by Lauren Layne
It was her new bed, her sleepy brain registered. The one she’d recently purchased after her move to New York…
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, giving Daisy’s chin a quick lick before hopping down to go to her own pink bed in the corner of the room.
Daisy realized a couple of things all at once:
(1) There’d been a dog in bed with her. A tiny Maltese.
(2) The bedspread was gray instead of white, the alarm clock on the left nightstand instead of the right…
Because…(3) She wasn’t in her room.
A quick glance down showed she was in a man’s undershirt; a peek under the cover showed she was wearing nothing but pale blue panties.
There was a stirring beside her. A man.
Daisy smiled as the sleep-fog receded completely. Same bed as she’d woken up in once before, but entirely different circumstances.
For starters, there was no hangover. She and Lincoln had gone out to dinner the night before and had a couple of glasses of wine, but no copious amounts of Jack Daniel’s knocked back like it was water.
And while she was wearing a man’s undershirt, there were no boxers this time.
There definitely hadn’t been a Britney Spears striptease, although not from Lincoln’s lack of pleading.
The most important distinction, however…
Daisy rolled onto her side, smiling at the sleeping man next to her. As one might expect, Lincoln was every bit as handsome asleep as awake. In fact, sometimes it was these quiet moments she liked the best. The moments she felt like she had him all to herself.
He stirred, shoving the covers further down his body. She’d learned he ran hot when he slept, kicking off the sheets more often than not.
Daisy watched appreciatively as his sculpted chest came into view, although unfortunately he stilled when he got the blankets down to his waist. Something else Daisy had learned…Lincoln liked to sleep naked.
She slid closer to him until she could set a hand possessively over his chest. He stirred a little, putting his warm hand over hers, but he didn’t wake.
Daisy bit her lip, feeling…inspired.
Easing her hand from under his, she slid her hand over his stomach until her fingers hooked into the sheet, easing it all the way down.
She smiled in triumph. God bless morning wood.
Her gaze went back to his face as she slowly wrapped her fingers around his warm erection. Lincoln stilled, his back arching just slightly at her touch as though reaching for more.
She gave it to him, her thumb rubbing over the smooth tip of his cock. His eyes remained closed, but his breathing quickened as though he was enjoying a dirty dream.
Daisy decided to make the dirty dream a reality.
She sat back slightly, tugging the borrowed shirt over her head and tossing it aside before moving back to his side, easing down his body. She shifted onto her knees for better leverage, bending over him until she could put her mouth on him.
Daisy had done this to him only once before, and she’d felt shy. But with him still asleep, or at least in some dreamlike state, she felt emboldened.
She experimented, licking up and down with leisurely strokes, before taking him all the way in, as deep as she could.
For all Daisy knew, he’d been awake all along, but when his fingers tangled in her hair, her name on his lips, she knew he was all the way awake.
She turned her head just slightly so out of the corner of her eye, she could look up his body with his cock still in her mouth. His eyes were hazy with sleep and desire as he lifted his hips, pushing himself deeper.
Daisy sucked harder, her tongue rolling over him, and he let out a tortured groan.
The hand not gripping her hair skimmed over her back, down over her backside until his fingers brushed against the damp front of her underwear. His nimble long fingers snuck under the elastic, and Daisy moaned around him as he slicked a finger into her from behind.
It was a delicious challenge, trying not to let his stroking fingers distract her from what she’d started. It shifted into a sexually charged game, a race to see who could bring the other to completion first.
And though his fingers were skilled as they tortured her, she’d had a head start. She felt a thrill of victory as he tensed beneath her.
Daisy moved her mouth faster as his fingers tightened in her hair, his other hand pulling out of her underwear to grasp her butt, his fingers digging desperately into the flesh as he exploded with her mouth in a low roar.
She waited until he’d stilled before pulling away and sitting back on her heels.
He was gazing at her with a look of exasperation and affection. “Proud of yourself, are you?”
Daisy couldn’t help the grin. “I won.”
“Wasn’t a game.”
“Says the guy who lost.”
In a second he had her flat on her back in the middle of the bed; in the next he’d ripped her panties aside and maneuvered his big body between her legs, his mouth covering her warm core in an intimate kiss.
He looked up her body as he licked, the flick of his tongue wicked and relentless as he lapped at her clit. Daisy’s hands came down to his head, the combination of his early fingering, the thrill of her seduction, and the wet touch of his tongue sending her over the edge in under a minute.
Lincoln held her against his mouth as she bucked in helpless waves of pleasure, releasing her only when the last shock wave had dissipated.
When she opened her eyes, he was smiling down at her. Daisy gave him a look. “Now who’s gloating?”
“That’s one game I’m happy to take second place in,” he said with a wink, before kissing her nose, and rolling off her and planting his feet on the floor.
“Where are you going?” Daisy asked, watching as he went to the dresser and pulled on a pair of athletic shorts and a T-shirt.
“You cook breakfast for me when I stay over. I thought I’d go pick up something when you stay over.”
“Yeah, because that’s an even trade,” she said with a smile.
