Author Archives: Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez

About Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez

My Niece and Nephew joke that I could open a used book store with all the books that I own. I love to read, that is my addiction. I can't go a week without going to a book store. I love crocheting. I love to write stories and poetry. I also love my family, even though they make me crazy at times. I am a huge Donald Duck Fan.

Private Party Teaser

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BDSM Erotic Romance, Multicultural & Interracial

Date Published: August 7, 2026

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Newly divorced, Brandi’s in trouble. What she doesn’t need?
Her past coming back to haunt her.

 

Reeling from her ex-husband’s infidelity and buried in the mountain of
debts he left behind, Brandi needs to make money — a lot of money — fast, or
she’ll lose her home. When she applies for a job as a hostess at an
adult club, the last thing she expects is to come face to face with her high
school flame.

Greg has grown up a lot since high school, but he’s never forgotten the
woman who left him behind. No longer a quiet geek, the self-made
multi-millionaire intends to win Brandi back, and his first step is to make
her an offer she can’t refuse. He hires her as his escort for the
evening at an adult party in his mansion. Now he has one night to convince her
he’s matured into the masterful mate she needs.

EXCERPT

Brandi stared at her reflection in the mirror. The lush black velvet suited
her better than she’d expected, contrasting nicely with the soft brown
of her skin. She’d had her hair styled last month — the day before her
world fell apart — and it fell just below her shoulders in a shimmery dark
curtain. Definitely a good investment. She twisted sideways, wiggling her
butt. Yup. That skirt was short. Real short. Short enough she’d be
afraid to bend over. Then again, if she bent over her breasts would probably
spill right out of the low-cut top that formed the other half of the costume.
Did people really work in outfits like this?

She gave her head a mental shake. Of course they did. If you wanted the big
tips, you needed to show off a little of the merchandise.

Life wasn’t fair, and happily ever afters only happened on the pages of
those sappy romance novels. Losing her job and then watching her husband
desert her for a teenaged slut sure brought that one home in a hurry. She
needed this job, needed to pay off the huge stack of bills he’d left her
with before she lost her home as well, and in this labor market she
couldn’t afford to be picky.

When she’d seen the ad for a hostess at a local after-hours club,
she’d plastered what she hoped was a come-hither smile on her face and
applied for the position. If nothing else, it would give her some breathing
room while she figured out what she wanted to do. She’d be damned if
she’d let that lecherous excuse for a husband ruin her life.

Opening the front closet, Brandi perused the selection of winter coats. Since
she’d been reduced to using public transit, she’d better make sure
the skimpy costume didn’t get her mugged before she got to the
interview. The man who’d dropped off the costume had been very specific.
The interview for the job was at three sharp, and the manager did not expect
to be kept waiting.

Picking a thick wool coat that fell partway down her calves to hide the
scandalous outfit, she made sure she buttoned it all the way up to her chin.
Catching a chill and sneezing all over the manager would not improve her
chances of getting this job. She grabbed her purse off the side table and
locked the door behind her.


Oh, shit! Brandi folded her hands behind her back and tried not to stare. Greg
Bridger. With the way her luck had been going lately, why hadn’t she
realized it would be him doing the hiring when she desperately needed the job?
Greg Bridger was the guy she’d spent her entire high school career
dating. The guy everyone expected her to marry. The guy she’d walked out
on for the worthless piece of trash who’d just deserted her for the
pom-pom queen.

She hadn’t kept track of him for the past ten years, hadn’t really
given him much thought while she’d been so entranced with her scumbag of
a husband. Maybe she should have. He carried himself with a self assurance
that spoke volumes. He wore his dark hair short these days, in a cut that
flattered the rugged lines of his face. Six feet tall, he had the muscular
frame of someone who spent hours every week at the gym. That hadn’t
always been the case.

Although he’d been quiet in high school, more of a geek than a jock,
Greg had always had plans and dreams, big dreams. Somehow she never thought of
him settling for a safe job like manager of an adult club, even if it was the
most popular club on the east side of town. Maybe he’d decided to trade
in his dreams of corporate success for that fantastic body.

She had no idea if she had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting this
job. If Greg recognized her, he gave no sign. He circled her slowly, his eyes
impersonal as he made notes on the clipboard he was holding. Was it her
imagination, or did his eyes linger with just a hint of lust on her cleavage?
And should that upset her or give her hope?

