Author: Lauren Layne (Page 4 of 11)

Synopsis:

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.

Review:

Lauren Layne has done many things since I began reading her books, and it’s nothing short of impressive. I’ve followed her through almost everything, I’d say, and she has never failed to produce a book that makes me smile. But, on the flip side of that, she’s only ever once brought tears to my eyes-whether from cruelty like in Good Girl, or from happiness in, well, many of her novels. But never once has she brought me to choking, knot in the throat tears…until now. Let me preface this short review by saying that my heart is in the worst shape its ever probably been in, emotional wise. I won’t get into the details, because I don’t think I’m strong enough to type it out for a bunch of people I barely know so soon. But, just know, I have not been myself since November 1st, and I really don’t know when I’ll be my happy go lucky self again. I miss being carefree…life seemed so much simpler, lighter. And, even with 4 long months of morning sickness, nothing has compared to the heartache I feel now-That was nothing. I’ll stop here, lest I begin to cry at my desk, but just know that this review isn’t easy for me, nor was the content of this story. Maybe this was a five star read, maybe in a different time I’d have gobbled this up without any reservations…but, as it is, my heart is guarded and I didn’t let myself fully immerse the whole time, because I quite frankly can’t take that kind of emotion, at the moment. And that’s not the book’s fault, it’s mine. So, anyway, my point is, I am rating this four stars, but the content is by far heavier than anything I could handle, so my rating may not be what it normally would.

In response, Cole ambled over to the counter, picked up the eggroll, took an enormous bite, and knelt to offer the rest to Kiwi, who wagged happily. “There you go, baby. Who’s your favorite uncle now?”
“It should be me,” Mitchell grumbled as he helped himself to a beer from Lincoln’s fridge. “I’m the one that took her to do her business. Lincoln, you know they make crap bags in colors other than pink and purple.”

So, anyway. This book isn’t what you’d normally expect from LL, and that’s most likely a good thing. The depth here is astounding, and whether you can relate or not (I imagine most can’t), there is something tangible here that will resonate deeply within you and make you feel deeper than perhaps you ever have before in an LL novel. It’s not all rainbows and butterflies, its life and lessons and learning and doing what you can to get by-Now hey, this? This I can relate to-that endless blur of each passing day, just doing your best not to crumble to the floor and leave your heart in pieces for everyone to see.

Daisy put a hand over her heart. “You wound me. Say Anything. I’m due for a rewatch. You could come.”
Emma made a gagging motion. “Pass.” “Oh come on. I don’t know how twenty-two-year-old John Cusack didn’t steal your heart in that scene.”
“Um, no. Nothing against the actor, but any guy holding a boom box outside my bedroom at dawn is going to get a swift kick to the balls. And I don’t know how you can possibly find it romantic. You’re the least morning person I know.”

I was truly shocked with the direction this took, but humbled in a way that was grounding. My only complaint stems from the ‘three months later,’ and ‘two weeks later’ stuff. I’ve never been a huge fan of that, but I did understand the need not to dwell on current circumstances the whole novel. But perhaps one or two times less of this happening would have helped the book seem less like we were on fast forward so much.

“This is where you’re supposed to tell me I’m not broken,” she said, nudging his arm with hers.
He took a sip of beer. “Well, shit. I’m not sure I’m the person to know what’s broken and what’s not. I’ll tell you this though . . . nothing wrong with being confused.”

This was a good mix of hero and heroine, an extremely good pairing. Emma’s sister is the heroine, and I really liked her personality-Of course, I loved Emma so this completely makes sense. She and Lincoln were absolutely adorable together and I enjoyed their relationship-She has her own past she is trying to forget and he is stuck in his own whirlwind of emotions. You can see they are both broken in different ways, but by both of them having issues, its easier (if anything like this can be easy) to deal with it together-it almost makes them whole. My only issue with the relationship is probably Lincoln…but how could I possibly gauge that with this special circumstance? I don’t think it is possible. Again, I’m sorry I’m not my happy go lucky self, but I can’t be any other way. Lincoln was a wonderful hero who deserved the best story he could get, and I think LL nailed a diverse range of emotions in a very short span of a book-that’s hard to do. We’ve all been waiting forever to find out his big secret, and now that we will know, it’s certainly worth the wait-well…you know what I mean. I hope everyone finds something to love in this story, because we not only have a new heroine that is hard not to love, but we get the whole crew again…and it’s like coming home.

