by Lauren Layne
Did she even remember how to date?
She apparently didn’t remember how to dress for one.
Annoyed with herself, and tired of overthinking it, Daisy tugged a dark navy dress off the hanger and stepped into it before she could reconsider for the hundredth time.
The simple sheath dress was flattering without trying too hard. It hit just above the knees, body-hugging, but not skintight. It was high-necked and sleeveless, with a black lace pattern on the bodice to keep it from feeling too blah.
She reached around to zip it, only to find her arms too short. Damn. She’d figure out how to do that yoga contortion after she finished her makeup.
Daisy went into the bathroom to do her eyes, going just a bit more smoky than usual, smudging chocolate brown and a bit of shimmering gold over her lids before adding a couple coats of Dior mascara. She stepped back and assessed.
Not bad.
Pretty good, actually.
If only she felt more excited.
She should be more excited. Dan had been perfectly charming in their text exchange, and he was taking her to one of her favorite Italian restaurants. All signs pointed to this date having the most potential of any she’d been on post-divorce, and yet all she could think about was how she’d rather be joining Lincoln and Kiwi in their movie night.
The only thing making her feel slightly better was that at least Lincoln wouldn’t be out with another woman. He’d finished up all the notes for his article, and had declared his last three days in North Carolina a work-free vacation zone.
Three days.
That’s all they had left.
It wasn’t as though it was a surprise. She’d known from the moment Emma had called her to pitch the idea that he’d be staying two weeks and then heading back to New York. Heading back to his real life, while she was left with her life.
A life that was feeling increasingly empty.
Daisy wondered if this was a normal part of the healing process. That as you healed from your emotional wounds, as your hurts scarred over, you were faced with a crushing emptiness where the pain had once been.
She was debating among lipstick colors—trendy nude, classic red, or flirty pink—when she felt the wet nudge of Kiwi’s nose a split second before a knock at her bedroom door.
She scooped up the dog and walked out of the bathroom to see Lincoln standing in the doorway of her bedroom
Daisy couldn’t help it. Her stomach flipped. For starters, the man looked gorgeous. He always looked gorgeous, but tonight’s black T-shirt and well-worn jeans screamed man in the most appealing of ways.
And he was at the threshold of her bedroom.
The dog was no stranger to the upstairs of Daisy’s house, but Lincoln never had been there and his presence was strangely intimate.
Made even more intimate by the way his eyes flicked to her bed.
Daisy’s stomach clenched with a desire she hadn’t felt since long before her divorce. Back when she thought Gary’s controlling tendencies were chivalrous rather than misogynistic, back before sex had become merely a ploy to keep him happy, his anger at bay.
Even after all that, Daisy missed sex.
She didn’t know if that was normal or not, after what she’d been through. If someone had asked her years ago if, as an abused woman, she’d ever want to be touched again, she’d have guessed no.
And though she was certainly wary of men, she was also quite certain that with the right man, she’d relish the touch. Crave it.
Lincoln’s gaze came back to her, although it flicked back to the bed almost as quickly, and she wondered if he was experiencing the same dangerous thoughts that she was.
Wondered if he knew just how much she longed for him to be the man who taught her how to want again.
Who was she kidding?
He already had.
After her divorce, Daisy had kept the massive, expensive mattress, but she’d gotten rid of the cherrywood four-poster bed Gary had picked out and had ditched the heavy red bedspread her ex had insisted on. In its place was a simple platform bed with a gray tufted headboard and aqua-and-gray bedding, which she thought feminine, but not fussy.
“Hey!” she said, finally breaking the silence. Her voice came out too false, and too bright.
“You know, right, that you only have sappy movies? Is there a single non–romantic comedy?”
“You don’t like the classics?”
“Sure. Godfather. Rocky. Mighty Ducks.”
She laughed. “The Mighty Ducks is not a classic.”
“Is too. What’s your idea of a classic?”
She gave a happy sigh as she put in earrings. “Pretty in Pink. The Proposal. Oh, and of course Say Anything.”
“Say what?”
She gave him a look to call him out for the lame joke, but he missed it because he was staring at her bare legs.
“Sorry to intrude,” he said quietly. “I called out, you didn’t hear me. Kiwi showed me the way.”
“Not a problem,” she said as she ran a hand over the dog’s head. “What’s up?”
Instead of answering, his blue gaze raked over her, and she felt the tingle from head to toe.
“You look nice.”
Was it her imagination, or was his voice a little gruffer than usual?
Her feet were still bare, and she shifted, putting one foot on top of the other, feeling oddly vulnerable. “Thanks. I’m a little…nervous.”
He leaned one shoulder on the doorway and crossed his arms. “Yeah?”
Daisy shrugged. “I’ve been on dates since the divorce, but this one feels different.”
“How so?”
She licked her lips. “With the others, I think I knew nothing would happen—knew that I had no intention of giving the men a chance.”
His gaze seemed to darken. “But this one, you’re going for it?”
“Well, I don’t know,” she said with a little laugh. “I’ve talked to him for all of fifteen minutes, but I feel different somehow. Ready. Ready to move forward with my life.”