Brandi made an effort to rein in her errant libido and tried not to fidget. It
wasn’t her fault. Seeing Greg again had been a shock, and reawakened
feelings she’d long forgotten. He’d been an enthusiastic, if
somewhat awkward lover in high school, and he’d matured impressively in
the last ten years. Sex appeal was stamped all over his rugged frame, and if
she were honest with herself, she had to admit that her husband had never
really satisfied her in the bedroom. She’d always longed for him to be a
bit more inventive, but he’d never really done more than give her a
quick slam-bam before he’d rolled over and commenced snoring.

After the first few disappointing months, she’d resigned herself to a
less than inspired sex life. She was surprised to feel the corner of her mouth
tugging upward as she wondered if the little tart he’d run off with was
getting bored with his insipid technique yet.

“Do you find this amusing? I was under the impression you wanted this
job.” Frost tinged Greg’s voice as he stopped in front of her, one
dark eyebrow raised in query.

“Not at all, sir.” It was fairly obvious he didn’t recognize
her, and personal history aside, she really did need this job. “I was
thinking of something else. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” His voice rang with disapproval.
“I expect my staff to pay close attention to my instructions at all
times.”

“Of course.” Damn. She really needed this job.

“Well, then.” His gaze swept over her in frank assessment before
he consulted the tablet. “I have to say, I don’t feel you are
suited for the position.”

Brandi felt her heart drop. She really needed this job. “You
don’t? I’ll work really hard, I promise.” She hated the
whining note in her voice. “I’ll do whatever you want me to. Just
give me a chance.”

A hint of a smile hovered at the corner of his mouth. “I’m afraid
not. We are looking for someone younger, someone the clients will keep buying
more drinks from in the hopes of getting lucky.” His gaze swept over her
briefly. “You are definitely not the cheerleader type. The clients would
take one look at you and know they were outclassed. I do, however, have
another opening that you might be interested in. If you would care to take a
seat out in the lobby while I finish up here?”

Crap! He’d as much as told her she was over the hill. Definitely not
something you want to hear from an ex-lover. Then again, he had mentioned
another position. She’d come looking for a job, not a lover. At least he
wasn’t holding their shared past against her, assuming he even
recognized her. He’d given no signs.

 

 

About the Author

Anne Kane lives in the beautiful Okanagan Valley with a bouncy little rescue
dog whose breed defies description, a cantankerous Himalayan cat, and too many
fish to count. She spent many years trying to fit in and act normal, but
finally gave up the effort. She started writing romance in 2008, and her fate
was sealed when she won a publishing contract with Red Sage Publishing and
just a month later Changeling Press accepted her first submission. Since then
she has published more than thirty stories in a variety of sub-genres, all
with a happily ever after.

She has two handsome sons and six adorable grandchildren and enjoys spending
time with them whenever she can. Her hobbies, when she’s not playing
with the characters in her head, include kayaking, hiking, swimming, playing
guitar, singing and of course, reading.

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Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

 

 

 

 

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No Excuses, No Regrets Teaser

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BDSM Erotica

Date Published: August 7, 2026

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Tonight, Marley will beg for every forbidden thing she’s too proud
to ask for.

 

Marley — I built the model. Denton stole the credit, sabotaged my numbers,
and tried to bury me in front of the client. Then Lucan walks in. Three nights
ago, he was the Dom who bound my wrists, stripped away my control, and made me
scream inside Sanctum Black. Today, he’s the client who can save my
career — or destroy it. He demands I lead the account. Demands a direct line
to me. And when he orders me back to his private room, kneeling and waiting, I
know exactly what he wants. Worse, I know exactly how badly I want to give it
to him.

Lucan — Marley thinks she can hide behind sharp suits, sharper words, and
professional boundaries. She’s wrong. I saw what she needed the first
night I had her under my hands. I saw the hunger, the surrender, the beautiful
way she fought herself before giving in. Her boss tried to take what belonged
to her. I handled that. Now I’ll handle Marley. I won’t break her.
I’ll bind her, test her, praise her, punish her, and make her beg.
She’s mine. By the time I’m done, she’ll say it. More?
She’ll believe it.

EXCERPT

Marley

I sat at my desk, staring at my finished project. Three weeks of work stacked
into a clean PowerPoint. The numbers aligned. The previous projections had
been spot on, and I had worked to complete this project and move to the next
phase for over two years. Now waves had started in upper management. The
completed work would not be presented by me.

