Someone Like You Page 3

  “What can I say, I like things literal.”

  She snorted. “You do not.”

  “Says the woman who’s known me for twenty-four hours.”

  “I know you well enough to know that brunette you were dancing with was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, and yet you didn’t seem remotely interested.”

  Lincoln was about to open the door to the bar, but stilled at her words, turning to face her. His eyes narrowed slightly. “Meaning?”

  She took a tiny step closer, her gaze more level and challenging than it was flirtatious. “Meaning, I think your womanizing reputation is all smoke and mirrors, and I think you like it that way.”

  “You know nothing about it,” he muttered, turning away.

  She touched his arm. “I know that everyone’s in awe of your ability to keep things friendly with the women you sleep with, even after you supposedly discard them.”

  “Supposedly? You think I actually keep stringing them all along, sleeping with them all, whenever I want?”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said with a cluck of her tongue as she reached for the door. “I don’t think you sleep with them at all.”

  Lincoln stared after her as she swept into the bar, a swish of blond hair and pink dress, without a backward glance.

  Well, hell. Maybe the woman did know him pretty damn well in twenty-four hours after all.

  Chapter 4

  “Tell you what,” Lincoln said as he joined her at the bar, raising his voice to be heard over the Saturday night crowd. “We won’t talk about my sleeping partners and, in exchange, I won’t ask you about your ex.”

  Daisy extended her hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Mathis.”

  His fingers closed around hers, his grip firm and warm. It was a bit of a pity that she knew herself to be right about his number of sexual partners being a good deal smaller than he wanted anyone to know. It was a shame to let good hands like these go to waste.

  She shook her head.

  Not where her thoughts should be going.

  “What are we having?” Lincoln said, sliding up beside her, and resting both elbows on the bar as he scanned the liquor bottles behind it while they waited for the overworked bartender to see them.

  “Jack and Coke.”

  He turned his head and lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “I had you pegged for a mint julep kind of girl.”

  She laughed in delight. “How did you know that? Emma? Cassidy?”

  “Come now, pet, surely you didn’t think every part of my reputation was unearned. I read women like a damned treasure map,” he said.

  “And what exactly would the treasure be?”

  Lincoln only grinned as he lifted a hand to get the bartender’s attention. “Two Jacks, one with Coke, one without.”

  “You don’t have to go all hardcore to impress me,” Daisy teased as the bartender turned the bottle upside down and poured a liberal amount of whiskey into two glasses before squirting a bit of soda into hers. “You know, right, that this won’t be pink or frothy and there’s no sugar rim?”

  In response, he accepted the glasses from the bartender, handed her hers. He clinked their glasses before lifting the whiskey to his lips, tossing it back in one swallow.

  Daisy’s mouth went slightly dry for reasons that had nothing to do with anticipation of the alcohol. For the first time she got—truly got—what Emma had been trying to warn her about.

  The other Lincoln…the one with the one-liners and the flirting and the easy laugh, he’d been charming but resistible to her.

  This one, though—the one whose eyes were a little bit hard, knuckles a little bit tense…a man who could throw back whiskey without so much as a flinch. This man was dangerous. This man could make her want.

  He lifted a finger to the bartender. “Another.”

  “Yeeeeeeah, I’m gonna sip mine,” Daisy said with a laugh.

  “I figured you would, Wallflower.” Lincoln nodded thanks at the bartender, but seemed in no hurry to drink round number two. Instead he picked up their drinks, nodding his head for her to follow, as he pushed his way through the noisy crowd.

  Daisy followed, noting in bemusement the way nearly every woman he passed broke off mid-sentence and gave him a lingering, appreciative look. She also noted that he didn’t look back.

  Emma and her friends were dead wrong about Lincoln Mathis. This was no modern-day rake set on wooing every woman who crossed his path. This was a man rather desperate to look like a playboy.

  But why?

  A cute blonde in a slinky white halter top with a spectacular figure was bolder than the rest, deftly moving in front of Lincoln before he could reach a recently vacated table in the back corner.

