Disclaimer: None of the work in Reading With Star belongs to me. The author owns all right to the book. They have given me permission to share a bit of their work with you.

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Blurb: 

Love is perfectly reckless, forbidden outside of their own species. But when Logan, Pierce, and Gavin become smitten with three equally tempting females who will turn their worlds upside down, they soon find themselves balancing love and danger… 

Falling in love was the last thing Ambrosia, Jocasta, and Parthenia wanted. But a strong female never backs down from a challenge, even if that includes three dangerous shape shifters with a whole lot of complications. 

Will they risk everything for love? Or will fate force their hand and ruin everything?

Excerpt:

Gods, he couldn’t move. Pierce watched a square wicker basket tumble from the female’s hands as she fell. She let out a groan at the sight of the broken bottles now lying on the ground, surrounded by scattered herbs and potions.
Her gaze shifted to him, her amber eyes narrowed, and she slowly got to her feet. “Good gods, don’t you watch where you’re going?”
Pierce narrowed his eyes as he forced the feeling in his gut down, way down. This female had a strange manner of speaking, but her voice, oh gods, her voice. He shook his head to clear it, trying to shake himself out of this stupor. She’d said something to him. She probably thought he was a complete idiot, the way he just stared at her, mute. He took a breath. “Normally, yes. Do you?” Why in Hades’ name had he said that? That was so rude, and it hadn’t been her fault. He hadn’t watched where he was going. He kneeled and picked up the pieces of broken bottles. “Are you keeping these?”
“Oh, yes, because they’re going to do me any good now.”
Gods, her voice, sarcasm and all—maybe even primarily because of that. She crouched down on her haunches and searched through the mess. They reached for a piece. As their hands touched, something sparked between them, and she immediately yanked her hand away. 
He let out a growl without meaning to and opened his mouth to say something when every single comeback he could’ve blurted seeped out of his head as if his mind were a bag of-of—Hades. Why wouldn’t his brain work? “Why did you do that? It was a simple accident, and I am helping you clean it up. You did not need to shock me.” He continued to pick up the mess he’d caused and realized she just kneeled there, staring at him. “What?” 
Her gaze didn’t waver. All he wanted to do was continue to drown in her amber-colored eyes, which radiated warmth like the sun. She opened her mouth—
“Jo? Everything okay?” a male voice called out. Jo… Her name was Jo. Was that a nickname or her full name?
The female jumped to her feet and spun around to face a nine-foot troll who held two other baskets in his arms. Dropping her hands to her hips, she cracked a smile that made heat curl deep within him. “It’s all good, Bruce. Just a minor accident. Go on ahead and take those to the bar. I’ll be along after I go back to the apothecary.”
Pierce kept his mouth shut. Even talking to someone of another species in anything more than a professional capacity brought punishment, usually a good whipping. And she was a half-breed, which would make the punishment even worse. How Markham didn’t realize that half-breeds ran rampant here, he did not know. Or perhaps he only cared if they were part shape shifter. Who knew? Shape shifter half-breeds were the only ones Markham ordered them to bring back to the village if found. Either way, he wasn’t going to say anything about it, which would probably get him killed. Yup, this was going to get him killed. 
He carefully picked up the rest of the mess and all the shards from the basket so the female wouldn’t hurt herself. While he tried to ignore the scent coming off her—the one making his cock twitch. NO, oh NO, definitely NOT. He needed to get the hell away from here. Immediately. 
“You sure?” the troll asked. 
Pierce saw the male glance over at him out of the corner of his eye, but he simply continued disposing of the glass in a large trash basin nearby. He could practically hear the female—‌Jo—‌grinding her teeth together as she crossed her arms. A smirk twitched at the corners of his mouth, but it didn’t surface. Yeah, his mouth muscles hadn’t worked that way in a very long time. 
“Positive,” she said. 
“Alright.” Without another word, the male left the alleyway. 
The female turned around, bent over, and grabbed the edges of the wicker basket. “Thanks for the help, but I’ve got it from here.” 
Do not do it. Do not do it. Do not— “Are you sure? I do not mind helping you. And I will, of course, replace everything that I broke.” And when Markham punished him for using pack funds for something that didn’t pertain to the pack—like the king gave a shit about any of them—he was going to remember how stupid he was. Except right now, as her scent filled every synapse of his brain, the last thing he wanted was to move away from her. What in Hades’ name was wrong with him? He did not act like this. Around anyone. Never. 
With the basket in hand, she straightened to her full height of five-and-a-half feet. “What’s your name?” 
Standing upright in this form, he towered over three feet taller than her. Do not give her your name. She does not need your name. This is going to get you into loads of trouble. You do not give your name out to anyone. Not one creature. Especially some random half-br— “Pierce. What is yours?” 
“Jocasta.” 
“Jocasta. That is a lovely name. Please, let me help you to where you are going. I will explain what happened and replace what broke.” NO, YOU WILL NOT! WHAT IN HADES’ NAME ARE YOU DOING? THIS IS THE STUPIDEST THING YOU HAVE EVER DONE! “Please. I feel terrible, and you should not have to pay for replacements because I was not watching where I was going.” WHY ARE YOU BEING SO NICE? YOU ARE NOT NICE.
She blinked, then snickered and cleared her throat. As she popped out a hip, that breathtaking smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “You’ve never been to the apothecary, have you? You don’t have to answer that. I’m sure you haven’t. Feel free to explain. I’d pay to see you talk to Kriah.”
He rolled his eyes. “I am just trying to right my wrong. There is no need to goad me.” Was she goading him? Did he care? No. Not really. And that was stupid. Idiotic. “And no, to answer your question, I have never been to the apothecary. It is not in my job description to visit apothecaries.” Not that he ever followed his job description, at least to any degree, outside the village. Nor was he altogether sure what an apothecary was. 
Her eyes raked over his body, and he almost couldn’t hold back the growl that rose within him. She smirked. “I’m not the type to goad. I call it as I see it. And no offense, Pierce, in your job description or not, a big, tall male like you talking to a… well, it’s priceless.” 
Oh, he did not want to talk at all. Not really. Far from it. He wanted to push Jocasta against the wall, hold her arms above her head, and put his face right between her—OH, HELL NO. What in Hades’ name was wrong with him? Her grip tightened on the basket, and all he could think was that he wanted that grip somewhere else on him. NO. 
“While I appreciate you trying to right your wrong, I can handle it myself.”
Oh, he bet she could… Oh, for fuck’s sake. He had to get out of here before he did something genuinely idiotic. “You know what?” He raised his hands for a moment and forced himself to take a step back. “It is just as well. I cannot afford to help you. I was merely trying to give into the nicer instincts I usually cannot exhibit. It will not happen again. I have helped you clean up, which is more than I should have done. You should carry on now, as should I.”

I hope you enjoyed the excerpt of Perfectly Reckless by Brigit Rosé and Nikki Haras! Please make sure to check out the links above for more information and to get your copy! Happy reading!

Have an excerpt you want to share? Contact me at nikkiereads@starsbooksandtea.com so we can discuss it!

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Disclaimer: None of the work in Reading With Star belongs to me. The author owns all right to the book. They have given me permission to share a bit of their work with you.

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Blurb:

He died for her protection, but true love never really dies.

Everywhere Odessa Black looked, she saw her fiancée, Hamilton Kring’s, face. Over a year has passed since his untimely death. Determined to escape his memory, she left the only home she’s ever known. A new city and job are supposed to be a way for her to start over. Until she discovers the world is far larger and darker than she ever imagined.

Hamilton Kring is technically dead. Reborn as Hamilton Morck, the last thing he expected was for Odessa, the only woman he’s ever loved, to waltz back into his life. With his murderer chasing after them, he’ll do whatever is necessary to keep her safe. Even if it means making a deal with the kind of demons he used to hunt.