“Hold that sass until you taste this croissant with egg and Gruyère sandwich from around the street,” he said, pointing a warning finger at her. “It’ll blow your mind.”
“I thought you just did that.”
“Cheeky this morning,” he said as he headed out into the living room. “I like that.”
“Does Kiwi need to go out?” she called after him.
“She’d love you forever if you took her,” Lincoln called back. “Extra keys by the door for you to get back in.”
The front door slammed, and Daisy leaned over the side of the bed to pet Kiwi. “You’ll love me forever if I take you for a walk, huh? Any ideas on what it would take to make your daddy love me forever?”
The little dog looked up at her with sympathetic brown eyes.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Daisy said with a sigh. “Come on then. Let’s go get our hair all pretty before we face the world, hmm?”
Five minutes later, Daisy’s teeth were brushed, her hair was pulled into a reasonably tidy low bun, Kiwi was wearing a green bow to match her namesake, and Daisy was clipping on the dog’s leash.
“You know, normally I have full respect for basic black, but I’m not feeling this black nylon leash for you,” Daisy told the dog.
She suspected that as much as Lincoln loved his sugary drinks and flirting, he drew the line about walking around Manhattan with a pink leash. But Daisy was betting she could talk him into a nice, non-gender-specific lime green.
They walked around the block, Kiwi doing her business immediately before slowing her pace and sniffing every leaf and fire hydrant. Daisy didn’t mind. It was a gorgeous morning, early enough on a Sunday so she felt she had the city to herself.
New York was growing on her. Not
that she’d ever disliked it, but there was a huge difference between tourist and resident when it came to NYC. It was almost like a veil lifted as soon as you changed your mailing address, and you saw the city as it really was—somehow both humbling and spectacular.
For most of the walk, Daisy had been the one leading while Kiwi hung back, peeing on discarded hot dog wrappers, but as they approached Lincoln’s building, the little dog gave a happy bark and charged forward.
Since the dog wasn’t particularly fond of strangers, Daisy looked up with a smile, expecting to see Lincoln back with breakfast.
Her smile froze.
It wasn’t Lincoln’s shins that Daisy was jumping all over. It wasn’t Lincoln who let out a delighted gasp before bending down to pick up the squirming dog and showering her with unabashed kisses.
It was Brenda Lyons.
That’s why Kiwi knew the woman. It was Katie’s mom. If dogs had grandmas, this was hers, and oh God.
Here was Daisy walking her granddog, wearing Lincoln’s sweatshirt.
As with the first time Daisy met her, the woman was perfectly dressed, her white-and-blond bob tidy, her lipstick perfectly in place.
Daisy’s smile stayed plastered on her face as Brenda studied her, her gaze puzzled as she tried to place how she knew Daisy, and then stunned when the pieces clicked into place.
Daisy swallowed and thanked her long-gone mama for making manners as natural as breathing, because somehow she managed to step forward and extend her hand. “Mrs. Lyons. Lovely to see you again.”
Brenda shifted Kiwi to her left arm and shook Daisy’s hand, but she didn’t say a single word, and it was horrible.
Daisy’s mind raced with how to fill the silence. In the end, there was really only one thing to say: the most important.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said.
Brenda inhaled long and slow through her nose before bending down and placing Kiwi back on the ground. “Lincoln, is he…?”
“Getting breakfast,” Daisy said. There was no point in pretending this was anything other than what it was. Daisy was wearing Lincoln’s clothes, walking his dog, outside of his apartment, at seven A.M. on a Sunday.
“I should have called,” Brenda said a bit stiffly. “I thought…and I got to thinking about him. Didn’t want him to be alone, in case he was struggling like I’m struggling…”
The woman’s voice broke off, her eyes filled with tears, and Daisy instinctively stepped forward to comfort her.
Brenda Lyons reared back. “Don’t. Please.”
“I’m so sorry,” Daisy said helplessly. “Lincoln will be back any minute. I’ll make myself scarce and you can talk, and—”
“No,” Brenda said, gathering herself as she dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “I should go. Please tell him I was here, and I’ll be sure to make sure he’s free next time I pop into the city.”
Subtext: I’ll make sure he’s not fresh out of bed with some hussy.
“Please, Mrs. Lyons. I know how hard this must be. You stay, I’ll leave, and—”
“Kiwi used to be Katie’s dog. Did he ever tell you that?” Brenda asked.
Daisy swallowed and forced a small smile. “Yes, he did.”
Brenda didn’t smile back. She merely stared back at Daisy with steady, tortured green eyes before nodding once and turning away.
Daisy resisted the urge to call out to her. Because she knew what Brenda Lyons had really wanted to say. Not just that Kiwi had once been Katie’s.
But that Lincoln had once been Katie’s too.
“You don’t need to worry,” Daisy whispered to the woman’s retreating back. “I think he still is.”
Chapter 31
Lincoln knew the second he walked back into his apartment that something was wrong. Kiwi was her usual ecstatic self, but the shell-shocked woman sitting on the couch was anything but ecstatic.