He swallowed, and she saw that damn sexy Adam’s apple bob.
Get it together, Daisy!
“I’m glad. Happy for you,” he said.
It wasn’t the answer she wanted. Damn it. She could no longer deny that whatever she felt for Lincoln Mathis was a hell of a lot more complicated than friendship.
She wanted him to say that he was ready too. That he wanted to be the one she moved forward with.
But he wasn’t. It was obvious in the way his arms were crossed protectively across his chest, his jaw tense. He liked her. Cared about her. But his heart belonged to someone else. Someone he’d lost.
“You needed something?” Daisy asked, bending to set a squirming Kiwi on the ground, only to have to pick up the dog once more when it became clear she wanted up on the bed and couldn’t get there on her own.
“You don’t have to let my dog on your furniture, Wallflower.”
She shrugged as the white ball of fluff found her usual spot, curled on Daisy’s pillow. “I don’t mind. I’ve been thinking of getting a dog, actually. Maybe a cat. So that when you leave, it’s not so lonely.”
Her head whipped around as she realized what she’d said. “I didn’t mean—I mean, of course you’re leaving, I didn’t mean to guilt trip—”
“I didn’t take it that way,” he said, shoving off the doorjamb with his shoulder, coming into the room uninvited. Or maybe the invitation was written all over her face. She didn’t even know anymore. But she was tingling.
Why was she tingling?
“By all means, get a cat or a dog, but you deserve more than that,” he said quietly as he walked toward her. “Give this guy a chance. Promise me.”
She laughed nervously as he came nearer. “Didn’t I already say that was what I was going to do?”
“I heard what you said. I need you to mean it. For my own peace of mind.”
She looked into his eyes and read the subtext that he was
n’t saying. Give yourself a chance with this guy, because you don’t have one with me. Don’t wait for me.
To ward off the stab of pain, she glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “Oh my gosh, is that the time!” She turned toward her closet. “I need shoes. Lipstick. Do you think red, or pink, I can’t decide—”
Lincoln reached for her, strong fingers wrapping around her elbow, and she stilled, her heart in her throat, and started to turn back toward him.
His fingers tightened, preventing her from turning, even as he stepped closer. “Your zipper.”
“Oh,” she said, a little breathless. “Right. One of the perils of single life. It can be done, you just have to like, stretch first, and—”
“I’ve got it.”
Daisy’s eyes closed as she felt the brush of his fingers at the base of her spine. He stepped even closer as he slowly dragged the tab upward.
He paused at the middle of her back, and Daisy’s eyes flew open as she felt the brush of his thumb over the back clasp of her bra. In a desperate attempt to feel pretty and desirable, she’d pulled one of her fancy bras out of the back of her drawer. It was pale pink satin overlaid with black lace.
“Are all your bras this sexy?”
His voice as low as she’d ever heard it.
How to answer?
She shook her head. “It’s sort of a…date bra.”
“Ah.”
For a second, she thought he’d leave it at that, continue guiding the zipper on its ascent. Instead she felt the brush of his thumb again, this time a bit lower, tracing the skin of her back, just below the strap.
“So it’s that kind of date. The kind with an afterparty.”
“Well now, I don’t know that I’m that kind of girl,” she said, drawing out her accent in an attempt to infuse a little humor into the tension-filled moment.
He said nothing, his finger brushing again, both commanding and feather-light.
“What did your research tell you?” she asked, trying again for levity. Anything to stop the stab of want that threatened to make her knees buckle. “Do we Southern girls put out after the first date?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“The guy. The girl.”
“Well, this girl is undecided,” she said sassily. Except it didn’t come out sassy. It came out breathy. Sexy.
She tried again for levity, a bit desperately. “But should it go well, I wouldn’t want to be caught in my uglies, now would I?”
“You say that as though I’ve spent a fair amount of time thinking about your underwear.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I have,” he interrupted, his voice a low growl as his thumb moved lower, tracing along her spine. “I’ve been thinking about things I shouldn’t.”
Her eyes closed again, and she started to turn, but his fingers spread wide on her back, firmly keeping her faced away from him.
His hand slid up, gently pushing her hair over one shoulder, leaving her neck bare. “I’m no good for you, Daisy. No good for any woman, not now. But if I were—”
“Lincoln—”
“But if I were…” he said, his voice low and harsh, talking over her. “If I were, I’d press my lips here.”
His fingers brushed the back of her neck, and she shivered.
“I’d kiss you here, and then move around to the side of your neck. Find out if you like being kissed there.”
I do.
“I’m torn on what I’d do next,” he said. “Torn between sliding my hand down here.” His finger brushed against the clasp of her bra once more. “Unfastening this, because pretty as the bra is, naked is always better.”
“Or maybe—” His breath was ragged. “Maybe instead, I’d push the dress forward, baring your shoulders. And I’d turn you toward me. See if the bra’s as pretty in front as it is in back. Seeing if your body’s as pretty as your face, but I’m damn well sure it is.”
Do it, she wanted to beg. Turn me. Take me.
“But if I did that…” he said, his fingers trailing along her side until his hands spanned her waist. “If I did that, then I’d have to kiss you. And I can’t kiss you, Daisy.”