  “You’re overdressed, stranger,” the woman said, reaching out and flicking a flirtatious finger over his bow tie. “Buy you a drink, see if we can’t think of a way to get you underdressed?”

  Daisy rolled her eyes at the woman’s unabashed come-on. And even though she was facing Lincoln’s back, she somehow knew that he was smiling that slow, panty-melting grin that he handed out for free to anyone with breasts.

  “Another time, love. I have a companion for the evening.”

  The blonde’s gaze flicked to Daisy, and she all but wrinkled her nose. Daisy gave a polite smile, the woman’s disdain not bothering her in the least. Even without the fancy bridesmaid dress, Daisy knew she didn’t belong here. For starters, she was over the age of thirty, and most of the patrons were easily under twenty-five. Some were even under twenty-one and armed with a fake ID, she was guessing.

  But it was more than that. These women—no, these girls—they were a different breed entirely. She doubted they’d spent the first twenty years of their lives playing the role of perfect daughter, and the next five or so playing the role of perfect wife. Only to realize that while she was a passably dutiful daughter, she’d downright failed at being married.

  Although, to be fair, she didn’t know these women. Perhaps they too held dark secrets and damaging insecurities, and had just been able to move on in a way that Daisy hadn’t. In a way she didn’t even want to.

  The blonde’s attention was back on Lincoln. “Well, if you change your mind…” The girl flicked a tongue over the tip of her beer bottle, her gaze locked on Lincoln’s as she slowly backed away.

  Lincoln missed the blatant sexual invitation, though, glancing over his shoulder at Daisy with a quick wink as he continued his path toward the still vacant table.

  The bar having little more than a random scattering of mismatched furniture, there was only one tall, teetering bar stool at the table.

  Lincoln gestured toward it. “Because I’m a gentleman, and because those shoes look lethal, sit.”

  “Haven’t you heard, stilettos make fabulous self-defense weapons,” she retorted as she accepted Lincoln’s extended palm, maneuvering herself onto the wobbling stool.

  “Speaking from experience?”

  Lincoln’s voice was teasing, but Daisy tensed all the same, her gaze snapping up to his as she tried to tug her hand free.

  A moment ago, she’d absently registered the warm strength of his hand in the way a woman registered the touch of a good-looking man.

  But though he couldn’t have known it, they’d waded into dangerous conversational waters, and she suddenly felt short of breath, desperate to get away. Desperate not to be touched.

  Lincoln’s gaze narrowed slightly, his thumb pressing gently against the back of her hand as though reluctant to let her go without answers. She watched warily as his own ghosts seemed to get the better of him, and he reluctantly let her hand slide away from his before he reached for his drink.

  For a second he looked like he wanted to knock it back in one swallow, chasing away demons, but instead he shook his head slightly and took a moderate sip. She did the same, enjoying the way the mixture of sweet and spicy gave her something to think about other than bad memories—of times when she very much wished she would have had
a four-inch heel for self-defense.

  Daisy caught movement out of the corner of her eye. A petite girl with shiny black hair was giving Lincoln the Look.

  She leaned toward him slightly and grinned. “Brace yourself.”

  To his credit, he didn’t play coy. Instead he turned just as the girl approached, and Daisy took another sip of her drink at the sight of that increasingly familiar hey girl smile. The girl blinked, dazed by the effect, and Daisy wanted to ask if nobody else understood that those smiles were a dime a dozen. And fake as heck. Sure, he was friendly, sure he probably was the kind of nice guy to return someone’s smile, but those smiles were also a shield, and one that was damn more effective than any surly scowl.

  “What’s your name, love?” he said, taking a slow sip of his drink and watching as the other woman recovered her composure.

  “Hailey.”

  He extended a hand. “Lincoln.”

  Hailey’s smile was straight and white and slightly predatory despite the fact that Daisy was pretty sure Lincoln had close to a decade on the girl.

  “Coming from a party?” Hailey asked, sliding closer, and lifting a hand to the bow tie that women couldn’t seem to keep their hands off.

