Page 62 of Mr. Misunderstood

“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.”

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