Let Me Love You: A Best Friend’s Sibling Romance
Page 1
Contents
Playlist
Let Me Love You
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Just Swipe Right - Book #3
The 425 Madison Series
Also by M.K. Moore
Stay Connected
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Let Me Love You (A 425 Madison Novel #2)
By MK Moore
© MK Moore 2019 Flirty Filth Publishing.
All Rights Reserved
Print ISBN: 9781796602388
By the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for brief quotations used in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
The use of actors, artists, movies, TV shows and song titles/lyrics throughout this book are done so for storytelling purposes and should in no way be seen as an advertisement. Trademark names are used editorially with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.
This book is intended for adults only. Contains sexual content and language that may offend some. The suggested reading audience is 18 years or older. I consider this book as Erotic Adult Romance.
Cover Images © DepositPhotos – AllaSerebrina & palinchak
Cover Design © Designed with Grace
Editor JL with The Averill Scribe Manuscript Services
Dedicated to those who believe that love overcomes all obstacles.
Playlist
The playlist that inspired Let Me Love You:
Let Me Love You by Mario
Let Me Love You (Until You Learn to Love Yourself) by Ne-Yo
What Ifs by Kane Brown (ft. Lauren Alaina)
I Want To Know What Love Is by Foreigner
Paralyzed by NF
Amazed by Lonestar
Let Me Love You by DJ Snake (ft. Justin Bieber)
Chances by The Backstreet Boys
Let You Love Me by Rita Ora
Make You Feel My Love by Garth Brooks
Until The Day I Die by Story of The Year
Let Me Love You by Chris Lane
Let Me Love You
Mallory
My professional life has taken off. Now if I could get a personal one, that would be great. He is so amazing. Good looking, smart, and everything I ever wanted. Why won't he let me love him?
Malachi
Coming home from a life of service is hard. It's even harder when you're injured.
Why did she have to be so beautiful? She is everything I never knew I wanted. Letting her love me was the easy part.
* * *
Don't let the title fool you, this book is full of all the MK Moore yumminess that you can handle. As always, you can expect a safe and steamy happily ever after.
After all, 425 Madison Ave is the perfect place to fall in love!
Each story in the 425 Madison Series is a complete standalone. For more information on the series please visit www.425madisonseries.com
Chapter 1
Mallory Greer
Growing up in Brooklyn as an only child, I never wanted for anything. It wasn’t all butlers and mansions, but we were beyond comfortable. My father, Eddie, is a mechanic for the Delta hub at JFK and my mother, RayJanae, is an editor at a major publishing house in Manhattan. The three of us went on so many adventures around the city, which fueled my imagination for writing stories.
I knew I wanted to be a writer from a very young age. I was always writing something. I started out with skits that I put on with the help of neighborhood kids and moved on from there to short stories. With my mom’s encouragement, I finished my first full-length manuscript at age sixteen. It just so happened to be an erotic romance. It was completely out of my age range, but it’s what speaks to me. My mom used her contacts and got it in front of the right people. Eight short months later, Ryan’s Kiss was in the hands of readers. I can't tell you how awful it was being in high school and everyone thinking that I must be a huge slut to write something so outrageous. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Guys were the worst, especially the ones who couldn't take no for an answer. I dealt with the assholes the only way I knew how. The first one received a broken fucking nose. The others got the message really quick.
That was seven years ago. I'm older and wiser now, but I wouldn't change a thing.
Since those days, I have written five more books, with my sixth coming out this May.
You may be thinking that the life of an international best-selling author is always glamorous. Truth be told, it’s anything but. I do my best work in my pajamas, drinking all the coffee and wine I can get my hands on. “Messy hair don’t care” is my motto for life. I have a feeling this year is going to be the best yet, as far as my career goes. Ryan’s Kiss and the sequel, Raven’s Submission have been optioned by Grier Films—the largest production company in Hollywood right now—to be made into two full-length feature films. I have never been more excited about something. Seeing my words come to life on the big screen is a dream come true. I asked to retain some creative rights to ensure my vision was upheld. They gave me what I wanted, and I gave them my book babies. I am working with the screenwriter, as well. Who knew manuscript writing and screenplay writing were so totally different?
I just flew in on the red-eye from LA back to Manhattan. I have moved on up in the world. I live on Madison Avenue in a steel and glass, modern-as-hell building. I love my apartment. It’s Bohemian and super lived in. My 3,000 square-foot slice of heaven is the one extravagant purchase I've allowed myself. It's a four bedroom, two and-a-half bath apartment on the twenty-ninth floor. My bedroom and office overlook Madison Avenue. It may seem extravagant, but it's home.