  “I am,” Lincoln said. “Me and Daisy here.”

  Hailey’s gaze cut over to Daisy, and Daisy gave her a cheerful little finger wiggle as she took another sip of her drink. Really, what was with these girls? What sort of female hit on a man who was so obviously with another woman?

  Was the fact that she and Lincoln were strictly platonic going off like a beacon or something? Did she have “strictly friend zone” tattooed across her forehead? Was she giving off sisterly vibes?

  Or, Daisy thought, as she glanced at Lincoln’s profile, maybe it really was that the guy was just good-looking enough that ladies felt they had to take a shot, girl-code violation or not.

  Hailey moved away with a gratifyingly sheepish smile, and Lincoln turned back to Daisy. “Where were we?”

  “I don’t think we were anywhere,” Daisy said. “Is it always like that with you?”

  He lifted a broad shoulder. “It’s like I tried to tell your sister. I’m like the stamen.”

  “A flower penis?”

  He laughed, low and sexy. “Someone knows their flower parts.”

  “More like, someone has too much time on her hands after her divorce and watches too much TV,” she admitted. “Somehow I feel less guilty if I watch the Discovery Channel while eating carrots than if I was watching a reality show while eating ice cream.”

  “Sounds logical to me,” he said, spinning the tumbler of whiskey around idly, watching the golden brown liquid swish along the sides.

  “Does it get old?” she blurted out.

  His eyes lifted. “Does what?”

  “Being gorgeous. And irresistible.”

  The corner of his mouth tilted up. “I don’t think anyone’s ever managed to make those two adjectives sound so undesirable.”

  “My immunity to your charms bothers you?”

  “It does not,” he said. “It’s rather refreshing, actually.”

  “Ah-ha, so the constant female attention does get old,” she pressed.

  “Saying so would be a bit like copping to the ultimate in first-world problems, don’t you think? There are worse things than to be approached by a pretty woman now and then.”

  “Now and then?” she quirked her eyebrow. “It seems a bit nonstop.”

  He laughed. “I probably bring it upon myself.”

  “You certainly don’t do much to ward them off,” she agreed. “But then that’s part of it, isn’t it?”

  His gaze sharpened just slightly. “Part of what?”

  “Your coping mechanism. Flirting distracts you.”

  “From?”

  “I have no idea.” She bit her lip. “You know, if you want to talk about—”

  Lincoln straightened and finished off the rest of his drink before nodding his chin at hers. “Another?”

  Daisy glanced down at her almost empty glass, then, mimicking his actions, tossed back the rest of her drink, relishing the burn. So he didn’t want to talk about it.

  That was fine. She didn’t want to talk about hers either. Especially not on the night of her sister’s wedding where rancid memories threatened at the edges of her consciousness.

  Perhaps a night of oblivion would be just the thing.

  Daisy held out her empty glass to Lincoln. “Another. Hold the Coke on this one.”

  Chapter 5

  The headache wasn’t the worst she’d ever had, but it was definitely present.

  Daisy opened her eyes slowly, grateful for the dim light in her bedroom…?

  Her hands spread to her sides, finding an unfamiliar bedspread, sheets that were just slightly less soft than her own.

  A hotel bed, her sleepy brain registered. She was in New York for Emma and Cassidy’s wedding, not in her bed back in Charlotte.

  Her eyes opened all the way and she rolled to the side toward the nightstand alarm clock…that wasn’t there.

  There was, however, a small bundle of white fluff next to her face.

  The bundle of fluff moved.

  Daisy sat bolt upright, realizing a bunch of things all at once:

  (1) Her head hurt worse than she’d previously thought.

  (2) Her mouth was wretchedly dry.

  (3) There was a dog in bed with her. A tiny Maltese, if she was remembering her breeds correctly.

  (4) The hotel bedspread was gray instead of white, the alarm clock on the left nightstand instead of the right…

  Because…(5) She wasn’t in her hotel room.

  A quick glance down showed she was in a man’s undershirt; a peek under the covers showed she was wearing blue-and-white plaid boxers that were way too large for her.