My boss, Denton, had made that clear in his email yesterday. He would lead. I
would attend as backup for any questions he couldn’t answer. The email
didn’t mention why he’d pulled the rug out from under me, but I
had a good idea.

My phone buzzed. A text from the front: Denton wanting me in the conference
room now. I’d already sent him my presentation for review so I
couldn’t imagine why he’d want me early. Even with him doing the
bulk of the meeting, I still had prep work to finish.

With a sigh, I shut my laptop and slipped it into my briefcase before leaving
my tiny cubicle. The open-plan office stretched around me. No one looked
up… which was the first warning. The conference room sat at the far end
of the floor, all glass walls and polished table. I could see two junior
associates already seated inside, their postures attentive, laptops open.
Denton stood at the head of the table with the room’s projection screen
pulled down. The navy suit he wore looked expensive and tailored, his tie
perfectly straight.

I stepped inside and the door closed behind me with a soft click. Denton did
not look up from his phone. “Marley. Thank you for joining us.” He
set his phone down and reached for the laptop in front of him.
“I’ve made a few adjustments to the presentation.”

He opened the file to the first slide. My name in the bottom corner was now
gone, replaced by his name in a large, bold font.

He glanced up at me. “Optics. I’m sure you understand.” His
curt explanation cut me off before I fully processed he’d actually taken
credit for my work. His voice stayed level. I opened my mouth to object but
heard how petty I’d sound in front of my colleagues. “The client
expects senior leadership on engagements of this size. It’s about
inserting confidence into the relationship between our companies.”

Neither of the other two men in the room spoke up. Instead, they both kept
their eyes on their own screens.

“This is an editorial decision, not a reflection on your work.”
Denton smiled, though there was nothing remotely friendly or pleasant about
the expression on his face. “You’ll be in the room. You’ll
have the opportunity to contribute during Q&A.”

My heart pounded in alarm. He was edging me out. Denton had every intention of
taking credit for the work we’d done on the first phase. He knew enough
about the next steps to make everything work, but I doubted he could explain
the finer points, or keep the project on track to meet the projections for
phase two which would mean a significant delay in phase three. Assuming the
assigned team made it to phase three.

“I understand the optics,” I said. My voice came out clipped,
precise. Anything louder would give him what he wanted. “But the
analysis is mine. The client should know who built it in case there are
adjustments leading into phase two.”

“Of course.” Denton nodded as if I had said something helpful.
Then he pulled up a slide with a page I had never seen. A figure chart with
numbers that did not match any data set I’d worked with.

“I did want to raise one concern.” He turned the slide toward the
juniors. “This figure. The correlation coefficient here is significantly
off from the rest of the model. I caught it during my review.”

The room went very quiet. I stared at the slide. The numbers were wrong. They
weren’t numbers I had generated and they definitely didn’t belong
in my analysis. Nor had I put them there. Suddenly, everything made sense. The
way he’d undercut me in the first meeting when he’d replaced my
topic without notice. The way he’d taken credit for my work. He wanted
point on this project and the prestige that went with it.

“This is exactly the kind of oversight that concerns me,” Denton
continued. His tone had shifted to something gentler, almost paternal.
“Attention to detail matters at this level. The client will have
questions. We need to be prepared with answers.”

My whole body broke out into a sweat, the visceral reaction to the way
I’d just been undercut. My jaw tightened. The furrow between my brows
deepened, a physical response I could not control.

“That slide isn’t mine,” I said. The words came out steady.
Barely.

Denton’s expression did not change. “The file was submitted to me
under your name.”

“I didn’t build that chart. The numbers are wrong.”

“Then we’ll correct it.” He set the slide down. “The
important thing is that we caught it before the client saw it. That’s
what a senior review process is for.” Could he sound more patronizing?

Through the glass walls, I could see heads turning toward the conference room.
Not staring directly. The careful, sidelong attention of people who understood
exactly what was happening without needing to hear the words. The shape of a
public correction. The unmistakable geometry of a superior establishing
dominance.

 

About the Author

Welcome to Wanda Violet O.’s world of bedtime fantasy, where you’ll find a
variety of sexy creatures ready to drink their fill. Wanda specializes in
extreme kink. Monsters, BDSM role play… she’s got it all. Come take a look
for yourself!

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Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

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No Straight Lines to the Stars Blitz

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An Unlikely Journey from Lifeguard Tower to Launchpad

Narrative Nonfiction/Inspirational

Date Published: August 4th, 2026

Publisher: Acorn Publishing

No Straight Lines to the Stars is the inspiring true story of a young
lifeguard who dared to believe his life could reach far beyond the horizon.