Excerpt:

From above, Hamilton watched as some person followed Odessa from the subway station. They had their hat dipped low, so he couldn’t see much of their face. Though he had an excellent vantage point. He stood on top of a building. As much as he’d wanted to stay close to Odessa, he couldn’t risk her spotting him. Or anyone else. So, he’d chosen the best point of view from where he expected to see her close to her building.
Although, now he wished he had taken the lower ground. Then he could take care of the problem. Especially since this couldn’t be anyone Theo had sent. The male hadn’t gotten anything set up prior to his departure from the manor. Unless his sire had accomplished it afterward, but he would’ve heard from him if that was the case. They had cell phones for a reason.
He noticed Odessa pick up her pace below, and the person following her did the same. Though, they’d kept some distance between themselves and Odessa. Strange. They didn’t appear to have any intention of grabbing her, but he refused to chance it. He glanced ahead and noted the number of buildings between hers and his current location. If he needed to leap to the ground, then so be it. Best way to prepare for that was to get ahead a little.
Hamilton darted across the rooftop, leaped over the alley below, and rolled into a smooth landing on the next roof. He checked out the situation below. Odessa hadn’t yet noticed the pace of the person behind her. Not that he expected it would take much longer. His fiancée was a smart woman.
Just as he’d done with the previous roof, he charged ahead, pushed off just before hitting the ledge of the building, and jumped over the dark silence below. As he leaped from one rooftop to another, he spotted Odessa increase her pace twice more until she was running into her building. Certain she was now safe, he focused his attention on the one who dared to follow her. They lingered for only a moment by the staircase leading into her building and then continued on. He watched as they rounded the corner and headed into an alleyway.
This was his chance.
He ran across the roof and used the two nearby lower buildings to jump down to the ground below. It had taken a little work, but he positioned himself in front of the other person. While he still couldn’t make out the minute details of their face, he could at least identify the perpetrator as male. And he didn’t bother with questions. Those could come later. He balled up his fist and punched the man, sending him flying a few feet back.
The perpetrator skidded to a stop and smirked. “I recommend you walk away.”
“Not happening,” Hamilton growled. Simultaneously, he and the male charged at one another. He swung his fist at the man’s cheek, who dodged the hit. The guy’s uppercut hit him square in the jaw and threw him across the alleyway. With a loud thud, his back hit a dumpster. As if the assault of rotting garbage wasn’t bad enough, it took him a moment to shake off the sting between his shoulder blades.
How the hell had the guy done that? Aside from the obvious. The guy definitely wasn’t human. No human he knew of could accomplish such a feat. He got to his feet, snarled, and hissed as he eyed the empty spot where the man had stood. What the fuck? Where the fuck had the guy gone? Hamilton glanced one way down the alley, and then the other. Except he didn’t see anything other than a couple of large waste bins filled to the hilt with trash. He eyed the rooftops above, but didn’t catch sight of the guy.
Someone who packed that kind of power and disappeared this quickly. It had to be a vampire. Why would a vampire follow Odessa? He eyed the time on his watch. Not that it was really necessary. Even without checking how long he had, he sensed the sun was close to rising. His cell phone rang. Without hesitation, he answered it. Seemed pointless to look. Only one person had this number. “I’ll be home shortly,” he stated.
“You should’ve been home an hour ago,” Theo retorted. “Where are you?”
Yeah, like he was going to share that information with his sire. “Nowhere important. I’ll be back soon.” Before the male could utter anything else, Hamilton hung up. Despite all the questions running through his mind about the perpetrator, he didn’t have time to scour the alleyway for any clues to the guy’s identity.
Not that he intended to let it go. Night time would be here soon enough. Then he’d find out whatever he could. He’d search until he discovered the truth. No matter how long it took.

I hope you enjoyed the excerpt of Detached by Brigit Rosé! Please make sure to check out the links above for more information and to get your copy! Happy reading!

Have an excerpt you want to share? Contact me at nikkiereads@starsbooksandtea.com so we can discuss it!

If you enjoy my content, please consider leaving me a tip! Thank you so much for reading!

Disclaimer: None of the work in Reading With Star belongs to me. The author owns all right to the book. They have given me permission to share a bit of their work with you.

https://amzn.to/3LoDr5B

Blurb:

For as long as I can remember, my life has been all about Country music. It’s my father’s legacy, and I was determined to follow in his footsteps…
Until I met Avery.
Suddenly, what I wanted started to change.
The passion I had always felt for music was overshadowed by the love I felt for her.
I never dreamed about falling in love, but I found myself torn between the music I craved, and the woman I couldn’t live without.
Love is messy. I didn’t want to break someone’s heart. But that’s exactly what I did to her, whether it was part of the dream or not.
Wild Hearts can be broken, and some choices can’t be undone.

Excerpt:

Avery

“Who’s the hottie?” I muttered to my co-worker, Blake, through the scrunchie I gripped between my teeth. I pulled my hair up into a messy bun and nodded toward the guy sitting at the farthest table possible from the counter. He was tucked into the corner, but hard to miss. That dark hair and facial scruff hit me right in the lady bits as soon as I’d walked through the door. Sculpted biceps strained against rolled-up sleeves. Built, scruffy, and rugged—just how I liked ’em. He held a pencil loosely between his lips causing them to be all pouty, and my nether regions burst into flames.
“Hey, bitch!” Blake smiled widely when she saw me. She removed her apron and tossed it onto the counter. “How did midterms go?”
I loved Blake. She’d become my ride or die when I moved to Nashville alone. It’d been the biggest and scariest thing I’d done in life up to this point, and I could never repay her for taking me under her wing. We were practically sharing the same umbilical cord at this point. She was the one who got me this high-paying, low-work job I wouldn’t ever leave, even if it burned to the ground from the empty coffee carafes I always forgot to fill and left on the warming plates. We’d hit it off the moment I’d strolled in asking for an application and we’d been best friends ever since. When we learned that we lived in the same building—we blamed it on kismet. Blake was on floor two, while I was on four. She showed me how much Nashville could offer a girl like me—a once sheltered child from Massachusetts.
“Oh, they went,” I told her, joining her behind the counter and grabbing my work apron from off of the hook. I hadn’t been into work in over a week, as I’d been in the biology department lab until the early hours of the mornings cramming until I’d started second guessing everything. I was finally in my junior year of college at Vanderbilt for my undergrad in biology. My parents were both distinguished doctors. I was hellbent on following in their footsteps. I’d taken a few years off after my sophomore year, and because of the circumstances surrounding the death of my parents, the school graciously let me defer and stay enrolled.
I glanced over at Mister Pouty Lips as I twisted the scrunchie around my hair. “Hottie?”
Blake shrugged. “Dunno. Started coming in last week with his guitar in tow. He sits, he drinks, he writes. He’s here almost every day. He doesn’t say much, but he tips well.”
“And you haven’t found out his name, birthday, social security number and socials yet? What’s wrong with him?” I glanced at him again—deep in thought—his tongue slowly licking his bottom lip in between his scribblings in his notebook. Holy hell, that man was delicious.
Blake giggled. “Nothing, I don’t think. He’s so focused, I haven’t wanted to bother him.” She shrugged. “He’s not my type, anyway. Probably just another wannabe singer trying to make it in Nashville. They’re a dime a dozen around here.”
I tied my apron, staring. I couldn’t help it. After nearly frying my brain last week, it wanted to look at shiny new toys, not textbooks. He wore a dirty Titans ball cap that looked as though it’d seen some shit in its day. Black hair poked out under the brim, curling slightly at the ends. He bit on his pencil and rubbed a palm along his nape, deeply engrossed in his notebook. I suddenly wanted to know what every word in it was. I wanted him to put that mouth all over every inch of my body so we could compare notes.
Blake was probably right with him being just another stuck up song writer wannabe. Most of them hit up karaoke nights at the bars on the strip though, not this hole in the wall coffee shop that couldn’t be farther from Lower Broadway if you tried. No one was going to get noticed at Peg’s. It was a career killer.
Peg’s was nothing special. A simple coffee shop stuck in the seventies that served better-than-average coffee and tasty pastries five days a week. We were closed on weekends, for some reason. We were lucky to get a dozen customers a day—there was no purpose for this place to still be open, but I was glad it was. It’d become my home over the last year—something I didn’t know I’d been missing until I left Cambridge, Massachusetts, with a one-way ticket to Nashville.
Peg won the lottery ten years ago, and she’d been sitting pretty in her mansion ever since. I’d assumed she didn’t have the heart to close it down because the shop had been her husband’s dream before he’d passed, and Peg wouldn’t see his dream go to ruin. At least, that’s the story I made up to justify how much she overpaid me. I’d had a lot of time on my hands doing nothing at Peg’s, so I could come up with a few solid stories should anyone ever ask.
“I’m off,” Blake said, kissing me on the cheek. “Text me when you get home so I know you haven’t been gutted like a fish in some back alley.”
“Love you, whore.” I smiled as I waved her off. Blake worked the morning shift, while I took the afternoons or evenings. It worked.
She was older than me and a complete bombshell. She was one of those tall, blonde babes with curves in all the right places, natural plump lips—no fillers necessary for Blake. When I was old and gray, she’d still look twenty-five. I hated her for it in the most loving way possible. I asked her once why she worked at Peg’s and not the bars downtown where the money was far better—like, way better—and she’d told me she was tired of being groped by old, greasy slimeballs. She’d turned that question right around and asked me the same thing—but with more gusto.
I’d agreed, and that was the last we’d talked about it. We were both going to be serving at Peg’s when we were geriatrics. I stayed at Peg’s because she’d become something of a grandmother to me, and insisted I do my schoolwork on the clock. Yes, she paid me to do my homework. It was a win-win situation, really. Peg paid us an ungodly amount of money. Hardly no one walked through the door. I could study in silence, away from the insane college scene. I also occasionally served some coffee or cinnamon rolls.
I kissed the air as Blake reached the door. “See ya, babe,” I told her, slinging my backpack up onto the counter.
She waved, then mouthed, “Go talk to him!” with wide eyes and a shit-eating grin that would give the Devil a run for his money. She waggled her eyebrows at me, then disappeared through the door.
I rolled my eyes. The last thing I needed was throwing guy problems into my already don’t-have-enough-time-to-pee schedule. I scooted my bar stool closer to the counter. I probably should’ve made sure Hottie McHotterson didn’t need anything before I dived into my paper on molecular and genome evolution in bioinformatics—truly fascinating stuff—so I called over to him, “Hey, can I get you anything? Another cup of coffee?”
He looked up at me, and I suddenly forgot how to breathe.
Eyes the color of spring clover—seriously, like the greenest green I’d ever seen on a person before—raked over me with curiosity. The dark stubble covering his jaw and upper lip giving him this rugged mountain man persona and it took me a minute to realize I was staring at him with my mouth half-cocked like an angsty teenage girl. Which I was not.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’m good.”
A Southern boy. Shit. I crossed my legs on the stool, willing my vajayjay to stay calm. I was such a sucker for Southern boys and diverted my eyes. Should I apologize? No, that would make this even more awkward than it already was. Instead, I turned my stare to my textbook and hoped to God he couldn’t see the flush creeping up my cheeks—I could certainly feel it. I opened my laptop to where I had left off on my paper, but I couldn’t concentrate. Not when my entire body wanted to throw itself over his table and scream draw me like one of your French girls right then and there.
Hottie McHotterson strummed his guitar and sang a bit, interspersed with sighs that echoed my own frustration.
I tapped my pen on my notepad. This guy was seriously killing my routine and my vibe. I slapped my hand over my pen, pinning it to the notebook I hadn’t written a thing in.
“You gotta give me back my heart,” he muttered, finding the chords he needed then marking them on his sheet music. “Back my…back my…”
I stared up at the ceiling. “Try ‘you gotta give me back my love’ for the second one,” I suggested, hoping that the idea would shut him up. It’s not that he had a terrible voice or anything—he sounded freaking amazing, actually—but I had to get work done. I wasn’t going to get a thing done on this paper if he kept singing and sulking in the corner like that, like a wounded puppy looking for love.
Southern Boy went full on country singer on his acoustic, strumming away with the new lyrics. I stared at him in awe. He was amazing. Then, as abruptly as he’d started, the music stopped, and he wrote furiously on his paper.
Then…silence.
I twirled a loose strand of my hair by my nape, focusing back on the paragraph I’d already read a half-dozen times, hoping that this time, I’d understand the content. No such luck. I groaned out my frustration and closed my laptop. I needed coffee. Productive thoughts weren’t going to happen unless I was highly caffeinated anyway, so I grabbed a clean mug and poured myself a hot, steaming cup of Death by Caffeine, our strongest brew. I added my cream and sugar, morphing the cup into a steaming cup of cream with a bit of coffee, then inhaled the intoxicating aroma of the dirty bean water. The coffee here was so much better than the crap I’d been drinking in Cambridge.
“Thanks.”
I looked up from my cup.
Country Boy cleared his throat. “Thanks…for the lyrics.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “You’re welcome.” Against my better judgement—I tried not to talk to the customers—most wouldn’t ever shut up once they started…I leaned my elbows on the counter and took a sip of the still too hot coffee. “You a songwriter?”
He chuckled. “Trying to be, although finding the right words for this song—” He placed his guitar against the wall and leaned back in the chair, stretching his arms above his head. His biceps bulged against the tight sleeves of his tee. The edges of ink on his skin peeked out under the fabric. Of course, he was tatted up. All the good ones were.
God, this boy was going to be the death of me. Forget the caffeine—it would one hundred percent be those biceps that did me in. I couldn’t get the thought of them curling around me out of my mind, so I closed my eyes and tried to focus on my paper. That was always the perfect mood killer. I should leave this boy alone. I shouldn’t get involved in his writing, or him.
Fuck it.
I took a deep breath, then twisted toward him on my stool. I took a long sip of my coffee and choked the burning liquid down. “I always find it’s easier to write if you’ve actually experienced what you’re writing about.” I could probably write a book about heartache and loneliness at this point in my life.
His brows raised. “Yeah? You’re a writer, then?”
“If you call twenty-page papers on molecular genome evolution writing, then sure.”
His mouth quirked, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I think song lyrics would be the easier choice.”
I held up my blank notebook. “I’d have to agree. Although scientific papers don’t have to rhyme.” I saw my opening, and I took it, making my way to his back table so that we weren’t talking from across the room. “I’m Avery,” I said, sitting in the chair opposite him.
Those devastatingly green eyes flickered over my face and his lips parted slightly, like he had something to say, but hesitated. Then suddenly he swallowed hard. “Jack.”
“Well. It’s nice to meet you, Jack.” I took a small sip from my mug. We were both quiet. Anxiety crept into my chest. Was I bothering him? Was my intuitive opening completely wrong? I leaned back in my seat, still grasping my mug with both hands—maybe to keep from shaking. Country Boy—Jack—took my breath away. From the slight dusting of freckles on his cheeks to the dark lashes framing those gorgeous eyes which made me instantly jealous… I mean, why did guys always get blessed with the Elizabeth Taylor eyelashes?
He tapped his pencil on the table, still looking at me expectantly.
“Oh my God, I’m intruding. I’m so sorry. Let me just…” I pushed the chair back, ready to head back to my work, when he finally broke the awkward silence.
“Please. Stay.”
I paused, half standing, half hunched over the chair.
He pulled off his hat to run his hand through his hair. A mass of soft, black curls fell, framing his face. “I could use a fresh take on this song. I mean, if you’ve got the time.”
I looked around the empty shop and shrugged. “I mean, I’d have to ask the rest of the customers if they’re okay with me taking my break, but yeah…I guess I can make some time.”
A slow smile spread across his face, and he shook his head slightly. “So, what do you know about heartbreak?”
“A freaking lot.” I scooted my chair in, resting my chin in my hands with my elbows propped up on the wooden table. I shook my head. “But it doesn’t matter what I know, it’s what you know. Have you ever been in love? Lost that love? Had your heart shattered into a million irreparable pieces?” That got deep, fast.
“No,” he said, looking down at his papers. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Never been in love, huh? Maybe you should write about drinking beer with the boys?”
He laughed at that, then placed his hat back on his head, only backwards and completely adorable. “Is that what you think country music is? Beer and boys?”
“You forgot trucks.”
He snickered, shaking his head, then ran his fingers over the scruff on his chin. “You listen to a lot of country music, Avery?”
“Nope. Not much of a fan. But I do know, that if you throw in a dog, you’ve got yourself a ballad.” I teased.
Those green eyes sparkled with mischief. “Shh, don’t give away the secret.”
“Has Taylor Swift taught us nothing?” I shrugged, exaggerating my movements. “I’m just saying…if you want to write about a girl stealing your heart then breaking it, maybe that’s something that needs to come from a broken heart.”
“All right master song lyricist…tell me, how many times have you had your heart broken?”
“It’s…irreparable at this point.” So many times, I no longer had pieces to give. Sadness inched its way into my thoughts, and I furiously blinked them away. “But this song isn’t about me. It’s about you. Show me what we’re working with.” I placed my mug on the table then rubbed my palms together. I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged them, guarding myself against Jack, sensing any emotion that may slip out on my words. Digging up my heartbreak was the last thing I wanted to do.
He picked up his guitar and cleared his throat, then strummed a few chords before diving into the words he’d written.
“You were right there, standing there
and I didn’t see or care
how much you mean to me
I tried to deny it
These feelings I hide ‘em
And still I pushed until you walked away
Girl, you gotta give me back my heart
You gotta give me back my love
‘Cause I can’t take anymore of
this heartbreak”
His strumming abruptly stopped. He looked up at me. “That’s all I have.”
“Wow,” I breathed. The grit in his voice dripped with so much heartache for someone who had just told me he’d never experienced it. Hell, he’d convinced me in less than sixty seconds.
“Nah, don’t be ‘wowing’ it just yet. It still needs a chorus, a bridge, and a major rewrite, but it’s getting there.”
“Want to write my paper for me?”
“Hard pass.”
I groaned inwardly, knowing I’d procrastinated long enough and my paper wasn’t going to write itself. “Break time is over.” I gave Jack a small smile. I returned to my place at the bar and opened my laptop to stare at it once again. We wrote in solidarity and silence. I caught myself humming Jack’s tune more than once when I got up to refill my coffee. I made sure to ask him if he needed anything. He declined every time. I hadn’t realized the time until he stood and stretched. His shirt rode up his midsection, teasing me with a happy trail leading into uncharted waters I so wanted to explore.
“I believe you closed an hour ago,” he said, looking up at the clock.
“Oh, shit.” I cleaned up my stuff and shoved it all in my bag so I could start closing. I’d found my groove and had got a few worthy pages written.
“Thanks again for the help.” Jack stood near the door, his guitar case in hand.
“You’re welcome,” I told him, turning off the brewers. “Remember the teachings of Taylor. She’s got it figured out.” I pointed my fingers at him. Did I just shoot finger guns at him? I quickly turned to busy myself to hide my embarrassment, hoping he couldn’t see the flush on my cheeks. Why was I like this around cute boys?
Jack chuckled. “See ya, cowboy.”
I craned my neck over my shoulder as he stepped through the door. “I said what I said!” I called out after him, but the only return sound was the dinging of the bell above the door. I wiped down the tables and started the closing procedures. When I reached Jack’s table, I found two twenties along with a note scribbled on a torn piece of notebook paper.
Thanks for the inspiration.
—Jack
A tip for the coffee I didn’t serve? I smiled warmly and tucked the note and the cash in my back pocket, then hurried through the rest of my closing procedures mental checklist. Cash in the safe, ol pastries put in boxes for the homeless shelter—Peg took care of that—and all surfaces wiped down. I triple checked to make sure all machines were off. I somehow still forgot to turn one off during my first, and second, checks. I blamed it on Hottie McHotterson. I shut off the lights and locked up, then hurried to my car so I could get home.
I had a date with my vibrator.