Buy Now:

Amazon | B & N | Google | iTunes | Kobo

Excerpt:

[scroll-box]“Lincoln, you know that I love you like a brother, but if you make a move on my sister, I will end you.”
Lincoln Mathis took a slow sip of his cocktail as he studied the fierce bride-to-be. “I hope Cassidy knows how lucky he is. You’re so delicate and gentle.”
Emma Sinclair, soon to be Emma Cassidy as of this time tomorrow, lifted one elegantly manicured fingernail and flicked his chest. “Promise, Lincoln. No hitting on Daisy.”
“I don’t hit on women.”
Emma gave him a look.
He held up his free hand in surrender. “I don’t. They come to me. I’m like the stamen.”
Emma stared at him with wide, slightly accusatory brown eyes. “The what?”
“The stamen. The pollen-producing part of a flower, Sinclair. Don’t you watch the Discovery Channel? Animal Planet? I just saw a fascinating documentary on bees. See, when the bees land on a flower, their little feet pick up pollen from the stamen— “
“Mathis. Are you talking to my fiancée about semen?” Alex Cassidy asked, coming up beside Emma and setting a possessive hand on her waist.
“Stamen,” Lincoln clarified. “Not semen. Honestly, is sex all you people think about?”
“Yes.” This came from Riley Compton, a brunette bombshell whose status as New York’s foremost “sexpert” meant she had zero qualms about discussing sex at her best friend’s rehearsal dinner. “And you know, actually, the stamen is rather sexual. I saw that bee documentary too, because these are the sort of things you do when you’re nursing a never-satisfied baby, by the way, and the stamen is a flower’s male reproductive organ. Sexy, right?”
Emma inserted the arm not holding her champagne flute between the two of them. “Guys, it’s my wedding weekend. Can we not talk about flower boners?”
“Fair enough, Bride,” Lincoln said. “What do you want to talk about? Cassidy’s boner?”
Alex Cassidy choked into his champagne.
“There will be no boner discussion,” Emma said. “Lincoln and I were just having a chat about how Lincoln will be maintaining his distance from my sister.”
“Speaking of flowers, where is Daisy?” Riley asked, scanning the room.
“Running late. Knowing my sister, her dress had a slight crease from the suitcase, and she won’t make an appearance until every wrinkle’s banished, every hair’s in place, and there’s not a speck of lint anywhere.”
“Gosh, however will I keep my hands to myself?” Lincoln muttered.
“Lincoln, I swear to God—”
“He’s messing with you, Em,” Cassidy said, carefully tugging his fiancée away from Lincoln. “Don’t let him press your buttons. And Lincoln, man, what is with that drink?”
Lincoln glanced down. “It’s called a Jasmine. Gin, lemon, some Campari—”
“It’s pink,” Cassidy observed.
“Right? You want one?”
Cassidy rolled his eyes. “I’ll stick with wine, thanks. Ah shit, there’s my grandma waving us over. Emma, you up for talk about the state of your uterus?”
Emma groaned. “Oh no. I thought she’d agreed to wait until after the wedding to talk about my eggs.”
“I’ll go with you,” Riley said. “As the only one in our little group of friends who’s ever pushed a human skull out my—”
“Okay, I’m going to expand my taboo list,” Emma said. “No talking about boners, flowers, or vaginas.”
“Fine,” Riley said, as she entwined her arm in Emma’s and started leading her toward Cassidy’s grandma. “But if Grams starts talking about fertility, just follow my lead . . . ”
Lincoln smiled as he watched his friends walk away. He could follow, certainly, help run interference, but new mom Riley was a far better choice for this particular bridal-party duty.
Besides, as best man, Lincoln had enough to worry about. The ring, reconfirming transportation to the church tomorrow, the speech that he was going to slay tomorrow, the—
Lincoln’s best man to-do list scattered as his eyes landed on a woman standing in the doorway to the private event room. He did a double take. When had Emma found time to change? Generally speaking, he didn’t consider himself particularly in tune with his friends’ clothes. Especially the women, because, well . . . he didn’t really give a crap. But he was pretty damn sure Emma had been wearing a white dress just ten seconds ago.
Now she was wearing a short yellow dress, with fussy, flowy sleeves, high-necked and a bit demure—
No, not demure, Lincoln amended as she turned. Hot. The dress was backless, showing a smooth expanse of lightly tanned skin from the small of her back all the way up to long dark blond hair.
. . . Blond hair.
Emma had shoulder-length brown hair. A wardrobe swap, he might be able to buy, but the hair?
