Mr. Misunderstood

by Sara Jane Stone

  I’m right here and I will always be your friend. I don’t care what they call you.

  She whispered those words as the defense attorney belittled the abuse I’d suffered. She saved me from spiraling out of control. And she gave me the courage to reinvent my life. With a few changes, no one would label me a loser again.

  “I can’t believe she would spill my secrets to anyone,” I mutter. Then I glance up at the house. There’s only one way to find out. Margaret’s right, I need to ask her.

  I head up the blue stone path to the front door. A chorus of barks greets me as I step inside. “Kayla?” I call.

  “In the kitchen.”

  I walk past the living room, down the narrow hallway leading to the rear kitchen. I step into the room filled with modern appliances and two-hundred-year-old beams. Compared to my penthouse in the city, the ceilings feel low. But open floor plans and spacious rooms weren’t exactly a thing in the 1800s.

  She’s seated at the rectangular wooden table that my decorator found. Ginger’s curled up on her lap, and Rocky’s napping at her feet. The other three pups rest on their respective dog beds by the wood stove in the corner. Papers cover the long table surface. I walk over the side opposite her and pull out a chair.

  “Making lists?” I scan the loose-leaf sheets. She turned her full attention to the barn project the moment we left New York City yesterday. It’s as if she’s clinging to the distraction after our encounter with her ex. She worked hard to push him out of her life. Now, he’s back. It probably didn’t help that I pressed for details about how her marriage failed.

  Kayla deserves a better best friend, I think. It doesn’t help that I made love to her again last night.

  “I want to be prepared when we meet with the contractors for the barn.” She looks up from her current list. “We are still having those meetings tomorrow, right?”

  I nod. “I walked through the space just now. It needs a lot of work. I think the place is about to fall down. And it smells like hay.”

  “I’m guessing the smell will go away when they start work. Even if it doesn’t, the dogs won’t mind. But I don’t want to set them up in cages. I’m thinking rooms with beds. Something that feels homey. I’d also like to include a library for volunteers to come and sit with the cats. Lots of armchairs and books.”

  “Are you going to invite volunteers to spend the night and keep the animals company?”

  She cocks her head. “It’s not a bad idea. I hope some of the local seniors will stop by for the reading room. Sleepovers might get too complicated.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “When it comes to shelter dogs and cats? Without a doubt. But you knew that.”

  “True.” I reach for one of the lists and scan through the proposed changes to the barn. “You might want to add new siding to the list.”

  She takes the paper and starts writing.

  “Kayla. I need to ask you something.”

  Her pen pauses, still hovering over the paper as she looks up. “You want to go back to the city already?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Margaret agrees that staying up here is a good move. I have my team working on the glitches in the new product, but we’re not ready to launch. We can stay through the weekend.”

  “Then it’s back to parties and fine dining until this all goes away?” she asks quietly.

  “There are worse things,” I say. But that feels like a lie. If we keep “accidentally” running into her ex, I suspect that my life in New York City will top Kayla’s Worst Things In the World List.

  She twirls the pen between her fingers. “Did Margaret have any leads?”

  “Not really.”

  “We can’t keep this up forever.” She taps the pen on one of the lists. “I want to see this plan through. And I can’t do that if I’m following you around the city.”

  Dammit, we’re not planning our return trip yet and she’s already fighting for excuses to stay here. I can feel the success of our fake engagement hanging in the balance. I can’t make it work if she’s up here, and I’m in New York City. I need her with me.

  “You’re doing more than following me,” I point out. Although bringing sex into this conversation probably isn’t a good idea, I add, “There are some naked perks to the arrangement.”

  “Even the promise of daily orgasms isn’t a reason to keep this”—she waves her hand in the air over the table—“going forever. Not when I have a chance to focus on turning my dream for that old barn into a reality.”

  “You have my full support for Kayla’s Home for Dogs in Need of a Queen-Size Bed.”

  “Thank you.” She smiles at me, but the look in her brown eyes screams You still don’t get it. “But I can’t make this happen while I’m pretending to be your fiancée.”

  Then stop pretending.

  Kayla belongs with me. As friends, as lovers, as husband and wife—hell, I don’t know. I just know that when this blackmail mess ends, I don’t want her to slip away back to the country.

  “Is it really so bad?” I ask. “Pretending?”

  “Only when it starts to feel real,” she says softly. “Breaking the rules is fun, but …”

  “You want to stick to the one about the end date?”

  “I think …” Her voice trails off as if she’s not sure how to put her thoughts into words. “What will it say about me if I let myself fade into your shadow?”

  “I won’t let you,” I say firmly.

  “I know it won’t be the same. You’ll give me free reign to wear crazy cat sweaters to galas if I want. Still, you have to admit that you cast a pretty big shadow. You’re Gavin Black, renowned software engineer and freaking model. I’m a divorcee who plans to spend the rest of my life surrounded by rescue dogs and cats. I would trade all the parties and fancy dresses for the chance to give an old, lonely dog his own room with a giant king-size bed and plenty of space to run.”

  “I don’t want you to disappear into my shadow.” This conversation has shifted off course. I still haven’t asked her about Mr. Mistake.