  The only relief, if there was one, was that she was at least alone in the bed. Now, anyway. A few hours before, who knew, she couldn’t remember anything past…

  She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the Jack Daniel’s–induced fog to clear. There’d been the wedding, the reception. The bar with Lincoln…

  Her eyes opened again, her heart thudding to a slow. Lincoln. She was in Lincoln’s bed. They’d gone to another bar after the first, and another bar after the second, and after that…

  Oh dear.

  His place, apparently.

  The dog stirred, lifting an accusatory head toward Daisy, as though annoyed to be awoken. Then the dog yawned, showing a tiny pink tongue, and uncurled out of its sleep ball. The little creature crawled into her lap, resting its tiny head on Daisy’s thigh.

  Daisy had never been much of a dog person, but this one was cute. She ran a hand over the soft white fur, her fingers gliding along the magenta collar—of course Lincoln’s dog would have a pink collar—until she found the little circular tag.

  “Kiwi,” she read with a laugh.

  The dog lifted its head, as though to say Yes?

  The man had a dog that would fit in his palm. Adorable.

  Perhaps Emma had been dead right about warning Daisy about Lincoln after all.

  There was movement in the doorway of the bedroom and she glanced up to see Lincoln standing there, slowly and needlessly raising a knuckle to rap on the doorjamb. He was wearing jeans and a dark blue long-sleeved shirt that looked every bit as good on him as last night’s tux. The scruff on his jaw was a bit more pronounced than it had been yesterday, so he hadn’t shaved, although the way his dark hair curled damply over his forehead told her he’d showered recently.

  “Morning, Wallflower. May I? I come bearing gifts.”

  “Nope.” She shook her head. “I’ve decided I’m not responding to that. I’ve never been a wallflower in my life.”

  “Says the girl I found cowering in the corner last night.”

  “I wasn’t—okay, fine, I was. But it’s not my nickname. Is that coffee?” she asked, rubbing her pounding temple as her gaze zeroed in on the mug in his hands.r />
  “Yep. Cream and sugar.”

  She held out her hands in a gimme motion. “How’d you know?”

  He smiled as he approached. “You told me. About four times. It was your condition on which you agreed to come home with me after we tried unsuccessfully to get a cab to take you back to Midtown on a Saturday night at bar-closing time.”

  The dog uncurled off Daisy’s lap, padding across the bed and resting its little feet on Lincoln’s thigh, begging for attention.

  “Hey Ki,” he said, pronouncing it like key, as he stroked a big hand over the dog’s fur. “Keeping our houseguest company?”

  The dog barked in response, a high-pitched little yip that might have been cute had it not been for Daisy’s aching head.

  She took a sip of the coffee. A little less sweet than she usually liked it, but strong and delicious. Daisy took another sip, not quite able to bring herself to look at him.

  So, um, did we…have sex?

  How did one phrase that?

  She couldn’t bring herself to ask the question out loud. If they had and she didn’t remember, they’d both be mortified.

  If they hadn’t, the question was presumptuous.

  Good Lord this was awkward.

  Lincoln held out a hand, waiting until she glanced up. He held something out to her, but she couldn’t see what it was. Frowning in confusion, she opened her palm, then let out a little laugh as he dropped two white pills into it.

  “Thought you might need these,” he said in amusement as he picked up a previously unnoticed water glass off the nightstand and handed it to her.

  She swallowed the pills gratefully. “Do I even want to know how much I had to drink?”

  “About as much as I did.”

  “And yet, here you are all showered and dressed whereas I seem to be barely functioning and wearing your underwear.”

  He laughed, but it wasn’t unkind. “Give it a sec. The pills and caffeine will do wonders. Are you queasy-hungover, or would breakfast help?”

  Kiwi wagged her little tail furiously, an enthusiastic yes please on the breakfast.

  Daisy contemplated. “I wouldn’t mind something to absorb the booze. But I can hit up Starbucks on my way back to my hotel. I suppose I’ll have to wear my dress,” she said with a wince.