Someone Like You Read online

  Someone Like You is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2016 by Lauren LeDonne

  Excerpt from Love Story by Lauren Layne copyright © 2016 by Lauren LeDonne

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Love Story by Lauren Layne. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  Ebook ISBN 9781101884867

  Cover design: Caroline Teagle

  Cover photograph: Sorali/Shutterstock

  randomhousebooks.com

  v4.1

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Part II

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Part III

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Letter to Readers

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Lauren Layne

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Love Story

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  “Lincoln, you know that I love you like a brother, but if you make a move on my sister, I will end you.”

  Lincoln Mathis took a slow sip of his cocktail as he studied the fierce bride-to-be. “I hope Cassidy knows how lucky he is. You’re so delicate and gentle.”

  Emma Sinclair, soon to be Emma Cassidy as of this time tomorrow, lifted one elegantly manicured fingernail and flicked his chest. “Promise, Lincoln. No hitting on Daisy.”

  “I don’t hit on women.”

  Emma gave him a look.

  He held up his free hand in surrender. “I don’t. They come to me. I’m like the stamen.”

  Emma stared at him with wide, slightly accusatory brown eyes. “The what?”

  “The stamen. The pollen-producing part of a flower, Sinclair. Don’t you watch the Discovery Channel? Animal Planet? I just saw a fascinating documentary on bees. See, when the bees land on a flower, their little feet pick up pollen from the stamen—”

  “Mathis. Are you talking to my fiancée about semen?” Alex Cassidy asked, coming up beside Emma and setting a possessive hand on her waist.

  “Stamen,” Lincoln clarified. “Not semen. Honestly, is sex all you people think about?”

  “Yes.” This came from Riley Compton, a brunette bombshell whose status as New York’s foremost “sexpert” meant she had zero qualms about discussing sex at her best friend’s rehearsal dinner. “And you know, actually, the stamen is rather sexual. I saw that bee documentary too, because these are the sort of things you do when you’re nursing a never-satisfied baby, by the way, and the stamen is a flower’s male reproductive organ. Sexy, right?”

  Emma inserted the arm not holding her champagne flute between the two of them. “Guys, it’s my wedding weekend. Can we not talk about flower boners?”

  “Fair enough, bride,” Lincoln said. “What do you want to talk about? Cassidy’s boner?”

  Alex Cassidy choked into his champagne.

  “There will be no boner discussion,” Emma said. “Lincoln and I were just having a chat about how Lincoln will be maintaining his distance from my sister.”

  “Speaking of flowers, where is Daisy?” Riley asked, scanning the room.

  “Running late. Knowing my sister, her dress had a slight crease from the suitcase, and she won’t make an appearance until every wrinkle’s banished, every hair’s in place, and there’s not a speck of lint anywhere.”

  “Gosh, however will I keep my hands to myself?” Lincoln muttered.

  “Lincoln, I swear to God—”

  “He’s messing with you, Em,” Cassidy said, carefully tugging his fiancée away from Lincoln. “Don’t let him press your buttons. And Lincoln, man, what is with that drink?”

  Lincoln glanced down. “It’s called a Jasmine. Gin, lemon, some Campari—”

  “It’s pink,” Cassidy observed.

  “Right? You want one?”

  Cassidy rolled his eyes. “I’ll stick with champagne, thanks. Ah shit, there’s my grandma waving us over. Emma, you up for talk about the state of your uterus?”

  Emma groaned. “Oh no. I thought she’d agreed to wait until after the wedding to talk about my eggs.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Riley said. “As the only one in our little group of friends who’s ever pushed a human skull out my—”

  “Okay, I’m going to expand my taboo list,” Emma said. “No talking about boners, flowers, or vaginas.”

  “Fine,” Riley said as she entwined her arm in Emma’s and started leading her toward Cassidy’s grandma. “But if Grams starts talking about fertility, just follow my lead…”

  Lincoln smiled as he watched his friends walk away. He could follow, certainly, help run interference, but new mom Riley was a far better choice for this particular bridal-party duty.

  Besides, as best man, Lincoln had enough to worry about. The ring, reconfirming transportation to the church tomorrow, the speech that he was going to slay tomorrow, the—

  Lincoln’s best man to-do list scattered as his eyes landed on a woman standing in the doorway to the private event room. He did a double take. When had Emma found time to change? Generally speaking, he didn’t consider himself particularly in tune with his friends’ clothes. Especially the women, because, well…he didn’t really give a crap. But he was pretty damn sure Emma had been wearing a white dress just ten seconds ago.