On the beaches of Southern California, Ken Kisco learned that preparation
saves lives. From rip-current rescues to split-second emergencies, he
discovered that courage is not the absence of fear, but the decision to act in
spite of it. Those early lessons in resilience and composure pushed Ken to
believe he could accomplish anything . . . including his lifelong dream of
reaching the stars.

Through relentless perseverance and unwavering faith, Ken rose into the heart
of America’s most advanced space and defense programs, contributing to
human spaceflight initiatives and supporting groundbreaking technologies. His
unusual start as a lifeguard helped advance his career, distinguishing him
from his Air Force and Navy peers. Yet, his toughest challenges were
personal—he faced deep disappointment when a space mission was canceled
and learned lessons about trust and integrity from a romance-turned-ruse.

Ken’s journey reveals that success is rarely linear. Setbacks became
launchpads, adversity became refinement, and purpose became a compass. Part
memoir, part inspiration, and part behind-the-scenes look at America’s
quest for the stars, this is the unforgettable story of a man who proves that
bold dreams, combined with grit and heart, can launch an ordinary life into an
extraordinary one.

About the Author
Ken Kisco
At ten years old, Ken Kisco dreamed of becoming a rocket scientist, a
goal that shaped his life. He earned multiple degrees, including master’s
degrees from the University of Southern California in systems management and
from San Jose State University in industrial psychology.

As an aerospace systems engineer for NASA, Rockwell International, and Boeing,
he developed new technologies and earned recognition as an American Institute
of Aeronautics and Astronautics (AIAA) Fellow.

Ken now shares his passion by mentoring USC engineering students, inspiring
them to dream boldly. When not traveling, he and his wife enjoy San Diego’s
beaches, where they live.

 

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Instagram: @Kennasaman

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Nightflower of Comanche Mound Blitz

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Teen and YA, Westerns

Date Published: 03-03-2025

Publisher: Adventure & Quest, LLC

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A troubled teen struggling with fractured family relationships forms an unexpected bond with a lost, blind horse that transforms her life, teaching her the true meaning of courage, resilience, and healing.

Excerpt

A week on the ranch had really transformed me. I looked the part, like I’d lived here all my life. Before jetting from Seattle, I had an expectation of riding a fast horse over a wide prairie, the wind whipping my hair. Never had I imagined myself in baggy-butt jeans with pockets that sunk to my knees. They were heavier than any I’d ever owned, and fastened high on my waist, as if pulled up with suspenders. The shirt tail draped my back, and I had to roll the sleeves five times.
But the boots! Oh, I loved how they made me taller. They fit like clamps, as if my feet were growing in bark.
I clomped to the large picture window, plunked the sombrero Sabion gave me on my head. “Eesh.”
I look like a mushroom.
If Mom had told me from the beginning that Pap didn’t have horses, maybe I wouldn’t have thought twice about coming. I had the idea of wearing the giddy-up home—I would walk right past her at the airport and she wouldn’t even know me. But then, what would’ve happened to Radar?
No. Destiny had brought me here.
Pap’s boots stammered on the porch. I couldn’t resist a cocky stroll past him—long, lanky strides that thunked my foot heel to toe. He sipped smugly from his coffee mug. Well, of course—nothing unusual to him. Just a set of sensible clothes.
Oh, well…as long as he’s happy—


Sabion’s smirk held a snicker. “Ah, si. You look…now you look right.”
I rolled my eyes. “Glug—”
Radar was pungent with horse sweat. Was it his timid nature that made me brave for him? A fearless front to give us both courage, like a parent protecting their child? Well, some parents. He sniffed my pant leg, and blew a snort that spewed junk on my knee. Now they’re broken in…
“How much time do I have today?” I asked. Sabion had honored his agreement to let me use Jennie half a day for training, but I’d already wasted a slip of his morning trying to make the blasted blue jeans work.
He looked at his watch. “None today. I am here too long already.”
“An hour?” I pleaded.
Sabion shook a finger. “Yesterday you say to me, ‘This day I will make repairs to the corral.’ You forget this? Now you say, ‘Este día voy a hacer reparaciones.’ Mas importante.”
I tried not to laugh. Sabion could never scold. Though he tried to sound tough, it only made him look leathery. It was kinda weird that I was beginning to understand him when I didn’t even speak the lingo.
“But you’re here already. I can make the repairs when you leave.” My plan today wasn’t to repair the corral; my plan was to string those blasted bells together while I had the workbench to myself. Then I’d reveal my fun training plan to Sabion when he returned.
His shoulders caved, the argument lost. “One hour okay is all.” His words netted altogether.

