Someone Like You

Someone Like You

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NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • Lauren Layne’s bestselling Oxford Series continues with the poignant, heartwarming story of New York’s most eligible bachelor, Lincoln Mathis, a man who’s living a lie—until his dream woman takes away the pain.

Lincoln Mathis doesn’t hide his reputation as Manhattan’s ultimate playboy. In fact, he cultivates it. But behind every flirtatious smile, each provocative quip, there’s a secret that Lincoln’s hiding from even his closest friends—a tragedy from his past that holds his heart quietly captive. Lincoln knows what he wants: someone like Daisy Sinclair, the sassy, off-limits bridesmaid he can’t take his eyes off at his best friend’s wedding. He also knows that she’s everything he can never have.

After a devastating divorce, Daisy doesn’t need anyone to warn her off the charming best man at her sister’s wedding. One look at the breathtakingly hot Lincoln Mathis and she knows that he’s exactly the type of man she should avoid. But when Daisy stumbles upon Lincoln’s secret, she realizes there’s more to the charming playboy than meets the eye. And suddenly Daisy and Lincoln find their lives helplessly entwined in a journey that will either heal their damaged souls . . . or destroy them forever.

One-Liners
  • Manhattan's most eligible bachelor has a secret.
Accolades
  • A New York Times bestseller
  • A USA TODAY bestseller
  • An Amazon Best Book of the Month

“Lincoln and Daisy’s tale is expertly crafted, full of wit and heart. Layne is equally adept at writing heartbreaking portrayals of grief and scenes of steamy passion that will get hearts racing. Exemplary contemporary romance.”Library Journal

l“Fun and flirty, sassy and steamy, with a deep emotional pull that will keep you turning the pages.”—Kelly Jamieson, author of Top Shelf

“An unsung hero with a story that touched my heart. Emotional and gripping. A top favorite of 2016 for me.”New York Times bestselling author Melanie Moreland

“I turned the last page of Someone Like You, already looking out for the next installment in the Oxford series.”—The Romance Reviews

“This is why so many of us read romances, aside from the the assurance of a happily ever after for the characters. We want to see love allowing someone to abandon their defenses and be their most unfiltered self and still feel acceptance.”—All About Romance

“The storyline for Someone Like You was ingenious and well constructed. Written from a third person POV, this friends-to-lovers story squeezed my heart.”—Books and Bindings

“I love Lauren Layne’s books and this series is one of my favorites.”—Majorly Delicious

 “I absolutely enjoyed this one, and couldn’t be more pleased with the way things turned out. Well worth the wait.”—I Love Book Love 

“Someone Like You is a slow-burn, second-chance, friends-to-lovers romance all rolled into one and also very raw and emotionally gutting. Someone Like You is filed under my Rereading in 3, 2, 1… list, is my new [Lauren Layne] fave and is under Top Faves of 2016.”—The Reading Belles

“I really enjoyed this funny, emotional story and I kept reading to find out what Lincoln would do next.”—Cocktails and Books 

“I would highly recommend Someone Like You by Lauren Layne if you enjoy the forbidden romance trope or a hero and heroine that desperately need each other to help them heal from the hurts of their pasts.”—Harlequin Junkie

“There’s not a book Lauren Layne can write that I won’t read. Because she’s able to explore themes that don’t feel redundant and overexploited. It’s how she can weave a narrative that grabs me from the first page and holds my attention until her next book releases. Someone Like You is another ‘winner, winner, chicken dinner,’ and I’ve been waiting a long time for Lincoln’s story, so thank you Ms. Layne for finally writing and releasing it!”—Heroes and Heartbreakers

“I would recommend this book to everyone. If you are a fan of Lauren Layne’s or this series, this is a book you don’t want to miss! It’s a must-read!”—Book Bitches Blog

Excerpts

He was silent a moment too long, and Daisy gave him a considering look.

“We don’t have to do this,” she said. “I can go back inside. Give you some space.”

Don’t leave me.

The thought came out of nowhere, and he frowned. What was wrong with him? She’d given him the perfect out, and he . . .

He wasn’t going to take it. He didn’t want to dwell on his melancholy. There’d be plenty of time for that tomorrow.

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.”

“Yeah. Yeah, see, I figured you understood. That’s the thing about you, Daisy, you seem to understand everything.”

She wrinkled her nose in puzzlement. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Not a bad thing, no.” He looked away, then back again. “But it’s the reason I had to pull back.”

“Because I understood things?”

“No, because you understand me. And it’s been a long time since anyone has.”

“You okay?” she asked, studying him over the rim of her drink.

He opened his mouth to make some sort of lighthearted quip, but then, as it did so often around her, the truth slipped out. “Sometimes I wish I liked you less, Wallflower.”

“Why’s that?”

Because then I could put my hands all over you, rip the Band-Aid off two years of celibacy, and we could both walk away from this unscathed.

He ordered himself to release her and step back, but his hands didn’t move. Very slowly, her gaze traveled upward from the knot of his tie, and the second her warm brown eyes locked with his, he felt a surge of want so fierce it nearly took his breath away.

Let her go. Let. Her. Go.

Instead his hands tugged her closer, his head dipping down.

Daisy gasped and pulled back.

He released her, although it seemed to take a split second longer than it should for his fingers to obey his brain.

“Hey babe.”

Daisy blinked. Babe?

Then he was moving toward her, digging the keys out of his jeans pocket as he hit the button to pop the trunk. Before she could register his intent, he slipped a hand around her back, brushing his lips against hers.

They both froze.

The kiss was meant to be casual and fake—part of the role he was playing, she knew that. Knew that he did too.

But there was nothing casual or fake about the electricity between them. His eyes searched hers, looking as bewildered and frustrated as she felt.

She looked into his eyes and read the subtext that he wasn’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.

She looked into his eyes and read the subtext that he wasn’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.

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.”

“I think you’re lying,” he said, his other hand coming up to rest gently against her neck, his eyes tracking the movement of his thumb along her jaw.

“All right, I’ll play,” she said. “Why do you think I came to New York?”

Lincoln’s eyes flicked up to hers. “I think you came for this.”

And then, for the first time in nearly three years, Lincoln dipped his head and kissed a woman like he meant it.