never ask her too. But I’m not sure where that leaves us.

  CHAPTER 19

  KAYLA

  I’m pretty sure I just saw Gavin’s head explode. Possibly for the fourth time today. Although I’m not certain I should count walking into his office without my underwear as a mind-blowing moment for him. I felt a boom, but the sight of the explosion wasn’t anywhere near my head.

  A good friend, or girlfriend, or whatever role I fill in his crazy life right now, would probably skip lunch and head straight to the bedroom. He could use a naked moment that leads to an orgasmic boom. Anything to distract him from the game of Russian roulette he’s playing with his emotions. If he’s not careful, he’ll load the wrong one into the chamber and spiral out of control.

  He punched Jason in a crowded restaurant.

  I raise the curry to my lips, but my gaze remains focused on Gavin. He’s already out of control. He just doesn’t realize it yet. I really should stop eating and take him to the bed. He needs the diversion.

  “You never told me how it started.” Gavin swirls the chopsticks between his fingers. “You and Jason.”

  I waited too long. He found his own distraction—my past. I sigh and set down my spoon. Then I reach for the Indian appetizer. I would have preferred sex. Instead, I get samosas and difficult conversation.

  “We met at a party.” I take a bite savoring the mix of peas, potatoes, and pastry. I buy the frozen ones, but they’re not as good as the ones fresh from a talented Indian chef.

  “Not how you met.” Gavin set down his chopsticks. “How it started to fall apart.”

  He’s right. I’ve never shared that piece of my life with him. I
only let myself think about it when I’m walking through the woods, alone with my dogs.

  I set the food aside. If I expect him to understand who I am now, he deserves to know everything. I love Gavin, but I won’t change who I am to be with him. I can’t do that for anyone.

  “I woke up one day and realized I didn’t like who I was with him,” I say. “After Jason’s residency and fellowship, when he went into private practice and started to make a name for himself, that’s when it happened. I stopped teaching because it no longer made sense for me to work long days when he could earn my week’s pay in a day.”

  “You loved teaching.”

  “I did. But I also liked spending time with my dog and going to yoga in the middle of the afternoon. Instead of mandatory school events, we dined at the best restaurants in New York City.”

  “The perfect life,” Gavin muses.

  “Maybe for someone else, but not for me it turns out. Jason was, and still is, the dermatologist to the stars, and every other wealthy New Yorker,” I explain. “He built a reputation, and I … I faded until I wasn’t anyone.”

  “You were always my best friend.”

  I look up at him. His dark eyes stare back at me. When he looks at me like that—as if he understands me, as if he accepts me just like this—it’s tempting to toss the “fake” part of our relationship out the floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse. I could fall in love with my best friend. I could set aside my fears about what marriage to a man like him would do to me and accept his maybe-we-should proposal.

  After I save his public image so he can maintain his place as the Boy Wonder of the software world.

  I offer a half-hearted smile. “Do you remember how many hours you poured into your company back then? Around the time of my one-year wedding anniversary you worked as if everything you built might disappear overnight.”

  He nods. “We needed a second successful product on the market.”

  “While you were focused your company, I was fading.” I never thought about the timeline. But now I realize that Gavin didn’t witness my descent. He was a part of my life. But he didn’t have a front row seat. He saw the aftermath. He found me when I needed a rescue and he rushed in to save me, never questioning how I got there. He didn’t ask what I’d done to end up broken and lost. Just like I never suggested he should carry any of the blame for the bullies who tormented him in school.