Author Bio:

You’ll rarely find Melissa without a cup of coffee in one hand, and a book in the other. When she’s not busy carting around her six children (tuck and roll, kids, tuck and roll), you’ll find her hiding from them with a laptop and streaming Morgan Wallen or Taylor Swift for her copious amounts of plants. A lover of all genres, she puts to paper what she can’t get out of her brain—which is pretty much everything. She loves romcoms, sappy romance, and Happily Ever Afters the most.

https://linktr.ee/MelissaMackinnon

I hope you enjoyed the excerpt of Wild Hearts by Melissa MacKinnon ! Please make sure to check out the links above for more information and to get your copy! Happy reading!

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Blurb:

Disgraced defence lawyer Harry Redwood doesn’t believe in magic, but when he arrives in the charming and sleepy little town of Bishops Pippleton, it’s clear that the residents do. There’s a curse upon Dark House, they say, and the Dark sisters all have otherworldly Gifts, but it’s also the only place that has rooms available in the dead of winter and so Harry has no choice but to go there to stay.

As he settles in to try and mend the broken pieces of his life, he uncovers a grave wrong in the town, one that has been left to fester for more than six centuries, and Harry just won’t stand for it, not when it affects the sisters Dark, whom he has come to form a deep affection for.

He might not believe in magic and he may not have special Gifts, but there’s one thing Harry Redwood does know better than almost anyone around him, and that’s his way around a courtroom.

In this long awaited sequel to Summer Loving, let Bishops Pippleton and its residents draw you in to a tale of righting wrongs, forgiveness and learning how to love again.

Excerpt:

 “May we see a menu?”

“Oh, no need.” Kestrel smiled. “Take a seat and someone will bring your order over.”

“But we didn’t-…”

“Come on, Harry.” Esme tugged his arm. “Things happen in a specific way around here. You’ll get used to it.” With a final smile at Kestrel, she tugged the bemused Harry to an 

empty table and settled herself in with all the grandeur of royalty. Harry could tell, despite his confusion, that she was enjoying herself immensely and couldn’t help but feel a little swept up in her contagious joy. Everything else in his day had gone to pot, but it was still worth it just to experience this moment, swallowed whole out of the cold, December night by the spirit of hygge with this tiny colourful lady as a companion.

Their table had been decorated with a tiny wooden carousel that spun softly as people walked by, caught in the wake of their passing. The delicate figurines were beautiful and he leaned in to get a closer look, mesmerised by the spinning forest scene of a troupe of girls leading deer and rabbits through the trees in an infinite cycle.

“It’s more than a hundred years old,” Esme informed him. “Some of Willow Dark’s finest work. She made most of the pieces in here.”

“Willow Dark?” It was such an unusual name that he had to ask.

“Kestrel’s great-great-um-possibly another great-aunt.” Esme’s nose wrinkled as she frowned. “I get confused. Let me see…there were the trees, then the flowers, then the

spices, then the herbs and then this lot. So counting back, that’s…,” she trailed off, her eyes going distant for a moment, “only two greats. Great-great-aunt. I think. Is there such a thing as a grandaunt? Anyway, Dark House was full of her pieces, so when Kestrel opened the coffee shop she started putting them on display here.”

“Risky.” Harry wasn’t sure if he approved. “Don’t people damage them?”

Esme actually looked affronted at the question. “Most certainly not! Generations of the Dark sisters have been greatly respected in this town.”

“I see.” He didn’t see at all, but the feeling of having been deposited in an alternate reality was growing stronger by the moment and there was nothing to do except roll along with it.

Esme was about to say something else when a waitress arrived at their table and placed a cup of thick, steaming golden liquid and a cupcake in front of him, leaving a mug and a tart for Esme too.

“I’m so confused,” he muttered, mostly to himself, but Esme heard.

“In this café you don’t get the cake you want; you get the cake you need,” she told him, sinking her fork into the frangipane and fruit tart before her.

“I beg your pardon?”

“All the Dark sisters have gifts, but this is Kestrel’s.” She waved her fork to encompass the dishes in front of them. “She takes one look at you and knows exactly the cake you need.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s absurd.” Harry’s good humour had abruptly burnt out and he suddenly felt lost and sad and far from home. All of which happened to be true on one level or another, both literally and figuratively.

“Harry, with the greatest of respect, try the damn cake.” Her eyes were still twinkling so he knew she wasn’t really angry, but nevertheless he obediently picked up his fork and speared off a section of the cupcake.

The moment it touched his taste-buds, the whole world fell away into a moment of silence before the taste and fragrance of pistachio and the lightest kiss of rose water catapulted him straight back into his last good memory of

his grandmother before the cancer had taken her. She’d been standing in her kitchen, stirring a pot of syrup for her famous baklava, and he had been sat at the table, troubled over his first big case. The client had been accused of killing

his wife and Harry had come under fire from friends and strangers alike for agreeing to defend him.

“Every man deserves the right to a fair trial, Harry,” she had said. “It’s the cornerstone upon which the law is founded. It doesn’t matter whether he did it or not; if you do right by the law, you do right by both the victim and the defendant.”

She’d paused in her stirring to turn to him, her eyes shining with fierce pride. “And you must never forget that being prepared to do the right thing, when it’s the most difficult of all the paths your feet could take you on, and when all

around you are telling you to turn back, is what makes you a good man.” Her smile softened. “And you are a good man, Harry. Your grandad, rest his soul, would have been so proud.”

The memory faded and Harry opened his eyes, only then realising that his face was wet and people were very carefully not staring at him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Esme’s smile was as soft as his grandmother’s had been and he swallowed the razor sharp ache it sliced in his throat.

“Not really,” was the honest answer.

“Was it what you needed?” she asked, and he wanted to say no, really wanted to say no, but he couldn’t. In all the hurt and bewilderment and unbelonging of the last week, he had desperately needed that reminder that his family would always love him, no matter what, and that he carried a piece of home with him in his heart, however nebulous, everywhere he went.

“Yes, I think it was.” The admission stunned him, the sense of disassociation with reality strengthening. There was every possibility that it was just coincidence, wishful thinking and some kind of bizarre placebo effect, but he

couldn’t shake the feeling that Esme was telling the truth.

I hope you enjoyed the excerpt of Winter’s Edge by Rivka Spicer ! Please make sure to check out the links above for more information and to get your copy! Happy reading!

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TITLE: Monsters Under the Bed (This title might change.)

The cover for this book is just a temporary cover.
The attached character photos are purely for inspiration. I do not own them.
This is a work in progress, so no purchase links.

GENRE: Paranormal

BLURB: 

One child at a time … they were made safe … and able to begin down a path of healing with the true monster gone from their lives for good. 

That was what mattered. That was why they did this. For them. For the innocent ones who couldn’t save themselves.

Do you believe in monsters under the bed? Well, whether you believe in them or not … they’re real. And they’re here. But not for the reasons you might think.

The Secret Society of Monsters — or TSM — is compiled of ten monsters and run by a powerful demon. Their purpose is to protect those who cannot protect themselves. And they do their job very well. 

Summoned by children’s prayers, they appear under the beds of those who call to them and exterminate those true monsters who would cause those precious children harm. The dark souls of the humans are collected upon completion of their mission and brought back to their boss — Rusalka, a thousands-year-old demon who hides her true form beneath a pretty face and a pair of vicious horns that adorn her head like a crown. 

But Rusalka has ulterior motives for these invaluable treasures she consumes. She has plans for the monsters in her employ. And she has a great many secrets. Ones that could bring the TSM to its knees. And leave a path of immense devastation in its wake.

EXCERPT: 

His name was Alexander Stone. And today he would take his last breath. The Society of Monsters, or TSM, had been watching him from afar for months, just waiting to be called upon. Of course, he was far from the only one. They watched millions all across the globe. There were less than a dozen TSM members left. Against millions. Their small group was contracted to protect children who couldn’t protect themselves. Whose voices weren’t loud enough to tell what was happening. In many of the cases, authorities had come and gone, finding nothing out of the ordinary upon closer inspection.

No one to help those poor souls escape the rape, abuse, torture, and torment they suffered daily. 

No one. 

Except for those select few who worked in the dark.

But there was a catch. They could only be summoned by the children’s prayers. Only that would allow those of the TSM to act. 

