Someone Like You Page 4

  “Unfortunately, yeah,” he said, going to the closet. “I mean, you’re welcome to borrow something, but I’m guessing you don’t wear a men’s large.”

  Lincoln opened the closet door and pulled out her pink dress.

  “I hung it up!” she said in surprise.

  He lifted a teasing eyebrow.

  “Or you hung it up,” she amended, fresh embarrassment running anew.

  “If it makes you feel better, I turned my back while you stripteased your way out of it.”

  Daisy let out a horrified laugh. “I did not.”

  “I can’t say for sure, what with my back turned and all, but there was quite a bit of humming of what seemed to be Britney Spears.”

  Daisy groaned into the coffee. “If this mug were bigger, I’d try to drown myself.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, Wallflower,” he said, laying the dress across the foot of the bed, “I slept on the couch.”

  “Before or after we…”

  “After we did not,” he said with a wink.

  She sighed in relief, although she’d already been almost certain they hadn’t slept together. The details of last night might be hazy, but she was pretty sure no amount of alcohol would wipe out the experience of a night spent between the sheets with Lincoln Mathis.

  Not that she was planning to find out.

  “I can’t offer you clothes, but I found a brand-new toothbrush under the sink. I left it on the counter.”

  “Right,” she said, taking the hint and pushing the covers back, swinging her legs over the side of the bed while draining the rest of her coffee. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get out of your hair.”

  He gave her an apologetic smile as he scooped up the tiny dog in his hand. “Normally I’d be a better hangover host, but I confess there’s somewhere I need to be today.”

  “Oh gosh, don’t explain. You gave me a place to sleep off some very poor choices, and offered up a coffee and toothbrush. You’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty. Although, it is highly telling that you have extra toothbrushes lying around,” she said playfully.

  “A toothbrush. Singular. You act like I buy them in bulk.”

  She searched his face, looking for clues as to whether she’d been wrong about last night’s assumption that he didn’t sleep with half as many women as people guessed. But his face was an unreadable mask.

  He was different this morning, she realized. His quips not as quick, his smile less dazzling.

  “Well then,” she said, picking up her dress to head toward the bathroom. “I promise to tell Emma that you’re nothing but a gentleman.”

  Speaking of Emma…

  Daisy plucked her cell off the nightstand as she walked into the bathroom. Before the details had gone hazy, she’d texted her sister, making sure it was okay she’d ditched.

  She hadn’t been expecting a response, because, well, wedding night, but Daisy had a text waiting for her, sent by Emma an hour before. Daisy shook her head. She hoped like hell her twin had merely gotten up to go pee or get a glass of water and wasn’t actually up at six A.M. the morning after her wedding.

  Emma’s text made Daisy wince.

  Don’t mind in the least that you left early, but tell me I heard the rumors wrong that you left with Lincoln?

  Daisy opened the packaging on the toothbrush, squeezed on some of the Crest that Lincoln had left out, and brushed her teeth as she contemplated how best to respond to Emma.

  Was she wrong in her assumption last night that Lincoln wasn’t the womanizer he pretended to be?

  After all, Emma and her friends knew him a hell of a lot better than she did. Perhaps she’d merely tried to paint a picture of Lincoln as she wanted him to be.

  Her eyes scanned his bathroom, looking for more clues into the mystery that was Lincoln. It was clean, but not Spartan. While there were no frilly accessories, there was a blue hand towel that almost matched the bath towel hanging on the rack, and a bath mat that matched neither but was at least present. More than a lot of bachelor pads, she’d guess.

  Although something about both his bedroom and bathroom didn’t scream bachelor pad so much as…lonely. Based on his reputation, she’d have expected sleek furniture and black sheets, maybe a box of condoms on the bathroom counter. Instead everything was comfortable, and tidy, but careless somehow. As though he had enough self-respect to clean up after himself, but didn’t really care one way or the other what someone else might think of his place. There was nothing to welcome a woman’s touch to the place, but nothing to deter women either. It felt…ambivalent.

