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.”

“And tell me, Daisy Sinclair,” he said, “why is it that you’ve been deemed off-limits?”

She batted her eyelashes, looking every bit the Southern belle she sounded like. “Isn’t it obvious? Divorced, damaged, and ever so fragile. You? Why is it that you’re to be avoided?”

Nicely done. Preempting assumptions by announcing them before anyone could speculate.

He leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice. “Consummate playboy, intriguingly unattainable, with just a dash of dangerous secrets.”

She leaned in, matching his low tone. “Sounds dreamy. Do you think we should tell Emma we’re running away together now or later?”

Lincoln would bet his 401k she was faking all this bold sassiness, but since he understood, he played along.

Lincoln pretended to think on her proposal. “Let’s wait until after we give our respective speeches at the reception tomorrow. Which, by the way, my speech is awesome, so sorry in advance for making you look bad.”

She slowly reached out and plucked his drink from his hand, holding his gaze as she took a sip, not flinching in the slightest at its bitter tartness. “I’m not worried. Rumor has it you got your best man gig in a game of paper football.”

“Hey, at least I had to work for it. All you did was share a womb.”

Daisy handed his drink back. Her fingers brushed his in the process, and Lincoln was a little surprised to realize that he noticed. Generally speaking, he didn’t let himself become aware of women, and it was annoying as hell to realize how aware he was of this one.

“Bet I can get more people crying than you tomorrow,” she said.

“Their tears are all yours to be manipulated. I’ll be playing the laugh angle.”

She pursed her lips and nodded appreciatively. “Hiding your private pain behind jokes. Nice.”

“Directing conversation to someone else’s private pain to avoid your own,” he countered. “Nice.”

She smiled, slow and genuine, her brown eyes lifting to his. “I think we’re going to get along just fine, Mr. Mathis.”