Sasha’s prayers had finally come. The head of TSM—a demon named Rusalka—had sent Myra to do the job. Myra had been hoping to go on another job tonight, but they had to go where they were sent. They had to trust that Rusalka knew what she was doing—something Myra had a bit of trouble with. Some days, a lot of trouble with. The two had even argued about Myra’s assignment before she left her boss’s office. But, bottom line, Myra’s apprehensiveness wasn’t the important thing right now.

Right now, the only thing that mattered was Sasha.

The human girl had just turned thirteen a few weeks ago. She had beautiful brunette hair and piercing blue eyes. She loved to read, sing, and dance. She wanted to be a famous actress one day. But Sasha wasn’t even sure she’d make it to her next birthday. Her uncle had been abusing her for years. Every weekend, like clockwork, while her parents were at work. 

It ended today.

From beneath Sasha’s bed, Myra watched Alexander enter the room. Her eyes began to glow bright orange, like flickering flames had sparked beneath the bed. Not today, motherfucker. 

Let the real fun begin.

Before Sasha could move an inch, Myra extended the mental tendrils of her mind and whispered, “Somnum.” To her, it sounded like a whisper. To a human, all they would hear at most would be something along the lines of a gentle breeze. The girl immediately fell into a deep sleep filled with sweet and comforting dreams. She wouldn’t hear a single thing that occurred in the next few minutes. She would dream about a sea of daffodils, complete with swarms of brightly colored butterflies and the fresh scent of baked apple pie. To give the gift of pleasant dreams was an ability everyone in their society possessed. And it was the best way. Without any knowledge of what had occurred, they could reveal nothing about the monster who aided them. They wouldn’t be called crazy or a liar for saying a monster did the deed. They would have no nightmares or bad thoughts about what had been done in their room to their attacker, or the monster who lay beneath their bed. No remembrance of the seemingly horrible act that was about to take place. They would just sleep peacefully throughout the entire thing.

This way was best all around, for everyone involved. 

As soon as Alexander noticed the glow from beneath the bed, he stopped dead in his tracks about halfway across the room. A slow smirk spread across Myra’s face as she allowed her glimmering teeth to show. “Tenebris,” she whispered. The room was instantly flooded with darkness. While she saw better in the dark, the human—if he could be called that—would see only what she wanted him to. While those who belonged to TSM could give beautiful dreams to the children, they could also give horrible nightmares to the barbarians who thought of nothing and no one but themselves. Who took whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, and showed no mercy to those they did everything they could to ruin. Alexander was at her mercy now. And Sasha would never be at his again.

Reaching out across the wood flooring, Myra allowed her two-inch-long nails to scrape ever-so-slowly across the floor back toward her. The noise it created was like music to her ears, and like nails on a chalkboard to his. She filled his head with every crime he had ever committed, both to Sasha and to other poor souls. He didn’t see himself hurting those children right now, though. To him, in this moment, it would seem as if the acts were being committed against him by the most terrifying beast her mind could create. And he would be feeling every ounce of the pain along with it. 

The ability to inflict hallucinations really was a beautiful thing when used on the right people. But it could be a noisy one. Alexander’s eyes squeezed shut and he gripped the sides of his head. “Silentium,” Myra whispered. And just in time, too. The spoken word immediately created a bubble, so to speak, around the room. Any noises, yells, or screams uttered inside the bubble wouldn’t be heard by anyone or anything outside the barrier she’d erected. And with Sasha’s mind consumed by the pleasant dreams Myra had created, the young female wouldn’t hear any of it either.

Alexander’s fingernails dug so deep into his flesh that they drew blood. Myra’s smirk widened into a fanged grin. Scream for me, podex. She increased the hallucinations and intensified the pain roaring through him. More and more, bit by bit, until it would feel like liquid fire ran through his veins. 

Eventually … everything stopped. 

Alexander’s hands dropped to his sides. His eyes took on a glazed appearance before he turned toward the bedroom door. Myra slipped from beneath the bed, nothing but a shadow that Alexander would never see. She followed him from the room, gliding silently across the floor behind him, the bubble of silence traveling along with them. They went down the hallway and into the guest bedroom.

Myra hovered by the entrance as Alexander closed the door and walked over to the bed. He knelt and pulled a suitcase out from beneath it. After placing the suitcase on top of the bedding, he opened it and pulled out a gun. Myra didn’t have to inspect it to know it was loaded. He kept it loaded always. The piece was what he frequently showed Sasha to ensure she complied with his demands without making any noise. And being a pharmacist allowed him to give her a morning-after pill every time he abused her as well. If she got pregnant, how would he hide what he was doing to her? Sasha would never tell. Evidence would be the only way to reveal the atrocities she endured.

Evidence that Myra was about to force him to deliver.

With the gun still clasped in his hand, she used her influence over his mind to lead him to a small desk in the corner of the room. He sat in the comfortable chair, then retrieved a pad of paper and a pen from one of the drawers. On top of the desk they went before Alexander picked up the pen and put ink to paper. She forced him to write a suicide note, describing enough of what he’d done without adding too many details. Sasha would be mortified enough. But her embarrassment would be clouded with relief that the nightmare was finally over. 

I’m writing this note to say goodbye. I know that after you read this, none of you will think of me as family anymore. But I’m writing it anyway so you can understand why I’ve done what I’ve done. Why I’ve committed suicide. 

Every weekend while Steven and Maureen are at work, I’ve taken my loaded gun into Sasha’s room, placed it against her temple, and told her to be a good girl or I’d shoot her. Then I’ve molested her. I’ve been doing this since she was nine years old. Since she developed breasts and began to look more like a young woman than a little girl. I’ve tried to stop hurting her, but I just can’t. She trusted me, her Uncle Alex, and I broke that trust. Five years ago, I broke that trust, and took something from her she can never get back. 

I can’t take the guilt anymore. My urges are impossible to fight, but I can’t hurt her again. She’s too sweet. Just a sweet child, and I took her innocence. She doesn’t deserve what I’ve done to her. I could turn myself in to the police, but no one is stupid enough to believe they won’t eventually let me out. I know that I’d find a way to hurt her again. This is the only way for Sasha to always know that she’ll be safe.

Please forgive me for what I’ve done.

— Alex

Alexander Stone died on Saturday, August 21st, at 2:42 PM. Three of the neighbors that were home at the time heard the shot. Two of them called 911. Sasha heard the shot too. She bolted upright in bed as she was startled out of sleep. Myra didn’t have much time.

Pulling a glass jar out of the black trench coat she wore, she whispered the words, “Veni ad me.” The male’s soul oozed up and out of his chest. It seemed to take a great effort, as did pushing off of the body and hovering slightly above it. Alexander’s soul wasn’t translucent and white like the soul of a good person would be. Like Sasha’s soul would be. It was opaque and black, thick like slime-congealed blood. “Veni ad me,” Myra whispered again. The soul floated through the air until it hovered right in front of her. Unscrewing the lid, she offered the opening of the jar to it. The soul obediently floated inside and Myra screwed the lid back on. 

Tucking the jar back inside her trench coat, she allowed her shadowy form to dissipate into nothing but invisible vapor. She listened to the footsteps that shuffled hesitantly down the hallway. The doorknob turned. Slowly, the bedroom door was pushed open. While she hated that a horrified expression covered Sasha’s face and that she began to scream, Myra’s fanged grin never left her face. Because the fact that the male was dead on the bed meant that Sasha’s nightmare was over. He would never lay hands on her again. Never abuse her again. Never molest her again.

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I hope you enjoyed the excerpt of Monsters Under the Bed by Nikki Haras! Please make sure to check out the links above for more information and to get your copy! Happy reading!

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Genre: YA Contemporary Romance

Blurb:

Mason’s life is far from perfect, but it turns out it can get worse. When his mom ends up in prison, he’s shipped off to the middle of nowhere. Apparently he’s got grandparents—parents of the father he knows nothing about. Mason’s not interested in bonding with these newfound grandparents. He just wants to survive until his eighteenth birthday so he can escape this backwater town and finally be free.

Emily is struggling to keep what’s left of her family from falling apart after a horrible accident stole her mom. She has enough on her plate with mothering her younger siblings and protecting a secret that could destroy everything, when she runs into Mason—literally. Her life doesn’t need more complications, and this distractingly attractive, clearly damaged boy promises nothing but trouble. Still, she can’t help but be drawn to him.

Mason and Emily are opposites in nearly every way, but neither can deny the attraction between them. Mason knows he isn’t good enough for her, and Emily knows she should stay away, but that doesn’t stop the pull they feel toward each other. Their tentative relationship is threatened when Mason is put in the crosshairs of the local gang and the town sheriff. Mason and Emily will have to decide what they really want—and if they’re willing to fight for it.