  “There’s a chance that I might need to hide in yours, though,” I continue. “If Alexandra convinces a real journalist, not some morning show host looking for salacious gossip, but a reporter hell bent on discovering the past I buried all those years ago, I might need you to take me in too. For some reason, Alexandra—or whoever the hell she is—she’s like a dog with a bone.” The three K-9s resting on their dog beds turn their heads and look at me at the mention of the b-word. “I have a feeling she’s not in this for the money. Or if she is, she doesn’t want my money.”

  “You think someone’s paying her to humiliate you?”

  “Maybe.” I meet her gaze across the table lined with plans for her dream project. “I hate to ask you this, but did you ever tell Jason about me?”

  “No,” she says quickly, her eyes widening.

  “You were in love with him,” I point out.

  “Yes, but you were always my best friend.”

  “I know, Kayla. But if you did tell him, after a bottle of wine one night, or by accident, there’s a chance he’s using it for revenge.”

  “I never said a word.” She sets down her pen and holds out her hand. I place mine in hers.

  “It wasn’t my secret to tell,” she adds.

  “Okay.” I give her hand a squeeze and then pull mine free. “I’m sorry I had to ask.”

  Kayla picks up her pen and returns to her lists. “Trying to justify hitting Mr. Mistake in public?”

  “Oh, I had a reason.” I fold my arms in front of my chest and lean back in the chair. “Just not one that Margaret accepts as justified for causing a scene in public. She wasn’t buying the connection to Alexandra either. She had her PI look into him. It’s another dead end.”

  “You’re scared.” It’s not an accusation. She’s simply stating a fact.

  “Yeah,” I admit.

  “You’re terrified of this woman and you’re desperate for answers.”
She glances up from the table. “I know what you look like when you’re frightened. I know what you look like when you’ve been beaten.”

  “Kayla.” Her name comes out as a plea, but hell I feel as if she’s torn off a layer of protection, leaving me raw and vulnerable. I raise my hand to my face and run it down to my mouth. My thumb presses into the day-old stubble on my jaw. I thought she would be pissed when I asked if she spilled my secrets. Her understanding borders on fucking overwhelming.

  “I’ve seen you backed into a corner,” she continues, her tone gentle, but firm. “Right now, I know your demons are winning.”

  “Alexandra’s winning,” I snap. “This should have been over days ago. I pay Margaret a small fortune to maintain my image, and here we are, dueling with a woman I met at the gym through the New York media.”

  “You could tell the truth,” she says. “Release the demons on your terms.”

  “No.” I look straight into her dark eyes. “I know that’s not that answer you want. But I can’t do that.”

  She stares back at me for a long time. I swear I read the disappointment in her expression. But she just nods her head and says, “Okay.”

  “That’s it?” Where are her passionate protests and demands?

  She sets Ginger on the chair beside her. Then she pushes back from the table, careful not to disturb Rocky. “Let’s take a break from the planning and worrying.”

  “And do what? Walk the dogs?”

  “They’re fine.” She heads for the door. “I had a different type of break in mind.”

  “Kayla.”

  I don’t move a muscle. Sex has always been served on a plate lined with lust and desire. The precursors never scratch below the surface. I’ve made love to women while riding the high of pure fucking fantasy. I’ve made love to Kayla surrounded by people, wondering if we would get caught, and in my bed. But this invitation feels different. As if she’s found a place where nothing, past or present, can touch me—can touch us.

  Fuck. Listen to me. I could spend the next hour, hell the next day, in bed with Kayla and my problems would still be waiting when we emerged.

  She pauses in the doorway leading to the hall. “Are you coming?”

  “Yes.” I push back from the table and head for Kayla. I take her hand and lead her up the front stairs to the master bedroom knowing that this “break” or whatever she wants to call it won’t change anything.

  But I can’t escape the hope that I’m wrong.

  CHAPTER 21

  KAYLA

  Gavin needs a hug.

  That’s what ran through my mind when he refused to debate the pros and cons of sharing his past with the world. I had my arguments ready.

  It will only be a story for a day, maybe two.

  I would start with that argument. Then I would try to convince him it would feel good to let go of the fear. And end with the fact that what happened to him wouldn’t haunt his day-to-day if he no longer felt the need to hide.

  But one look at Gavin and I knew he would never believe the pain would dissipate once he shared his past. And I couldn’t promise that it would. I grew up with two loving parents. Empathy only goes so far when trying to imagine what it would feel like to live with the emotional scares of his childhood.

  So I turned to my tried-and-true action plan. The one I used when we were kids and he showed up at the bus stop looking like a puppy that expected to be kicked all day—Gavin needs a hug.

  But now, standing beside his king-sized platform bed, I see the flaws in my plan. We’re not kids anymore. His bed includes a tan leather headboard. The overtly masculine design doesn’t stop there. Nothing about the leather-topped dresser or the oversized recliner in the corner says, “This guy needs a hug and a teddy bear.”

  He strips off his shirt and I realize there are many, many factors that I didn’t consider when following this particular plan. Gavin Black’s perfect stomach replaces the room’s décor at the top the list.