As I walk in, Giggles, my ginger, smooth-haired miniature Dachshund, barks twice in greeting but doesn’t get off the couch. Lazy. She always smells like Fritos and Downy (I think all Dachshunds smell like Fritos; my mom's Dachshunds have the same scent). The Downy fragrance is a result of her affinity for nesting in freshly laundered blankets. I don’t know where the aroma of Fritos comes from.
“Hi, my baby. I missed you so much,” I say in a cooing voice. I move over to the couch and get the puppy snuggles I missed out on yesterday. In doing so, I have to maneuver around lots of luggage that belongs to Margo, my roommate/best friend.
“Are you sure you have to go to France for so long?” I whine, loud enough for Margo to hear from her bedroom. She’s moving to Paris for an entire year and leaving me behind. She’s an all-star accountant and her firm just acquired a new branch, in Paris of all places. I hear that math is pretty much the same everywhere though. A true universal language. I really wouldn't know; math and I don’t get along. Like, at all. I have the utmost
respect for people who can math. Margo is one lucky bitch. But she’s my best bitch and I am going to miss the fuck out of her. While she will be living it up in the City of Light and Love, I will be staying stateside in our fabulously expensive apartment in Midtown Manhattan.
With her older brother; the older brother I’ve never met. Should be fun.
I guess it won’t be so bad, but still, Paris is a bucket-list item for me. I’m sure I will get there one day.
I’d go with her now if I could. I can write anywhere, but casting for the yet-to-be-named movie starts next week here in New York, which is appropriate since the book takes place here. I’m so excited for the opportunity Margo has, but I’m a little sad that she won’t be here with me while the biggest thing to ever happen to me goes down. It’s selfish of me, but I wish she wasn’t going.
“I do, Mal. You know I do. Say you’ll come and visit me.”
“Of course! I’m looking forward to eating all the French bread I can get my hands on. You’ll be safe?”
“I will. My flat mate, Michel, seems fun over email.”
“You’ve never spoken to her on the phone?” I already know where this is going.
“No. Why?”
“Michel is a man’s name in France,” I deadpan.
“Surely not? I should have asked.” She looks a little horrified. Despite being a confident woman, she’s apprehensive of the opposite sex.
“Oh God, I can see it now,” I say, putting my face in my hands. “You’re going to fall in love with Mister Michel and never come home.”
“Don’t be such a drama queen, Mal. This isn’t one of your pornographic books,” she says rolling her eyes. Margo Irene Goranson has never read any of my books and she probably never will. Porn with a delicious story is not her style; I respect and understand that about her. Even though I prefer a lot of salaciousness, our friendship doesn’t suffer.
“It is story-worthy, isn’t it?” I ask.
“Yeah, but not about me. You know I am waiting until I get married and that is unlikely to happen,” she says, laughing. I hate that she does this. It’s the one thing I don’t understand about her. Sure, she’s a little on the chubby side , but she’s so beautiful and she doesn’t even know it. She is short, with curly auburn hair. One day a man is going to knock her socks off and I can’t wait to see that. “My flight leaves in four hours, I need to head to the airport.”
I get up and walk over to her, pulling her into a hug.
“Call me when you get there, yeah?” I say, trying not to cry. I’m going to miss this girl like crazy. She’s the one person I talk to on the daily and it’s going to be hard giving that up. I feel a bit of panic rise. She may not read my books, but she does let me bounce ideas off her and there is no one else, besides my mom and sweet neighbor, Gwen, that I would ever trust with something so important.
“Yeah, of course. Don’t forget Malachi will be here sometime in the next couple of days. He's still finishing up his rehabilitation in Virginia,” she says, tears filling her eyes again. I know he was injured in the Army, but I don't know the extent of it, mainly because Margo flatly refuses to talk about it.
“I won’t,” I say shaking my head.
He needs a place to stay and I've got plenty of room. The Goranson’s don't like handouts though. He’s staying with me until Margo gets back and is paying her portion of the bills.
You know what else best friends don't discuss? Finances. I bought this place outright from Leo, the building's charismatic owner, before it was finished being built. I got it for a bargain at just over 1.2 million dollars. I do pay taxes, but they are only about ten thousand dollars a year. Leo has garbage and sewer included in the monthly maintenance fees, so I just have Margo pay the electric, internet, and satellite bills. She also buys all the groceries. The groceries are laughable though. Neither one of us cooks often and Margo works past eight almost every night. We are takeout queens.
“He has a key, so don’t worry about having to be here,” Margo says, smiling through watery eyes.
“Got it.” I pick up two of her suitcases and help her carry them downstairs. Jesus, I know she is going for a year, but of course I’d pick up the cases that have her books or maybe bricks in them. I wait with her while she hails a cab. The driver helps us load the bags and she hugs me again.