  Daisy rinsed and spit before picking up her phone.

  Rumors confirmed, but don’t worry, I left his virtue intact. Congrats again on a beautiful wedding, Em. I’ve never seen you so happy, which made ME so happy.

  She waited a second to see if her sister would respond immediately, but there was nothing. Good. Emma was no doubt cozy in bed with Cassidy, exactly as she should be.

  Daisy reluctantly peeled off the soft, comfortable shirt and boxers. A quick glance showed a hamper in the corner of the bathroom. She dropped in Lincoln’s clothes and pulled the dress over her head. The halter-top bodice hadn’t allowed for a bra, so thank goodness she didn’t need to worry where she might have tossed that during her striptease.

  Her hair was a mess, but a quick, guilty peek through his bathroom drawers showed only extra razor blades and deodorant. No sign of a hair tie left behind from one of his one-night stands. Damn. She’d known he didn’t sleep with as many people as she’d been told, but she was definitely getting the impression he didn’t sleep with any. There was absolutely no sign of woman in this place.

  Daisy smoothed her hair down as best she could and did a quick braid. There was nothing to secure the braid with, but her hair had enough of last night’s hairspray left to mostly stay in place.

  She opened the bathroom door.

  No Lincoln. She contemplated stripping the bed so he could wash the sheets, but it felt wrong to leave him with a blatant pile of laundry, so she made the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles on the gray duvet. She tilted her head, studied the bed. It was a queen.

  More proof that he wasn’t much for sexual company. The bedroom was small, as she suspected most Manhattan bedrooms were, but he could have most certainly squeezed in a king-size bed if he wanted to. And the bedspread, while perfectly serviceable and masculine, didn’t scream seduction so much as don’t give a shit.

  Then again, maybe she was basing her assumptions too much on the movie version of bachelor pads. Just because Lincoln wore a suit better than any man she’d known and looked to have a hundred-dollar haircut didn’t necessarily mean he had to have dark leather and black lights everywhere.

  Realizing the clock was ticking and she was increasingly outstaying her welcome, Daisy glanced around for her shoes and, not seeing them, wandered into his living room.

  Now this was more like it. There was the requisite big screen, a comfortable-looking leather sofa, and an abandoned beer bottle on the coffee table.

  Her eyes scanned until she found Lincoln in the kitchen, rinsing her coffee mug. He glanced over his shoulder when she came into the room and smiled, although she thought his smile seemed a little less wide than it usually was, his eyes a little less flirtatious.

  Yeah, she’d definitely outstayed her welcome.

  “I made the bed,” she said, awkwardly gesturing over her shoulder. “But if there are fresh sheets you want me to put on…”

  “Nah, I’ll take care of it later. Maybe. There are worse things than the smell of a woman’s perfume on a pillow.”

  They could have been the words of a man very accustomed to multiple women’s perfumes on his pillow, but Daisy could have sworn she heard a trace of sadness in his voice just then.

  She watched as he filled a small silver bowl with dog food. Kiwi wandered over to sniff it, then gave him a disdainful look that clearly said, Make me some eggs.

  Lincoln shook his head at the
dog, a communication it seemed to understand because Kiwi huffed before halfheartedly taking a bite of the dry dog food.

  Cute. Very, very cute.

  “Do I even want to know where I might have discarded my shoes?” Daisy asked, crossing one bare foot over the other self-consciously.

  Lincoln nodded his chin toward a table by the front door. Sure enough, there was her clutch, and on the floor by the door, her silver strappy sandals.

  She went to put them on, trying to keep the mood light. “Scale of one to ten, how ‘walk of shame’ is this outfit? It’s bad, right?”

  He didn’t respond, and Daisy glanced up to see him with his hands braced on the counter, staring blankly down. “Lincoln?”

  His head shot up. “Sorry. What?”