  His pants hit the floor, followed by his underwear and socks. And I’m forced to admit that giving my best friend a comforting hug is different from wrapping my arms around a naked Gavin.

  “Kayla?”

  “Hmm?” I look up from the V-shaped muscles at his hips that direct my attention lower still.

  “Too distracted by your own distraction to take off your clothes?” he teases.

  “Yes.”

  He closes the space between us in two long strides. His hands find the edge of my shirt and draw it over my head. I cup his angular jaw between my hands and draw his mouth to meet mine.

  Kiss him.

  I focus on a singular mission while he wrestles me out of my pants and underwear. Then he wraps his arms around me and pulls my naked body against his. His hands glide down my back, moving lower and lower until he’s guiding my legs up. My thighs press against his hips as he lifts me into his arms. Then he’s moving, carrying me to the bed.

  Our kiss breaks as he lays me down on the soft bedding. Then he joins me, his body nestled between my legs, and I draw his mouth back to mine.

  He pulls away and stares down at me. “Don’t move. I need to grab a condom.”

  “Okay.”

  I stay on my back, my mind spinning out of control while I lie there naked. He’s digging in the nightstand drawer. After a few seconds, I prop myself up on my elbows and look over at him. “Problem?”

  “I need to check to bathroom.” He glances back at me. “Please. Stay right there.”

  “I will.” It’s an easy promise to a man with the most perfect body on the planet and a face that literally convinces people to buy watches they probably don’t need. He disappears into the attached master bath. He emerges a second later holding a strip of foil packets and triumphant grin.

  He tears open the condom wrapper, covers himself, and joins me on the bed. His mouth finds mine as his hands runs up my leg, testing to see if I’m ready.

  “Please, Gavin. I need you.”

  The words slip out, riding the wave of desire that slams into me as his fingers explore the place where I would very much like to feel his condom-covered cock right about now.

  But then I remember that I’m supposed to be offering him comfort. This man needs to feel loved.

  He removes his hand and slides into me. And, oh God ….

  “Gavin!”

  My hips rise up to meet his thrusts. I need to … I have to tell him that I love him. But, oh God … not now. I can’t shout out “I’m in love you” while he’s driving in to me. Oh, he knows I love him. But this goes deeper …

  “You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs. His lips brush my ear. Then he kisses a trail down my neck. One of his hands runs over my arm. He guides my hand over my head and pins it there. Thrusting into me at a frantic pace that leaves me panting to keep up, he moves my other hand over my head.

  With my arms pinned overhead, I arch my back and my breasts rise up. He’s staring down at me with a feral gleam in his eyes. It’s a look so far removed from friendship and hugs. Judging by the ferocity in his gaze, Gavin Black wants to make me his.

  I stop moving for a second, waiting for the fear to descend like a blanket threatening to smother me. I can’t belong to him. I need to be me. I can’t lose myself in him.

  And I won’t.

  His brow furrows. “Did you come?”

  “No, I was just …” I can’t finish the sentence. I can’t tell him I’m waiting for the terror to descend any more than I can profess my love while he’s buried inside me.

  “Needing a little more?” he growls. Holding my hands above my head with one hand, he runs the other down my body. “Tell me where to touch you.”

  “Everywhere,” I whisper because I’m not afraid. Oh, I’m his all right. But he’s mine too. And maybe, just maybe, if I show him that I find him desirable and, oh God, capable, he’ll begin to believe it himself.

  He thrusts harder and faster as his fingers tease my nipple. And I can’t help it. I cry out “I
love you” as the orgasm rolls over me. My eyes are closed, savoring the pure pleasure, but I hear him growl, “I fucking love you too.”

  A second later, he releases his hold on my hands and rests his panting body against mine. Then he pulls himself out of his orgasmic bliss for long enough to roll to my side.

  I know the “I love yous” don’t count. They won’t change anything. His demons are still winning. Even if Alexandra disappears tomorrow, not another threat or interview, Gavin will still be crouching in the corner, afraid to admit that he’s deserving of love and respect—that he’s capable of moving forward. I can try to make him feel loved and cared for until my body literally can’t take another Gavin Black orgasm. It won’t change the fact that he doesn’t believe it.

  And I’m not sure where that leaves us.

  Pretending to be engaged, but actually in love? Trying to conquer an enemy that can’t be beaten? Alexandra isn’t the true problem here. Gavin’s fears are the true barrier. He’s scared the story of his childhood will lead to failure, personally and professionally.

  I should walk away now.

  I know I can’t fall further and further in love with him while we lie to the rest of the world, including my mother.

  I roll onto my side and prop my head up with my hand. My right elbow rests in the bedding. With everything that happened, Alexandra’s interview and our encounter with my ex, I never discovered why he refused to tell my mother the truth. “Can I ask you something?”

  He turns and mirrors my position. “Yes, I wanted to tie your hands to the bedpost.”

  Okay. I’m not opposed to the idea. I trust Gavin would never hurt me. But …

  “That wasn’t my question.”

  He smiles at me and reaches his free hand out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I didn’t think so.”

  “Why didn’t you tell my mother the truth when you talked to her? You fought for that rule. But when I spoke to her it didn’t sound like she knew this was fake.”