Book Details:
Title: Keep Me
Author: Faith Andrews
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Day: January 28th
2014
SYNOPSIS
Sexy,
tatted up, underwear model Marcus Grayson is every girl’s dream—or more likely
worst nightmare. He’s a player, a self-proclaimed bachelor for life, and he’s
got no problem living up to his man-whore status. But when his older sister’s
friend comes back from the past, he may just have the chance to turn some of
his adolescent fantasies into reality.
Tessa Bradley is a self-sufficient, take-no-bull, single mother—well, now she
is. Finally rid of her abusive, alcoholic ex, she’s making a new life for
herself and catching up with old friends; the ones she was forced to break ties
with because of her controlling husband. When she runs into Marcus, her friend
Riley’s once-adorable turned smoking-hot little brother, she has no idea how
he’s about to rock her world.
You wanted me then, now you can have me. Just promise you’ll Keep Me…
PURCHASE LINKS
EXCERPT
Chapter
1
Marcus
I, Marcus Grayson, am a
man-whore.
How did I know this?
“Marcus M. Grayson,
you’re a man-whore!”
See
what I mean?
My sister, Riley,
shrieked through the house, searching for me. I knew it was only a matter of
time before she chewed me out for this one. I may have taken it too far with Fiona,
but she was asking for it—practically begging for it even. She wanted me—a lot
more than I wanted her—but who was I to deprive an attractive, horny woman of
what she so obviously desired?
Even if she was a married woman.
Oops.
“Marcus, where the hell
are you? I'm going to wring your tattooed neck when I get my hands— ” Her voice
grew closer as she neared my hiding spot behind the couch in the living room.
“There you are!”
I couldn’t hide forever.
“Hey, Ry. Where’s the fire?” The innocent act was so not going to work this
time. Her ears could have been smokestacks; big, steaming clouds billowing out
with rage.
“Cut the shit, Marcus. You
crossed the line this time. What were you thinking? Fiona just got married
three months ago! Her marriage is going to be over. Her husband’s gonna kick
your ass.” Her hard-ass, reprimanding, mom-like demeanor faded for a second as
she smiled in amusement over her last remark.
“Yeah, I’d like to see
him try. Besides, it couldn’t have been much of a marriage. . . the girl had
her hands in my pants during dinner, Ry. What was I supposed to do?”
“Not fuck her. That’s
what you were supposed to do. Stay away. Think with the head on your shoulders,
for once! Jesus, Marcus! She’s my friend. Well, she was. Now she’s never gonna talk to me again.”
I’d seen this look one
too many times. I didn’t mean to do it—over and over again—but I couldn’t help
it if all of her friends were needy sluts.
“I’m sorry, Ry. I
really am, but. . . ”
“Don't apologize to me.
You should call Fiona and apologize to her.”
“Apologize my ass! She’s a grown woman who was
fondling my goods during her main course. I’m just a man-whore, remember? I gotta
live up to my reputation.”
“Well, you’re doing a
pretty damn good job of that.”
And this is how it goes.
Every time Riley brought me out with her and her friends, it ended the same
way. It wasn’t even fun anymore. It was predictable. The result was always the
same—a one-nighter with a girl who would go into hiding or lose my sister’s
number afterwards. Or worse, hound her for mine, wanting another go at it or
the chance to tame me and drag me into a relationship.
It was never going to
happen. Period. End of story. I didn’t want that. I was content with my
whoredom and that I had a new face to wake up to at least three times a week.
And my sister was a glutton for punishment for repeating the same foolish
behavior, time and time again.
I loved that we were
close. Hell, she was my best friend, but she should have known by now that if
she brought me around there was a one hundred and ten percent chance that I was
going to sample the merchandise. And I loved me some merch.
Man-whore had been my
title for a while. But, of course, it wasn’t always that way. Every guy like me
has to start out somewhere, and by somewhere, I mean nowhere. There was a time
when I was just some geeky, pre-teen virgin, eyeing the merch with no chance
for even the teensiest sample. Those girls didn’t know it, but at thirteen
their eighteen-year-old bodies were better than any Playboy magazine or Spice
flick. These girls were the real deal—the girl next door types, the seemingly
innocent beauties, teenagers blossoming into women right before my very eager
eyes.
I had no shot in hell
with those girls. I was an idiot to think I did, but even back then I had what
all my sister’s friends would call “the cute factor.” The charisma to command a
room and make myself memorable. I was the adorable, funny, younger brother who
hung around to entertain them while they were getting ready to go out on the
prowl for the men who would be
getting samples, or the whole damn cow for all I knew. They would pinch my
cheeks as they walked out the door in their skintight jeans and skimpy,
cleavage-showing tank tops, always laughing at the skit I’d performed to keep
them around my kitchen table long enough to muster up a fantasy for that
particular lonely night.
My sister was to blame.
It was all her damn fault. She was flaunting her friends in front of me like
dangling a fresh, fleshy carcass for a starving lion. I could have stayed young
and innocent a lot longer if it weren’t for those girl-women traipsing around
my house night after night.
Riley snapped me back
to the present with one of her favorite redundancies. “What am I going to do
with you, Marcus?” Noble older sister strikes again.
What was I supposed to
tell her? I had no intention of changing my ways anytime soon. What was that
expression? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix
it. “Don’t worry about me, sis. Worry about Fiona. Such a sin. She was a
hot piece of ass.”