  She maneuvered the skinny strap through the tiny buckle with years’ worth of uncomfortable-shoe-wearing practice and reached for the other one. “Nothing. I don’t need to call a cab like I would in Charlotte, right? This is NYC, so I just do as they do on TV and walk outside and hail one?”

  “I’ll drive you.”

  Daisy buckled the other shoe and stood up. “Drive? New Yorkers do that?”

  He gave a faint smile. “Not most. But I keep a car.”

  For what?

  She didn’t know much about New York neighborhoods, but he’d told her last night before her whiskey-haze that his apartment in Chelsea was an easy subway ride uptown to his office on the Upper West Side. What did he need a car for?

  Not her business. That’s what.

  Daisy picked up her pink clutch and dropped her cell inside. “Don’t be silly. You’ve done plenty; I’ll take a cab, let you get to your appointment.”

  He winced as though the reminder of his day’s plans was painful. Yep, something was definitely up with him today.

  Then he seemed to shake it off, walking toward her, grabbing keys off the small console table, and opening the front door.

  The dog raced over, panting wildly, but Lincoln nudged it gently away from the open door with his foot. “Sorry, Ki. Not this time.” He looked at Daisy. “I’ll drive you. Make up for my guilt for all but shoving you out the door with no food. Garage is downstairs, I can have you to the Starbucks in Times Square in under ten minutes, and it’s a short walk from there to your hotel.”

  She glanced at his profile. “All right. Thank you.”

  He glanced down at her, looking surprised. “I was prepared for a fight.”

  “That’s because you don’t know Southern girls,” she said, exaggerating her drawl. “We don’t mind being pampered now and then.”

  “I’m sure you deserve it, Wallflower,” he said distractedly.

  Wallflower.

  She was Wallflower, while all the other women he talked to were love. The word rolled off his tongue so casually. With Emma and her friends, with those girls in the bar last night. Love meant nothing to him, obviously. A throwaway term of endearment he used the way other people might use hon or babe or doll.

  It shouldn’t bother her. It didn’t bother her. And yet for some reason, she felt a little tickle of resentment that she was somehow held apart from the other women, as though she wasn’t even worth the effort of flirting.

  Then again, maybe that wasn’t all bad. Maybe it was good that she was different. Not different in the sense that she wanted him to see her in a romantic light, but in that she wanted him to let his guard down around her.

  She wanted him to know that he didn’t have to be that guy with her.

  Oh dear. Definitely overthinking this.

  They said nothing as they took the elevator down to the garage level of his apartment building, but it was a comfortable silence. She got the sense that his quiet had more to do with whatever was going on in his own head than it did awkwardness over the fact that they’d known each other for less than forty-eight hours and she’d just spent the night at his place.

  Lincoln held open the passenger door of his silver Audi for her, and she deftly managed to get into the car without flashing him. Not that he was even trying to sneak a look.

  She glanced around the car as he climbed behind the wheel. “This car is spotless. Either you get it detailed regularly, or you don’t drive it often.”

  “Last Sunday of the month, every month,” he said, shoving the key into the ignition.

  She glanced at his tense profile. “That’s…precise.”

  He turned and smiled at her. “Wallflower. Any chance we can reinstate that rule we had last night? The whole no questions/no prying thing?”

  Daisy winced. “Of course. Of course. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he said, as he put the car into reverse and drove out of the gated garage. “I’m unaccustomed to Sunday morning guests, and I’ll confess to not being at my best.”

  “I understand,” she said, meaning it. “I’m the same. It’s like ninety-five percent of the time, I’m completely committed to being everything that everyone wants me to be—needs me to be. But then there’s that five percent that’s just for me. My time to regroup, to center, and be me. And if someone intrudes upon that precious five percent…”

  She curled her hands into claws and made a little pouncing motion.

  Lincoln glanced over at her as he stopped at a traffic light, his expression speculative.