  Now she was wearing a short yellow dress, with fussy, flowy sleeves, high-necked and a bit demure—

  No, not demure, Lincoln amended as she turned. Hot. The dress was backless, showing a smooth expanse of lightly tanned skin from the small of her back all the way up to her long dark blond hair.

  …Blond hair.

  Emma had shoulder-length brown hair. A wardrobe swap, he might be able to buy, but the hair?

  You idiot.

  He was looking at none other than Daisy Sinclair, the forbidden fruit, in the flesh.

  He’d forgotten that Daisy wasn’t just Emma’s sister—she was Emma’s identical twin.

  Other than the fact that she was, apparently, not to be hit on, Lincoln didn’t know much about her.

  Well, he supposed he now knew that she dyed her hair blond.

  Or maybe Emma dyed hers brown?

  Whatever. Girl stuff he didn’t care about one way or the other.

>   And yet he didn’t look away, captivated somehow. He racked his brain for everything he’d heard about Daisy Sinclair.

  He knew that she and Emma had grown up in North Carolina. But Emma left for New York City shortly after college, and Daisy had stayed. He thought he remembered talk of a recent divorce, although he didn’t recall the details.

  Didn’t need to, really. Lincoln knew better than anyone that not all relationships had happy endings.

  Lincoln watched as Daisy hesitated just inside the doorway, unnoticed yet by the rest of the bridal party and out-of-town guests.

  Making people comfortable was a particular skill of his. Normally he’d be over there in a heartbeat with a glass of wine and some of his best banter until her shoulders relaxed and he’d coaxed a smile from her pretty face.

  But he wasn’t entirely convinced Emma wouldn’t make good on her castration threats, so instead Lincoln merely studied Daisy. The woman was beautiful. No surprise there, since Emma was gorgeous. Yet, though their features were identical, they were attractive in entirely different ways.

  Emma was all polished confidence, stunning in an untouchable sort of way.

  Daisy was softer somehow. Gentler. She seemed…touchable.

  Lincoln’s cocktail froze on its way to his mouth as the forbidden rocked him back on his heels. Daisy Sinclair was not for him to touch, for reasons that had nothing to do with Emma’s threats.

  As though sensing a man’s brooding thoughts on her, Daisy turned slightly, her eyes locking on his. Eyes that he’d known would be dark brown like Emma’s, and yet eye contact with Emma had never felt like this.

  Lincoln felt something akin to panic, because for a heart-stopping moment, it felt like Daisy Sinclair was seeing him. Not seeing the Lincoln he wanted everyone to see.

  The real him.

  He gave himself a little mental shake. Get it together, Mathis. The woman doesn’t even know you.

  None of them did.

  Not really.

  He saw the moment of answering shock in her own gaze, sensed that for a split second, she considered turning and running. From him, from the party, all of it.

  Then he saw something else. Something familiar, because he’d done it a thousand times himself. She squared her shoulders, and he watched as a mask slid into place.

  He knew even before she approached that Daisy was exactly like him—good at being around people only because she chose to be. Knew that perhaps once it had been second nature, and now it was nothing but a deliberate attempt to make sure everyone thought she was okay.

  Daisy began making her way toward him, and he tensed for reasons he couldn’t identify, before ordering himself to chill out.

  It was just his friend’s sister. The maid of honor to his best man.

  She stopped in front of him, and he caught just the faintest whiff of her perfume, a surprisingly elegant scent for someone named Daisy, before she extended her hand.

  “You must be Lincoln Mathis, The Manwhore of Whom I Should Beware?”

  Her voice was a surprise. It had the same low huskiness as her sister’s, but years in New York had all but erased the Southern from Emma’s whiskey-raspy voice. Daisy’s drawl was very much intact—a mint julep on a hot day.

  He grinned and took her smaller hand in his. “Which would make you Daisy Sinclair, Delicate Flower to Whom I’m Not to Speak.”

  She grinned. “Nailed it.”

  “And tell me, Daisy Sinclair,” he said, “why is it that you’ve been deemed off-limits?”

  She batted her eyelashes, looking every bit the Southern belle she sounded like. “Isn’t it obvious? Divorced, damaged, and ever so fragile. You? Why is it that you’re to be avoided?”

  Nicely done. Preempting assumptions by announcing them before anyone could speculate.

  He leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice. “Consummate playboy, intriguingly unattainable, with just a dash of dangerous secrets.”

  She leaned in, matching his low tone. “Sounds dreamy. Do you think we should tell Emma we’re running away together now or later?”

  Lincoln would bet his 401k she was faking all this bold sassiness, but since he understood, he played along.

  Lincoln pretended to think on her proposal. “Let’s wait until after we give our respective speeches at the reception tomorrow. Which, by the way, my speech is awesome, so sorry in advance for making you look bad.”