“Why not?” she managed in a whisper.
“Because I won’t stop there. I’d push you to the bed, and take until you had nothing left to give.”
“And if I said I wanted that?”
He whispered, “Don’t.”
“Why?”
She tried to turn, but his hands held her firm, fingers digging against her hip bones. “Because I have nothing to give back, Daisy. Oh, I’d give you pleasure. We’d give each other that. But I’d take absolutely everything—I’d fucking consume you. You’d want something in return, and I’d have nothing. I’m hollow inside, and you deserve so much more.”
“Lincoln, please. We can take it slow, just one step at a time, see where it goes. I’m not looking for—”
“Yeah, you are, Daisy. You want it all. You want the dating and the romance and the courtship. The proposal, the engagement party, the marriage, the kind you dreamed about and didn’t get the first time around. You want all that, and you deserve all that. But I’m not your guy.”
“Why?” she said, a little stubbornly. “You wanted it all once.”
“Yeah.” His voice was curt. “I did. I wanted it so damn bad, and then it was ripped away. And not all at once, no clean head shot. It was like being maimed, having one piece of your heart torn out bit by bit, stretched out over fucking years.”
Her heart hurt for him. It did, but…
“If I did it, Wallflower, if I felt that way again, it would be about someone like you.”
Her eyes watered, and she tried to turn, and once again he held her firm. “But I can’t. I’m not risking it all. Not even for you.”
His hands slid away from her waist as he found the zipper tab once more, pulling it up with a quick efficient rasp before stepping back.
She felt his absence acutely, and then gathering her courage, she turned, prepared to fight him. Prepared to fight for him.
But she saw only his back, and then he was gone.
Kiwi stirred, sitting up on the pillow and staring after her master. She gave Daisy a forlorn look, as though torn. Long-term loyalty won out, and the little dog hopped down from the bed to trot after Lincoln.
Kiwi at least turned back, giving Daisy a regretful look before she too disappeared, leaving Daisy as she always was these days.
Alone.
Chapter 23
Damn you, Lincoln.
The date could have been a good one. Would have been a good one had Lincoln not, just minutes before she had to leave to meet Dan, verbally sexed her up and then brutally outlined all the ways she’d never hold his heart.
Daisy had made it through the date. It had been an odd mixture of tolerable and miserable.
Dan was a nice guy. A gentleman. He’d asked questions, been polite, been interesting. Any other day, in any other circumstance, she would have said yes to a second date.
But as they’d waited for the valet to bring their respective cars around, Dan had asked if he could call her again, and Daisy had had to tell him no.
That she was still reeling from her divorce, and she was so sorry to have wasted his time.
It was a white lie. She was reeling, but not from that bastard Gary.
The second Daisy pulled into her driveway, even before she saw that the guesthouse was dark and that his car wasn’t there, she felt it.
Lincoln was gone.
Numbly, she pulled the car into the garage and then walked into the kitchen. For the past two weeks, it had been her favorite room in the house. The place where she and Lincoln shared morning coffee, and breakfast, and the occasional afternoon happy hour.
But when she flicked on the light, there was no Lincoln sitting at the counter, waiting to tease her about her date.
There was no Kiwi jumping all over her shins, demanding affection.
Ther
e was, however, a note.
Daisy walked slowly to the counter, her heels echoing in the lonely room, as she set her clutch aside and reached for the basic yellow legal pad where he’d written his good-bye.
Daisy—
Went to visit my parents in Florida for a few days before I head back to New York. I’m sorry I didn’t wait to say good-bye in person, but it’s better this way. Trust me on this.
You’ll think me a coward, and maybe I am, but I’m also a man. A man who cares for a woman more than he knows what to do with.
I’m not asking you to wait—I don’t know that I’ll ever be what you need—but I am asking you to be happy. I need you to be happy, Daisy.
Until we meet again, Wallflower, and I sincerely hope we do,
Lincoln
Daisy read it twice, then a third time, before slowly crumpling the note with one fist.
He wanted her to be happy? She would be.
And maybe he had been right about her being a wallflower, but she was past that now. No more waiting on the sidelines for life to happen to her, waiting for some man to deem her worthy.
Daisy Sinclair was ready to take her life back. With or without Lincoln Mathis.
Part III
Chapter 24
ONE MONTH LATER
Lincoln considered himself a pretty affable guy. Not particularly territorial. But when he walked into his office after nearly two months away from Oxford—more than half of that unplanned—the last thing he wanted to see was another man in his office, behind his desk.
His office. His desk.
The other man glanced up. Not smiling, but not unfriendly either. “Hey. You must be Lincoln. I’m Nick Ballantine.”
“I know who you are.”
The other man was a good-looking dude. Dark hair, just a little bit long. Dark brown eyes, olive skin with a couple days’ scruff.
The corner of the other man’s mouth hitched up in a half smile. “I’m on your turf. I get it. Just clearing my shit out. Would have done it Friday, wasn’t expecting you in so early. Don’t worry, I didn’t piss on anything to stake my claim. It’s still all you in here.”