  She squirmed in her seat. “Too much? Sorry.”

  Daisy glanced down at her hands, wondering what the heck she was doing. She’d never been prone to oversharing. At least not these days. Once, she’d been the chattering extroverted type who’d never thought twice about what she said, because everything had been so simple.

  Now she rarely revealed her innermost thoughts, even to Emma, and yet here she was spilling her guts to a guy she barely knew.

  “Marriott, right? There’s a Starbucks that’s close, if you still want that breakfast sandwich.”

  “Actually, I think I’m good on food. Headache’s gone, but queasy’s coming in. Straight to the hotel would be great.”

  It was a lie. She was actually feeling pretty darn good, all things considered, but she didn’t want to deal with all the people in Starbucks right now. She wanted to be alone.

  Lincoln pulled up outside the hotel and Daisy reached for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride. And for…well, last night, but in the nonpervy way.”

  He laughed. “Anytime. When do you fly out?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  Lincoln nodded, and Daisy was dismayed to realize that she was hesitating—waiting to see if he’d suggest seeing her before she left, after his appointment was over.

  He didn’t.

  Okay then.

  That was fine. Better, actually. Any more time spent with this guy, and Daisy might end up wanting things she had absolutely no right even thinking about.

  She opened the door and got one foot onto the concrete before he stopped her with a single word.

  “Wallflower.”

  Daisy glanced back. “Yeah?”

  His face was unreadable, and then he turned to stare out the windshield for several moments before looking back at her again. “Got plans today?”

  “Not really. I don’t know anyone in the city, and Emma decided against a post-wedding bridal brunch, so—”

  “Come with me.”

  It was both a plea and a command, and Daisy somehow knew that whatever he was asking was vitally important, even though she didn’t understand it.

  “All right,” she said slowly. “Do I have time to change really quick, or are you digging the pink dress?”

  He smiled. “Go change. Maybe something blue so we can match like we did last night and be adorable.”

  She laughed, relieved to see a glimpse of last night’s Lincoln. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Daisy got both feet out of the car this time before he stopped her again with a brief touch on the arm.

  This time when she glanced back, he didn’t look away but held her gaze, his expression quiet. “Thank you, in advance
.”

  “You’re welcome in advance,” she said softly.

  She felt a little shaky as she climbed out of the car and headed toward the front door of the hotel. Daisy tried to tell herself it was just the hangover and lack of sleep, but she was worried it was something more.

  Daisy was worried that not five minutes ago, she’d wanted desperately to be alone.

  And yet apparently there was something she wanted more than being alone—she wanted to be with him.

  Chapter 6

  Daisy had worn blue.

  He didn’t know why he noticed. Or why he cared. Hell, he didn’t care. But thinking about Daisy’s blue turtleneck sweater was a hell of a lot easier than thinking about other things.

  Like why the hell he was inviting her along. He hadn’t been lying when he said he only made this trip the last Sunday of every month.

  Every. Month.

  And he always made it alone.

  Until now. Until her.

  He mentally muttered a string of curses as he dragged a hand over his face and tried to sort through the confusion. He was both terrified at the thought of having company on this particular venture and yet somehow a hell of a lot calmer than he’d ever been before.

  Something about Daisy Sinclair’s presence was comforting. And that very thought was disloyal—a betrayal especially on today, of all days.

  “How far are we driving?” she asked, turning her head away from the window to face him.

  “A little more than an hour,” he said, relieved that she hadn’t asked the much more difficult question of where they were going. “You can turn on music if you want.”

  “Do you want music?”

  He glanced over with a quick smile. “Depends. Do you sing Britney Spears when sober as well as tipsy?”

  Daisy laughed, and he realized that her laugh was much like her voice. Lush and womanly, at least when she let it be. Other times she seemed guarded, and despite his determination to give her space, he wanted to understand her.

  Which made no sense. Tomorrow she’d be gone, and out of his life, and he was…relieved?