“Bye, girl. JFK,” she says to the cabbie as the window rolls up. It may seem odd that I’m letting a complete stranger move in with me. True, I’ve never met Malachi, as he has been overseas in the military, but I still have a good feeling about him. Actually, in the seven years, I’ve been friends with Margo, I’ve never met any of her family. Her parents live in Wyoming and she always goes there to see them.
I’ve seen blurry pictures of her brother though. He seems totally out of my league, yet I am strangely excited to meet him.
Christmas is in two short days and I haven’t bought a single present yet. I know what I’ll be doing tomorrow. Heading back upstairs, I lock myself in and hit the wine. I have ten thousand words to write tonight and they aren’t going to write themselves. My current characters Lacey and Emmett will be getting it on tonight. Finally. I’m more than halfway done with this book and they haven’t done it yet. This one’s a bit different than my other more erotic titles.
Now, if I could just get my own love life on track. Or get one, period. The biggest irony in my life? Being able to bring the love-and-sex magic that fills the pages of my books to the masses and still be a twenty-three-year-old virgin who has never been in love.
* * *
The following afternoon, I am laden with shopping bags. I decided to walk to 5th Avenue this morning, but that was a huge freaking mistake in these heeled boots, so I take a taxi home. When I get to the building, I see paparazzi staking out the front. They are usually here for Porter Hamilton, a mega super star hockey player. He is also just about the nicest guy I’ve ever met, so imagine my surprise when they start shouting questions at me. Me. This is the first time something like has ever happened, but I can’t say that I like it exactly. My feet hurt and if I don’t get these stupid skin-tight jeans off soon, I think I might explode.
“Mallory, care to comment on the rumors of Chad Beesley being cast as Ryan Helms?” one pushy reporter asks.
“I have no idea what you are talking about, but he's a dick so I think not,” I say without thinking. That gets a few chuckles, which is not the reaction I was after. He is a dick.
Before I know what's happening, Thomas, our doorman, pushes through the crowd and helps me inside.
“Jesus, thanks, Thomas,” I say shaking my head.
“You’re welcome, Ms. Greer. I am sure this will be happening to you more often. They announced the cast of your movie.”
“Did they?” I ask, my shock apparent. I was supposed to be in on that. That really fucking pisses me off. I would have fought tooth and nail to prevent Chad Beesley from being my Ryan. I’m sure I would have lost, but at least I would be on record with my disapproval.
“About an hour ago.”
“Thanks again, Thomas.”
“No problem. Can I help you upstairs with your bags?”
“No thanks, I’ve got it. Merry Christmas,” I say as I head to the elevators.
I take the elevator to my floor. I am still fuming when I manage to get my key into the lock and open the door. I toss my bags in the entryway. There is nothing but silence as I enter, and I don’t see Giggles in her usual spot on the couch. I glance around and immediately notice several things. For starters, the dishes are done, which I always put off until the last second. I’m ninety-nine percent sure they were still in the sink when I left earlier. Weren’t they? There’s also a single large combat boot by the door. I know that wasn't there before.
“Hello?” I call out hesitantly. Though I don't know why I'm scared. What kind of burglar cleans up before they rob the place? I’m probably, definitely, maybe just being paranoid. I shrug when there is no answer. Get a grip, Mallory.
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I continue walking into the apartment, dropping my purse and kicking my stupid feet-killing boots off as I go. Then I unbutton my jeans as I walk down the hallway. Ah, deep breaths can now be taken. Pants are so fucking over rated. Still not finding Giggles and, with my pants halfway down my hips, I walk into a wall. A solid, dripping-wet wall that's covered in tattoos. The collision throws me off balance. I land on my ass and skid a bit back down the hallway.
“Fuck. Are you okay?” I close my eyes as his voice washes over me.
Shit.
His manly voice causes goosebumps to pop up across my body. I squeeze my thighs together and forget to speak. “Mallory? Mallory, are you okay?” He reaches down and picks my hand up, hauling me up off the floor like I weigh absolutely nothing. He then rests his shoulder casually against the wall. My eyes travel down his naked chest to his towel-covered waist.
Yum is my first coherent thought. There is so much intricate artwork on his chest and upper arms that I'm having trouble finding a clear spot. I keep going down his body and notice he only has one leg—the right one—but it doesn’t make him any less attractive to me. Jesus, he is the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life. He looks like John Cena in The Marine, but somehow hotter. I could grate cheese on his abs. Okay, it’s official. I’ve lost my mind. “Are you okay?” He asks again, rubbing his calloused thumb over the back of my hand.