You idiot.
He was looking at none other than Daisy Sinclair, the forbidden fruit, in the flesh.
He’d forgotten that Daisy wasn’t just Emma’s sister—she was Emma’s identical twin.
Other than the fact that she was, apparently, not to be hit on, Lincoln didn’t know much about her.
Well, he supposed he now knew that she dyed her hair blond.
Or maybe Emma dyed hers brown?
Whatever. Girl stuff he didn’t care about one way or the other.
And yet he didn’t look away, captivated somehow. He racked his brain for everything he’d heard about Daisy Sinclair.
He knew that she and Emma had grown up in North Carolina. But Emma left for New York City shortly after college, and Daisy had stayed. He thought he remembered talk of a recent divorce, although he didn’t recall the details.
Didn’t need to, really. Lincoln knew better than anyone that not all relationships had happy endings.
Lincoln watched as Daisy hesitated just inside the doorway, unnoticed yet by the rest of the bridal party and out-of-town guests.
Making people comfortable was a particular skill of his. Normally he’d be over there in a heartbeat with a glass of wine and some of his best banter until her shoulders relaxed and he’d coaxed a smile from her pretty face.
But he wasn’t entirely convinced Emma wouldn’t make good on her castration threats, so instead Lincoln merely studied Daisy. The woman was beautiful. No surprise there, since Emma was gorgeous. Yet, though their features were identical, they were attractive in entirely different ways.
Emma was all polished confidence, stunning in an untouchable sort of way.
Daisy was softer somehow. Gentler. She seemed . . . touchable.
Lincoln’s cocktail froze on its way to his mouth as the forbidden rocked him back on his heels. Daisy Sinclair was not for him to touch for reasons that had nothing to do with Emma’s threats.
As though sensing a man’s brooding thoughts on her, Daisy turned slightly, her eyes locking on his. Eyes that he’d known would be dark brown like Emma’s, and yet eye contact with Emma had never felt like this.
Lincoln felt something akin to panic, because for a heart-stopping moment, it felt like Daisy Sinclair was seeing him. Not seeing the Lincoln he wanted everyone to see.
The real him.
He gave himself a little mental shake. Get it together, Mathis. The woman doesn’t even know you.
None of them did.
Not really.
He saw the moment of answering shock in her own gaze, sensed that for a split second, she considered turning and running. From him, from the party, all of it.
Then he saw something else. Something familiar, because he’d done it a thousand times himself. She squared her shoulders, and he watched as a mask slid into place.
He knew even before she approached that Daisy was exactly like him—good at being around people only because she chose to be. Knew that perhaps once it had been second nature, and now it was nothing but a deliberate attempt to make sure everyone thought she was okay.
Daisy began making her way toward him, and he tensed for reasons he couldn’t identify before ordering himself to chill out.
It was just his friend’s sister. The maid of honor to his best man.
She stopped in front of him, and he caught just the faintest whiff of her perfume, a surprisingly elegant scent for someone named Daisy, before she extended her hand.
“You must be Lincoln Mathis, The Manwhore of Whom I Should Beware?”
Her voice was a surprise. It had the same low huskiness as her sister’s, but years in New York had all but erased the Southern from Emma’s whiskey-raspy voice. Daisy’s drawl was very much intact—a mint julep on a hot day.
He grinned and took her smaller hand in his. “Which would make you Daisy Sinclair, Delicate Flower to Whom I’m Not to Speak.”
She grinned. “Nailed it.”
[/scroll-box]

About Lauren Layne:

Lauren Layne is the USA Today bestselling author of more than a dozen romantic comedies. She lives in New York City with her husband (who was her high school sweetheart–cute, right?!) and plus-sized Pomeranian.
In 2011, she ditched her corporate career in Seattle to pursue a full-time writing career in Manhattan, and never looked back.
In her ideal world, every stiletto-wearing, Kate Spade wielding woman would carry a Kindle stocked with Lauren Layne books.
For a list of all her works, please be sure to check out her official website!

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Instagram

Giveaway:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

And click here to follow the rest of the blast!

Save