I ducked, avoiding the waste-of-money
accent pillow she convinced me to get, flying towards my head. “You’re gross.
You know that?”
“That’s not what she
said.” My eyebrows did a silly dance above my eyes. Getting under her skin was
so amusing.
“Seriously, Marcus. You
think you’ll ever settle down? Dad worries about you. I worry about you. This is going to get old soon.”
Really?
I couldn’t imagine any of it getting old. Not the thrill of the chase—not like
they ever really made me chase them. Not the sheer delight in knowing I didn’t
have to answer to anyone or wonder about their feelings. There were no feelings
involved with one night stands. And they knew that’s what I was. Marcus
Grayson, Bachelor for Life. I loved the ring to that. Maybe I should get cards
made up.
“How many times, Ry?
You’re like a broken freaking record. I don’t want what you want.” She wanted
the knight in shining armor and the fairytale. I was content with everything on
the other side of the pretentious castle. I was the Big Bad Wolf to Riley’s Red
Riding Hood.
“Besides, I’m too
shallow and I can’t think past five minutes from now. Who’s going to put up
with that, huh?”
She eyed me
sympathetically, a reaction I’d never understood. What the hell was there to be
sympathetic about? I wanted this!
“There’s a lid for
every pot. Alls I’m sayin’.”
Blah, blah, blah. That
was chicks. That was what I was trying to avoid. I didn’t mind the women if it
was my sister or. . . my mom. But unless they were riding me or letting me ride
them, I had no use for the depth of a woman. Too complicated. Too complex. I
was the complete antithesis. . .simple. I had to get Riley off this save-Marcus
train. There was nothing worse than trying to convince the inconvincible. A
change in subject was needed. “So. . .Sunday dinner with Dad?”
“Yup. He’s been nagging
me all week.” She stopped to do her best impression of our grumpy, lonely
father. “‘Make sure you tell that brother
of yours. Who sees him anymore?’ You know, I’m tired of making excuses for
you, Marcus. You need to make more appearances. He needs you. You were always
his buddy. Mine was Mom.”
God, I’d rather she
ream me out for sleeping around than make me look at her face when she spoke
about Mom. It’d be four years soon, but Riley still held on to it like it
happened yesterday. Her eyes welled up, telling me she was on the verge of
bawling.
Instinctively, I pulled
her close, one arm around her fragile shoulders. “I know. It sucks. I miss her
too, but don’t do this now. She wouldn’t want you crying over her, she’d want
you to rip deeper into me for screwing up your friendship. . .”
She lifted her drooped
head, smacking her tongue with an audible tsk. When she slapped my hand away, I
knew my work was done. “It’s always about you. That modeling gig is going to
your head, little bro. Time for a change.”
Another thing I had no
intention of changing. My agent called me day in and day out with bookings.
When I was up to no good as a kid, my mom used to tell me I was lucky I was
cute. She also used to say that I wouldn’t get by solely on my good looks.
Turns out my mom was wrong about that part. I made a damn good living off my
looks and had no problem showing off the goods for the right people. Hell, I
showed off my goods for a lot of the wrong people too. But it was all good.
Plus, the money was sick.
“Don’t you have
somewhere to be, Ry? You’re bad for my ego.”
“Exactly! Maybe I
should hang around all day and deflate it for you.”
As much as I loved the
idea of chilling with Riley, I had shit to take care of. And by shit I meant
figuring out which club to hit tonight. Beck was free and I hadn’t seen him in
a while. He’d met a girl and things were getting serious, which meant the party
was over. Beck had obviously missed the bros before hos memo. Funny, because he
was a reformed player himself. His new woman had such a tight grip on his ball
sack he was starting to sound like Mariah Carey and her obnoxious screeching
every time he spoke.
“I’m beat. I’ll see you
Sunday.” There was no need to elaborate. Riley knew I was a man of few words.
She turned to leave,
grabbing her ridiculously large bag from my sofa.
“I really am sorry
about Fiona. I didn’t mean to make it your problem.”
As she heaved the bag
over her shoulder, I had to wonder how her posture remained so perfect, toting
around baggage like that. How many tampons did a girl have to carry along with
her anyway?
“It’s okay. It wasn’t
entirely your fault. But I’m not bringing the good ones around you anymore.”
I picked up the pillow
she’d flung at me and tossed it back at her, whacking her in the back of her
head. “Oh, good! Bring the bad ones my way. They’re always more fun!”
“Goodbye, Marcus!” She
sang as she left my apartment.
I laughed as I heard
the door slam shut behind her. I’d kill any guy who treated her the way I
treated women. She deserved so much better than a prick like me. She was just
like Mom: caring, compassionate, warm, selfless. She took over Mom’s role even
in her own grief, making sure Dad and I were looked after, fed, clean, happy.
She was going to be a great mother herself one day—she just needed to find the
right guy. He was out there somewhere and I almost wish I could find him for
her, but hanging out in the places I did, with the people I did. . .the guy for
her didn’t lurk amongst my lifestyle. Guys deserving of her were nothing like
me.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Faith Andrews lives in New York
where she is happily married to her high school sweetheart. They have two
beautiful daughters and a furry Yorkie son, Rocco. If she isn’t listening to
Mumford and Sons or busy being a Dance Mom, her nose is in a book or her
laptop. She’s a sucker for a happily ever after and believes her characters are
out there living one somewhere . . .
GIVEAWAY
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