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Excerpt from NO MATTER WHAT by K.M. Frost

Emily

I glanced at Mason, trying to read his expression. He was staring out the windshield intently, but he didn’t seem angry or upset. I decided to push a little. “What’s your favorite thing about Chicago?”
“I don’t know . . .” He smoothed his thumb along the window frame. “I guess it’s nice to be anonymous. There are so many people, no one really notices you.”
My eyebrows pulled together. “That sounds kind of sad.”
“Maybe.” A moment passed in silence, and I wasn’t sure what else to say. Then he surprised me by saying, “Actually, the best part was Leo.”
“Leo?”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “He’s been my best friend since we were eleven.”
“I feel like there’s a story there.”
“There is.” 
I waited for him to elaborate, and when he didn’t, I peeked over at him. He was watching me with a sly curve of his lips. I laughed. “You know I can’t resist that kind of bait, don’t you?”
“Counting on it.” There was a light in his eyes that absolutely thrilled me. I hadn’t known him for long at all, but I had a feeling he didn’t smile very often. The fact I seemed to have a knack for pulling smiles and even laughs from him felt like a big accomplishment.
I pursed my lips. “Fine, I’ll bite. I’m guessing ‘it was a dark and stormy night’ . . .”
He stretched his legs out in front of him and braced his palms against his dark jeans. “Actually, it was a summer evening around six.” He tossed me a smirk. “It was raining, though.”
“I knew it.”
A grin stretched his lips, drawing my attention to that little white scar at the corner of his mouth. “I was looking for a place to wait out the storm. I’d tried ducking into some convenience stores, but no one wanted a rain-drenched kid hanging around, scaring their customers away.”
“Why didn’t you go home?” As soon as the question was out, I wished I could suck it back in.
Instead of shutting down, he just shrugged. “I only went home when I had to.”
“Okay,” I said in a small voice, shoving down all the follow-up questions I wanted to ask. “Did you find a place?”
“Kind of.” He started drumming his fingers against his thigh, no doubt an echo to the music in his ears. “I snuck into an abandoned warehouse—well, I thought it was abandoned. Turned out a gang had claimed it as their own, and they weren’t accepting visitors.”
I couldn’t even imagine how terrifying that would have been to be eleven years old, soaked to the bone, and coming face to face with a ruthless gang. Mason said it like it was nothing—just the setting for his story and no big deal. That alone made me sure he’d had many similar experiences, and that was a whole other level of terrifying.
“I tried to talk my way out, but they weren’t going to just let me walk away. Luckily for me, Leo caused a distraction.”
“So you were already friends?”
“No. I mean, I’d seen him around school, but there were way too many kids to know everyone.”
“Why would he cause a distraction, then? That’s bold, even for a Good Samaritan.”
Mason laughed. “Leo’s no Good Samaritan. He wasn’t trying to help me out—he was taking advantage of their attention being on me so he could rob them.”
I felt my mouth drop open and quickly snapped it shut. “He was robbing them? An eleven-year-old kid against a Chicago gang?”
“Leo’s quick and sneaky. It wasn’t his first or last time.” He shrugged. “And they may have been a Chicago gang, but Leo’s a Chicago kid. Anyway, Leo grabbed the goods and would have gotten away if the gang hadn’t noticed me staring at him. When they realized what was happening, they lost it.
“My goal was to get out of there alive, but Leo’s goal was to keep his prize. He decided to act like we were a team, and started yelling at me to stick to the plan and get the cash to Alex. I had no idea what he was talking about, obviously, but the gang bought it. They started coming at me, telling me to drop the money if I wanted to live. I ran.
“Everything happened so fast, I honestly don’t know how it all went down. I remember running, knocking over everything I could to try to slow them down. They were yelling and shooting. That’s how I got this.” He twisted his arm and tapped a finger against a scar across his triceps.
I almost slammed on my brakes. “They shot you?”
“Just a graze.” He continued like it wasn’t completely insane. “When I got outside, I knew I didn’t have time to think about which direction to go. I could hear them chasing me, so I turned down an alley and just kept going, making as many turns as I could. I ran until I couldn’t hear them anymore, then I ducked behind a dumpster, just to be sure they weren’t still following me. While I was catching my breath, hoping I’d lost them, a voice from a nearby fire escape almost gave me a heart attack.” He must have seen the question in my eyes, because he sent me a smug little smile. “Leo, with his bag of spoils.”
“How did you end up in the same alley?” I asked, feeling out of breath.
Mason shrugged. “Coincidence, luck—who knows. All I know is I yelled at him for making it look like we’d been working together. He reminded me I’d been the one to give him away in the first place, and pointed out that we’d made it out alive. That was about the time I realized I was bleeding. I was terrified, thinking I was going to die. I must have really been a wreck, because Leo took pity on me and took me to his house to get patched up.”
I shook my head slowly, amazed. “And you’ve been friends ever since?”
“More or less. It took a minute to get used to each other, but Leo’s the only person who’s always stood by me.”
I couldn’t believe it when I recognized the Peterson’s farmhouse and big red barn out the windshield. What should have been a nice long drive was already over. That just wasn’t fair.
Mason’s eyes locked on the farmhouse and his lips pressed into a line, effectively killing our easy conversation. I rolled to a stop near the front porch steps and shifted into park, trying to think of something to say.
We sat for a moment in silence, then he reached for the door’s handle. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Anytime,” I said quickly, though sincerely. He stepped out of the car, but before he could close the door, I called, “Mason!”
He braced his hand on the roof and ducked his head so he could look in at me. I felt a tingle when our eyes met.
I cleared my throat so my voice wouldn’t squeak. “Thanks for sharing your story with me.”
His deep blue eyes searched mine, spreading that tingle across my skin. “Thanks for listening.”
“Anytime,” I said again, though this time the word came out a little breathless.
He held my gaze for another long second, then his lips quirked in a half smile. “See you Wednesday, Emily.”

Author Bio:

K.M. Frost was brought up surrounded by books, and has loved stories of all kinds her whole life. Romance, comedy, and fantasy are some of her favorite genres to write, read, and watch. When she’s not writing, she enjoys reading, traveling, and graphic design.

K.M. Frost lives in Northern Utah, and is the author of the YA sweet contemporary romance, No Matter What, and the YA dystopian trilogy, Reality Dreamers.

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I hope you enjoyed the excerpt of No Matter What by K.M. Frost! Please make sure to check out the links above for more information and to get your copy! Happy reading!

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Disclaimer: None of the work in Reading With Star belongs to me. The author owns all right to the book. They have given me permission to share a bit of their work with you.

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Blurb:

While hiking, Alexandra Mann is powerless to stop the force that pulls her into a foreign land. Alex must rely on her quick-wits in an effort to deal with the strange new world. Fear of rejection taught her the art of blending into the background, a skill that will help keep her alive.

Engaged in a battle with a government determined to suppress its people, Tarsea Childers’ life is suddenly turned upside down. The shocking arrival of an unusual woman captivates him body and soul, and makes him fear what the future holds. The electric, life-changing bond between them will have far reaching consequences for him and his world.

Can Alex step out of the shadows and finally shine? Will Tarsea overcome his need to control everything, and accept Alex as his partner in life and in his fight against the government?

Plunge into an alternate universe where soul mates aren’t just legend.

Note from Evelyn Lederman, the author:

On Sunday February 23, 2014, I was driving to play tennis when a conversation between my older sister Alice and my friend Al played in my mind. We were outside Sedona, Arizona, and the two were talking about String Theory and parallel dimensions. I was driving, so I only paid partial attention to their conversation.

My mind then transitioned from the real-life discussion to five girls chatting with me. They told me they were from a parallel dimension, but they were raised in the Earth realm. Knowing author’s character sometimes popped into their heads, I was thrilled. I immediately purchased a 5-subject spiral notebook and prepared to leave the next day for Los Angeles and Mexico.

While I was on vacation, I outlined my characters, created a parallel dimension of telepathic beings, and plotted out the book. My sister still talks about how I’d return from my morning hikes and sit near the pool and write. It’s ironic, it was the same sister who had the discussion outside of Sedona, Arizona that started my writing.

The Chameleon Soul Mate is the first book I wrote. I do most of my world building here, so it reads a little slower than the subsequent books in the series (The Crystal Telepath, The Warrior Woman, The Mind Control Telepath, and The True Ruler).

I’ve selected a segment from The Chameleon Soul Mate where Alexandra and Tarsea meet for the first time. Enjoy!

The Chameleon Soul Mate Excerpt

The Troyk Universe, Aster Province

Tarsea Childers patiently waited for Darden to emerge through the portal. It was actually quite peaceful not having to listen to anyone talking or pushing thoughts through any of the many telepathic channels he had to manage continually. They were too far from the city for the communal pathways to reach him. He often wondered what it would be like to live in a world where the population was not telepathic. What peace that would provide, not constantly deluged with conversations.

He loved taking the hike up the mountain to where the natural gateway between worlds existed. Aster Province buildings were made of stone and surrounded by purple flowering trees, shrubs, and flowers. Unlike the city, the trail had a variety of blooming flowers that differed from the purple that dominated the Troyk city. Here nature showed the true variety of colors, scents, and densities a world should possess. He looked down at the valley where the city nestled. Since Aster Province was surrounded by mountains, the pollen trapped in the valley painted the sky violet.

Darden Lours walked through the portal. “Thanks for meeting me,” he greeted Tarsea.

“Glad you are back. How were the headaches?”