  She slowly reached out and plucked his drink from his hand, holding his gaze as she took a sip, not flinching in the slightest at its bitter tartness. “I’m not worried. Rumor has it you got your best man gig in a game of paper football.”

  “Hey, at least I had to work for it. All you did was share a womb.”

  Daisy handed his drink back. Her fingers brushed his in the process, and Lincoln was a little surprised to realize that he noticed. Generally speaking, he didn’t let himself become aware of women, and it was annoying as hell to realize how aware he was of this one.

  “Bet I can get more people crying than you tomorrow,” she said.

  “Their tears are all yours to be manipulated. I’ll be playing the laugh angle.”

  She pursed her lips and nodded appreciatively. “Hiding your private pain behind jokes. Nice.”

  “Directing conversation to someone else’s private pain to avoid your own,” he countered. “Nice.”

  She smiled, slow and genuine, her brown eyes lifting to his. “I think we’re going to get along just fine, Mr. Mathis.”

  Lincoln smiled back, but it wasn’t the usual deliberate grin he’d been practicing for so many years now that it had become second nature.

  This smile was real, because she was right. They were alike, he and Daisy.

  And they were going to get along, because in only a couple of minutes, under the guise of casual quips, they’d just exchanged more truths with a perfect stranger than they had with anyone else in years.

  Lincoln couldn’t explain how he knew it, but he and Daisy Sinclair got each other. Their respective walls had been acknowledged, a silent agreement passed that neither would try to scale the other’s.

  Here, in the unlikely place of his best friend’s wedding, Lincoln had found someone else who understood that the best way to cope with hidden secrets and quiet pain was to simply pretend.

  And yet, beneath the relief that Daisy was perhaps the woman who’d never ask for more than Lincoln could give, there was something else…

  An unsettling and unfamiliar realization that for the first time in a long time, Lincoln wanted something more than to protect his own secrets.

  He wanted to know hers.

  Chapter 2

  Truth be told, Daisy Sinclair was relieved her sister had warned her about just how good-looking Lincoln Mathis was. It had prompted Daisy to Google him, and seeing his picture had almost prepared her for the jolt of seeing him in person last night.

  Almost, but not quite.

  Because simply put, Lincoln Mathis was the best-looking guy she’d seen…ever.

  The kind of guy who belonged on movie posters and underwear ads.

  She watched him now from her quiet corner of the room as she sipped her champagne. He hadn’t been joking when he said he was going for laughs in his speech. The wedding guests were positively eating out of his hand.

  Of course, with the way the man looked in a tux, he could have stood up there and said not a word, or screamed obscenities, and everyone would still be half in love with him.

  Lincoln’s dark brown hair fell in boyish waves over his forehead, but the broad shoulders and strong jawline were all man. His blue eyes were as playful as they were secretive. He was quick to laugh, even quicker to smile, and as far as she could see, never without the perfect one-liner.

  All of the groomsmen wore pale pink bow ties to match the bridesmaids’ cocktail dresses, and somehow Lincoln Mathis managed to make the feminine color look sexy as hell.

  Daisy thought Emma had been joking when she’d said pink was the bes
t man’s idea. Now she wasn’t so sure. Lincoln seemed to thrive on being unexpected.

  She took a deep breath, slowly letting herself relax after the nerves of her speech. Daisy had never minded public speaking, knew she could handle a crowd every bit as adeptly as Lincoln was handling it now, but tonight’s “performance” had been different.

  This was her twin, and though perhaps only she and Emma had known it, Daisy’s speech was a good-bye of sorts. For their entire childhood, they’d belonged only to each other. Now Emma would belong to another.

  Still, Daisy had spoken from the heart when she’d described the delight of watching a college-aged Emma and Cassidy fall in love all those years ago. She’d meant it when she said she’d felt the agony of their separation right along with Emma. (Daisy had skimmed over that bit, obviously.) And she’d meant it when she’d said that their finding each other again was the stuff of fairytales.

  But the part of Daisy’s speech that might have been just a touch embellished? Her gushing about the magic of matrimony.

  Daisy knew that the Big White Wedding didn’t always lead to Happily Ever After. Or even Contentedly Ever After.

  Sometimes a wedding was nothing but the first step on the descent to a very personal hell.

  Daisy was happy for Emma and Cassidy. She was. Watching them exchange vows, she thought her heart would burst in happiness.

  But it had hurt too. Because she remembered all too well what that felt like. Remembered the joy and the hope, and the confidence that the man who said I do would love you forever.

  Ha.

  Daisy had no doubt that Cassidy would love Emma forever. Alex Cassidy was a good man—a great one—who’d give his life for Emma.