Daisy’s expression was pinched, her color pale, and her eyes unreadable. Even more alarming, she was dressed in last night’s clothes, which, considering that required wiggling into a tight green cocktail dress before eight on a Sunday morning, probably did not signal good things.
“You could have borrowed something,” he said with a forced smile as he set the bag and coffees on the counter.
“I did,” she said, not moving. “One of your Brown University sweatshirts.”
Lincoln made a conscious effort not to wince. He’d met Katie in college. It was nearly impossible to think of those days and not think of her.
“Your would-be mother-in-law saw me wearing it.”
This time there was no withholding the wince. Or the shock.
“Brenda’s here?” he asked, careful to keep his voice steady. “Where?”
“She left. Wouldn’t stay after she saw me walking the dog. Wearing your clothes.”
He closed his eyes. He’d been holding out hope that maybe Daisy had been able to explain things away, to convince Brenda that it wasn’t what she thought.
But of course, it was exactly what she thought. He had had a woman stay over at his apartment. Screwed her last night twice, and again this morning too.
“This is a fucking nightmare,” he said, rubbing his hands through his hair and pacing in a circle.
“Maybe it doesn’t have to be,” Daisy said, standing and coming to him. “Maybe you can call her, ask her to coffee. Explain things.”
“No, it’s too late for that,” Lincoln said, stepping back and away from Daisy’s outstretched hand. He ignored the pain in her eyes at his rejection. He couldn’t deal with it right now. “If it was just that she saw you walking Kiwi, I could probably call her later, play it off like you were watching Kiwi while I was out of town, but Katie and I both went to Brown, so the sweatshirt is a dead giveaway.”
“Hold up. Are you seriously suggesting that you’d tell her I was your dog walker if you thought you could get away with it?”
Daisy had gone very still, her mood shifting from hurt to angry.
He didn’t care. She didn’t get it. Nobody got it. He’d basically just shit on the memory of the love of his life, and her mother had witnessed the aftermath.
God, it hadn’t even been a year. Didn’t Katie deserve a year?
Hell, maybe Katie deserved a lifetime.
“What else do you want me to tell her, Daisy?” Lincoln exploded, anger mingling with despair. “That you woke me up with a blow job and I went to fetch a thank-you breakfast?”
“Is it just because it’s today that she came over?” Daisy said, her accent becoming more pronounced than ever, the way it did when she was angry but trying not to be.
“What’s the day have to do with it?” he said tiredly. “Sunday, Thursday, Tuesday, is there any good day to tell the woman that would be your mother-in-law that you’ve betrayed the daughter who’s been in the grave for less than six months by hooking up with someone else?”
“Hooking up,” she said with a little laugh. “That’s what we’re doing? And I only mentioned the timing of it because the last Sunday of every month is when you went to see Katie, and—”
Lincoln went still with shock a split second before anger took over. He clenched his hand before he could stop himself, wanting to drive his fist punishingly into the granite of his kitchen counter. He stopped himself just in time, but that didn’t stop the wave of surprise and anger.
He’d forgotten.
The last Sunday of every month.
Lincoln hadn’t even remembered. Because of her. Because Daisy had wiggled into his head, his life…maybe into his heart.
He couldn’t do this.
He had to pull back. For Katie’s sake. For his own.
Lincoln closed his eyes and fought for control. “I need you to leave, Daisy.”
And then he forced himself to open his eyes and look at her, because he owed her that, at least.
She didn’t look even a little bit surprised. She looked hollow, and maybe a little resigned, and that made it worse.
He wanted to look away, but he held her gaze, begging her to understand what he couldn’t make himself say out loud.
She understood.
Daisy’s face crumpled for half a second, and his heart broke.
But she recovered quickly, lifting her chin even as he watched her beautiful brown eyes water with tears. “Okay then. Okay.”
She walked stiffly toward the front door.
Every fiber of his being wanted to cry out for her to stay, but he held it together. Better to let her go now, like this, before either of them got into this thing any deeper.
At the last minute, she turned back and walked toward him. His heart pounded with fear and hope. Her heart was in her eyes, and he refused to acknowledge what he saw there.
Daisy lifted to her toes and brushed her lips softly against his. “Be happy. Please.”
It was a good-bye kiss.
But long after she’d walked out the door and closed it quietly behind her, he wondered if it had been more than that.
He knew Daisy Sinclair almost as well as he knew himself.
He was pretty damn sure that what she’d really just told him was that she loved him.
And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
Chapter 32
TWO WEEKS LATER
Daisy planted a smile on her face as she saw Emma approaching the table at the fancy Midtown restaurant where Daisy had made lunch reservations.
She stood and hugged her sister, noting the way Emma held on just a little bit longer than the usually nondemonstrative Emma usually would. Emma was worried about her—had been ever since the Sunday afternoon when Daisy had shown up at her front door and spent the rest of the day crying her eyes out after being summarily dumped by Lincoln.
But that was weeks ago, and Emma didn’t need to worry anymore.
Daisy was getting her act together. Not her heart. That was still in pieces. But the rest of her life was coming along pretty darn well.