Tarsea was always relieved when his best friend returned home from whatever parallel universe he visited. As of late, it seemed to be only Ginkgo Terra. Very few gatherers were willing to go to Ginkgo Terra due to the impact the planet’s atmosphere had on their telepathic brains. Gatherers early on complained of headaches they experienced in that world.

“Nothing I cannot handle. The herbs I take have helped.” Darden became a very successful gatherer because he would venture to that universe and return with the ginkgo herb their world required. He did not share this knowledge with the other gatherers, wanting exclusive rights to Gingko Terra. The additional herbs were always given to Tarsea’s mother Leenea. She would blend them with other herbs and create a tea that helped them better manage the telepathic channels.

They were about to start down the mountain when there was a terrible scream and both men turned to the portal as the most beautiful woman Tarsea had ever laid eyes on fell through. At the sight of her, he felt like he had been punched in the stomach. It was as if he had the wind knocked out of him. Darden was the quicker of the two of them and caught her. Tarsea stood like a fool watching.

The girl continued to scream in Darden’s arms as he tried to calm her. “By the Prime!” Darden declared. “What are you doing here, Alexandra?”

It was obvious his friend knew the girl. Tarsea wanted to help aid in quieting her. He used the name Darden had. “Alexandra, you need to stop screaming! Take a breath and let it out slowly, you are starting to hyperventilate.”

As they were trying to calm the girl, he telepathically asked his friend questions. “Who is she? How do you know her? What is she to you?” For some reason, that last question was the most important to him.

Darden talked to the girl, ignoring his questions. Tarsea figured he would have to wait for his answers until after the girl stopped screaming.

He stared at the creature in Darden’s arms. She had the most beautiful light auburn hair that shimmered in the sun. The girl had bright green eyes that showed terror, although he felt under normal circumstances, they would show intelligence. Her skin was like a luminous pearl, she almost glowed a light pink. She was slight. Tarsea had the odd thought he wanted to feed her so there would be more of her for him to touch. His fingers ached to touch her skin and slide his whole being into her body. He had never reacted to anyone in this manner.

I hope you enjoyed the excerpt of The Chameleon Soul Mate by Evelyn Lederman! Please make sure to check out the links above for more information and to get your copy! Happy reading!

Have an excerpt you want to share? Contact me at nikkiereads@starsbooksandtea.com so we can discuss it!

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Disclaimer: None of the work in Reading With Star belongs to me. The author owns all right to the book. They have given me permission to share a bit of their work with you.

https://www.amazon.com/Operation-Escape-Space-Force-Rejects-ebook/dp/B0BRJXQYZW

Blurb:

A forced bond, an undeniable attraction, and a planet full of prisoners who want them dead.

Sera Kain has a mission, one she can’t complete with a pilot. Using her background as a logistics and data controller, she’s found the one man that might be willing to help her find her missing uncle with a little incentive.

Markus Engle resigned from military life to escape the destruction left by human expansion through the universe. He wants only a life of leisure and enjoyment on the pleasure planet of Kafgar. When Sera walks through the door of his business everything changes because he can’t tell her no. Not when her scent activates the military DNA modifications that make denying her impossible.

It’s a simple rescue mission on the prison planet, Earth, with Sera guiding the way. Only the snatch-n-save turns into an ambush and the pair find themselves trapped without a ship and no way out. To escape alliances will need to be formed and bargains made with the worst Space Force has encountered. For Markus and Sera, their future is fated, but making it off Earth alive to enjoy it will be damn near impossible.

Author note: This is a sci-fi fated mates romance featuring a pansexual hero, a fish-out-of-water heroine, and a ragtag crew of humanoid aliens and science experiments.

Excerpt: 

Sera was about to toss her smashed, empty paper cup to the ground when Markus cleared his throat and held out a hand.

“What?”

“The cup. We don’t litter on Kafgar. Could get you thrown in situation you don’t want.” One he couldn’t allow. His strenuous control over this pheromone bond rebuked the idea of letting anything bad happen to her.

“Fine.” She slapped the paper cup into his hand, but it felt gentle compared to the force she’d thrown behind it.Communication desk jockey, indeed.

Then she grabbed the handle on the side of his ship, propped her knee against the bottom of the opening, and hauled herself inside. “I could manage whatever punishment they deal out.”

He chuckled, climbing in behind her and shutting the door. “They auction you off to the highest bidder for a night at their command. You’re essentially a slave for a day or more, depending on your crimes.”

“Well, that’s… ridiculous. Uh, illegal. You can’t enslave a person for lawbreaking.”

A glance over his shoulder and he almost laughed again at her wide, fearful gaze and the mulish set to her lips. Even when she appeared outraged, she appealed to him, and he could only surmise it was the bond. Though why his dick got hard as well was a mystery.

“They can. It’s their planet, and since they are allies but not bound by much regulation, all species who land here agree to follow their laws. But since I saved you from such a fate, let’s get down to business. Your plan to find your uncle, speak now. I’ll give you five minutes.”

She crossed her arms. “You’re not even going to offer me a seat?”

Demanding, spoiled, and feisty.

He rotated his head, trying to loosen up his neck muscles and avoid the temptation of her breasts on display again. Though he couldn’t help but lick his lips as she stood there glowering at him. “Behind you there’s a bench.”

She turned to examine one of two benches. He’d even embellished them from the standard issue metal, adding a padded cushion on top for those traveling to a picnic on the moon or needing a softer space for a sexual encounter.

Markus was tempted to tell her as much, see if he could upset her again. She’d already upended his life, so the least he could do was return the favor in some way or two. Maybe get that bosom heaving.

“Don’t worry, I cleaned them off after the last couple soiled them. You’ll be fine.”

Her hands went to her hips, but the fire in her gaze told a different story. “You let them copulate in here?”

He laughed. “They pay me, not the other way around. Besides, who am I to stand in the way of pleasure?”

A blush spread across her cheeks as her mouth opened into a little ‘o’ and then shut again. She turned away from him quickly and carried on with her inspection of the bench. She leaned over, thrusting that nice, juicy ass of hers in his direction. He cleared his throat. “Better hurry. That clock is tick-ticking away.”

I hope you enjoyed the excerpt of Operation Escape by Landra Graf! Please make sure to check out the links above for more information and to get your copy! Happy reading!

Have an excerpt you want to share? Contact me at nikkiereads@starsbooksandtea.com so we can discuss it!

If you enjoy my content, please consider leaving me a tip! Thank you so much for reading!

Disclaimer: None of the work in Reading With Star belongs to me. The author owns all right to the book. They have given me permission to share a bit of their work with you.

https://amzn.to/3Kx6W4T

Blurb:

Love at first sight might be real after all.
At 27, Evan Nichols is moving to Miami, Florida and finally out of his parents’ house. For someone who lacks confidence, the move has been difficult, and the job is harder than he expected. It’s a lonely start in an unfamiliar city.
Isaac Flores has been playing for the Miami Dolphins for six years and is one of the top wide receivers in the country. The last thing he’s looking for is romance. Isaac would rather spend his free time alone than at the bars with his friends.
When Evan literally runs into Isaac, sparks fly, but as their relationship blooms, the secrets they keep and the vices they keep hidden might ruin them.
Miami Vices is a M/M Romance.

Excerpt:

The parking lot at Club Tango is almost full and there is a line for the valet. Instead of waiting in line, I choose to self-park. I don’t want to be here, but I promised Tyson and the guys I’d join them one night before the season starts. We have less than two weeks, so it’s time to make good on my word. I drove so I’ll have an excuse to not drink. As long as I stay sober, I can sneak off when the others get wasted and start pairing off with their random hookups.
After putting the car in park, I lean my head against the back of the seat and close my eyes.
“You can do this. It’s one night then you’re off the hook until February,” I give myself a little pep talk. “Go inside. Pretend to flirt with a few girls then call it a night.”
Slowly, I open the car door and climb out, dragging my feet to the door. It’s only nine-thirty and the line to get in is around the corner. Thankful for small favors, I pass the line and walk up to the door guy. He sees me coming and moves the velvet rope blocking the VIP entrance. Perks of being a Dolphins’ player.
“Hey, man, good to see you,” he greets as I pass. I’ve known Damien for a few years. I don’t go out much, but this is always our first stop and often the only one.
“What’s up?” I respond with a quick handshake as I pass.
Music blasts from every corner of the large room. The club is mostly dark with neon lights illuminating the dance floor. On the left side is a huge bar that spans the room from one wall to the other. Between the bar and dance floor are a few tables scattered around and private booths line the wall. Upstairs are the VIP suites, several smaller rooms with floor to ceiling windows, so those inside can hear and see what’s happening in the club. The walkway outside of the suites wraps around the entire upstairs and the center in open so you can look over the railing onto the dance floor.
I make my way up to our regular suite, the one Tyson has reserved for every Friday night of the year, whether we use it or not. I don’t know how much he pays to keep it on reserve, but it’s worth it. Once inside the room, it’s a little quieter. The room is decked out in high-end leather couches and chairs, a few tables, a bar with personal bartender, and a private bathroom.
When I walk in, I find several guys from the team are here along with some groupies. That might not be the right word, but these are girls who don’t care anything about football and probably don’t know the difference between a football and a baseball. They are here for the money and status. They don’t come to any games, but they always find their way to Club Tango on Friday night and end up in our suite. Tyson talks shit about a few of them even though he’s hooked up with most of them and currently has a scantily dressed girl on each arm. He’s smiling and laughing, laying on the charm.
“No, shit, you did show up.” Tyson lets go of the girls when he spots me, making his way over. He claps me on the back. “What are you drinking?”
“Water. I’m driving.”
“You’re driving? Why didn’t you call for a car?”
“Yeah, Old Man,” Carter adds, joining our conversation. “You can’t come to the land of plenty,” he continues, spreading his arms to indicate all the girls around the room, “and not have a few drinks. Come on, it will loosen you up then maybe we can get you laid for once.”
“I do fine on my own,” I growl.
“Yeah, but your hand must be getting tired.” I glare at Carter, the little asshole, ready to make some asinine comment back, but Tyson steps in.
“Enough, Carter. Give the boy a break.” At Tyson’s words, Carter shrugs and steps away, following a girl in a short, pink skirt, and I mean short. I can see her ass cheeks hanging out the bottom and she is definitely not wearing underwear.
By the time I face Tyson, Carter already has an arm wrapped around Pink Skirt. “I’m not in the mood for this shit tonight.”
“I get it, but thanks for gracing us with your presence, oh mighty Old Man.”
“Bitch.”
Tyson laughs. “Come on, let’s get you something resembling a drink, so no one gives you shit for the rest of the week.”
“Or season.”
“You’re probably right about that.”
I follow Tyson to the bar, and he orders himself a beer and a shot of tequila and me a club soda with a lime. Tyson is the only one on the team who knows I’m gay. He talks to me about girls and pretends he’s always trying to get me laid in an effort to keep my secret. I tried to keep it from him, but I was struggling with my sexuality and being new to the team at such a young age. Tyson took me out to dinner one day a couple of weeks after practice started to make sure I was doing alright. I confided in him that night that I was struggling being on my own for the first time and I was a little homesick. He didn’t make fun of me or tell anyone else. Over the next few months, we built a strong friendship, and I started trusting him. Eventually, I told him the truth. He supported me and told me he’d keep my secret. For the past six years, he’s made good on that promise.
“Here you go.” Tyson hands me my drink then downs his shot of tequila before picking up his beer and motioning for me to follow him. He leads me to a small table with two chairs away from everyone else. The table is in the corner near the bathroom and rarely gets used. I don’t come often, but it’s basically the same night with most of the same girls every time I’m here. These boys need to branch out a little.
We sit in silence for a few minutes, while Tyson sips his beer and I watch the crowd gathering in the room. More guys from the team show up and a few have girls with them.
“I know this isn’t your scene, but I’m glad you’re here,” Tyson breaks the silence.
“Yeah,” is all I manage to say. How do I respond to him? He’s right, this isn’t my scene. The loud techno and dance music, the drunk girls, having to hide who I am – sometimes it’s all too much. It’s the reason I don’t like to come out. Keeping my secret is easier when I stick to playing football and going home.
“Loosen up. You’ll be fine.”
I turn my head to stare at Tyson, “I’m not up for fake flirting and having girls all over me.”
“They won’t bite,” he teases. “Well, some of them do, but I like it.” Tyson winks.
“Gross.”
“Really? You find that gross?”
“Okay,” I hold my hands up in surrender. “You probably find what I do gross, too.”
“Actually, I don’t think about what you do.”
“Good point. I normally don’t think about what you do, either.”
We clink our glasses and I take a sip of my club soda. It’s not very good, but at least it looks like a vodka soda or gin and tonic. No one is going to question me. As I sip my drink slowly, making it last as long as possible, I watch my teammates. Some are already making out with girls, others are going shot for shot at the bar, and a few are in smaller groups, talking and laughing. If I wasn’t so wound up, it might be fun.
Mark Sharkey, our tight end, saunters over with two girls. He pulls up three more chairs and offers one to each girl before dropping into the third one.
“This is Tawny and Crystal,” he introduces us. “That’s Tyson and that’s Isaac.” He points to each of us as he speaks.
The brunette is sitting closest to me and leans in, “Nice to meet you, Isaac,” she purrs, running a hand up my leg. My whole body goes rigid. I scoot my chair back a little, turning it toward the table, causing her hand to fall. She gives a dirty look then sits back in the chair and turns her attention to Mark, who is looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Damn, you really are an old man,” he snaps with a shake of his head. “Tawny here’s a sure thing. She’ll give you a blow job in the bathroom right now. Just say the word.”
For a split second, I considered this option. It would get the guys off my back and if I close my eyes, I can imagine it’s a man. I mean, a blow job is a blow job.
“Yeah, baby, come on. I already took care of Marky once tonight. I can show you a good time, too.”
Those words shatter any all thoughts of taking her up on the offer. “No thanks.” Getting a blow job in the bathroom right after she gave one to my teammate isn’t happening. Disgusting. “I don’t want his leftovers,” I bark.
Pushing up from the chair, I don’t wait for her or Mark to respond. I’m downstairs and almost at the exit when Tyson catches up to me.
“You okay?” he asks, grabbing my arm and stopping me from leaving.
“I’m fine, but I’m not doing this tonight.”
“Mark always goes too far.”
“That’s who he is and that’s fine, but I’m not pretending to be interested in any of the girls, and I’m sure as shit not taking one to the bathroom.”
“Come on, let’s go get a bunch greasy food and watch a movie at my place,” he offers.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, releasing some of the tension in my body. “Nah, you go get yourself laid. I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
With a smile, Tyson turns back to the club and rushes up the steps while I walk to my car. It was nice of him to offer to keep me company, but I don’t need to be his charity case. I pull out of the parking lot and head in the direction of my favorite drive thru. Tyson is right about one thing; greasy food sounds a little like heaven right now.

Author Links:

https://linktr.ee/authorpamelagail

I hope you enjoyed the excerpt of Miami Vices by Pamela Gail! Please make sure to check out the links above for more information and to get your copy! Happy reading!

Have an excerpt you want to share? Contact me at nikkiereads@starsbooksandtea.com so we can discuss it!

If you enjoy my content, please consider leaving me a tip! Thank you so much for reading!

Disclaimer: None of the work in Reading With Star belongs to me. The author owns all right to the book. They have given me permission to share a bit of their work with you.

https://amzn.to/47hdeiQ

Heather pressed the heels of her palms against her closed eyeballs. Fuck. This was a nightmare. How the fuck could she prevent Aurora from opening her mouth? Aside from threatening the chick with bodily harm or some nasty rumor around school. But if she handled things as she normally did, what would it do to her brother?
How could she keep him safe with him and his girlfriend poking their nose in her business like this? And what the hell would this Russian guy do if he found out she’d talked to Luis? God, she was a fucking idiot. Ugh! This was all her parents’ fault. Those assholes had dragged her into this. Throwing her name out there to the damn mafia. What the hell had they thought? Oh, I know. Our daughter will bail us out, she internally mocked.
“I’d set this down, but you look like you’re having a moment. And after the mess you and your boyfriend left yesterday, I’d rather not chance it.”
Heather lifted her gaze to the chick with short pink hair. She glanced at the bitch’s nametag. “Liza, is it? Listen. I’m having a shit day. I don’t need, nor do I want, your fucking attitude. Just give me my damn coffee and flitter off to whatever hole you crawled out of. Got it?”
The female tilted her head. “Wow. You got balls, I’ll give you that. Certainly explains the lack of blood flow in your brain. I mean, I expect that kind of shit from children. Not a semi-grown adult with clothes that could feed an entire country for a year.”
Who the fuck was this bitch coming at her like this? No one ever talked to her the way this pink-haired chick did. “Listen up, you miniature ball of cotton candy.” Heather stood, knocking her chair over, took a step toward the Latino whore and shoved a finger in her face. “You have two seconds to give me my fucking order before I show you how big my balls are.”
“Hmm, they must be brass, too.” Liza half-assed dropped the cup of coffee on the table, some of the dark liquid spilling out. “A five-year-old could’ve come up with that.” She tossed the apple scone, the plate clattering against the wooden table. With a smirk, the female strode off.
Grinding her jaw, Heather charged after the pink fuzzball. That woman had a beat-down coming.
Then a pair of powerful arms wrapped around her waist and yanked her back. “Whoa! Easy tiger,” Luis mumbled.
Where the fuck had he come from? Narrowing her eyes at him, she jerked her body out of his hold. It was the only way to counter the warmth spreading through her veins. “You’re late,” she grumbled, returning to her seat and picking it up off the floor. Fuck, she couldn’t deal with this day any longer. First, the shit at her locker, then she gets accosted by some waitress. Could it get worse?

I hope you enjoyed the excerpt of Twisted by Krys Fenner! Please make sure to check out the links above for more information and to get your copy! Happy reading!

Have an excerpt you want to share? Contact me at nikkiereads@starsbooksandtea.com so we can discuss it!

If you enjoy my content, please consider leaving me a tip! Thank you so much for reading!