 

About the Author

Katlyn Bates

Katlyn Bates writes contemporary fiction for young adults. Her debut novel, Nightflower of Comanche Mound was named a 2025 Spur Finalist by Western Writers of America (WWA) in the Juvenile-Young Adult Fiction category. The recognition, along with multiple 5-Star book reviews from Readers’ Favorite, encouraged her to dust off old stuff she wrote just for fun, and look at them with fresh eyes.

Drawn to action and adventure that is grounded in real life, Katlyn finds inspiration in the wildness of the world around us. “Nature doesn’t care what we think. It’s wild and ferocious and unpredictable—a good reminder not to take ourselves too seriously. The downright ridiculous seems to call for a twist of humor. What I can’t see, I can imagine.” Juggling family, work, and life, over the years Katlyn grasped whatever time she had available for a writing class when she could—poetry, creative, a bit of journalism. What she discovered was that stories come from deep within us…a moment. A memory. An experience or impression or dream. Only when they surface, can you add texture and color.

A late-bloomer by her own description, Katlyn’s writing kicked off when she joined Society of Children’s Book Writers & Illustrators (SCBWI), a community of like-minded people who selflessly share, uplift, and guide, one meeting at a time. “There’s so much to learn, just for the listening. Other writers energize me, challenge me to ‘say it better’. Everyone has a natural style, and it always amazes me how many ways there are to tell a story. From SCBWI to the Writers’ League of Texas (WLT)—where Nightflower of Comanche Mound was a 2022 Thriller/Action-Adventure Finalist in the Manuscript Contest—on to Western Writers of America and Women Writing the West (WWW), Katlyn has found that it’s networks of writers that encourage her “No matter what stage of writing skill, anyone, at any age, with a yearning to write should seek out others who love what you love. Don’t wait.”

A native Texan, Katlyn Bates lives near Dallas, TX, outside a small town that—like so many inter-connected communities, is quickly becoming absorbed by the sprawl. “As for me, it’s open skies and nature and landscape that frame a plot, and lend power to a story.”

 

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Ivy Leigh Ever After Blitz

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Young Adult

Date Published: January 30, 2026

Publisher: Small Circles Press

When Ivy Leigh’s mom dies, her life turns upside down. Another year has passed, and she wants to remain the girl she once was, mucking in the mud, hiking in the woods, chasing after frogs and butterflies, all the little girl things she did when Mom sometimes came along with her. Now, Ivy is eleven turning twelve. The past year was marked with an awful set of nightmares and a huge hole she can’t quite find a way to fill.
Even greater trouble arrives when Ivy finds out her arch nemesis, Winona, starts bullying her. Soon, Ivy will learn that like her mom had told her, even bullies have backstories too.
With a family and friends-Ivy is surrounded by a small circle of people who love her. She remembers what her mom always taught her-to spread that love, to be kind and compassionate above all else, no matter what challenges in life arise.
Excerpt
 
Chapter One: The Package
“She’s coming for you, Peachy.”
He leaped off the bed and scrambled toward me. Together, we stood at the window, watching. I’d heard the roar of that muffler. The sound of the crash. It all spelled trouble. Up until now, Peachy was unknown to her. But I knew it would never stay that way. Dad was at work. She always knew the perfect time to strike.
“That was Mom’s gnome!” Nat’s shriek pierced the air, and I knew this was going to be bad. I took the stairs two at a time, in boxers and a tank top, with Peachy trailing behind. It was early on a Saturday, Viv was still in bed, and I hadn’t even brushed my teeth. But that never mattered to Grandma. This was a surprise attack; we were in her sights, and she had a total takeover in mind. I tucked Peachy away in his crate and latched him in tight before heading out to the front porch to see what was going on.
And there she was. Bulb shaped and full of bluster, Grandma stood with Nat at her side, staring down at the smashed garden gnome. He was pink-faced with a green hat and a little red jacket. Mom named him ‘Happy.’ He made her laugh just to look at him in the midst of her treatments and trips to and from the hospital. But now Happy was here all smashed up in the garden, and Mom had been gone for almost a whole awful year.
That is the tackiest thing! People will question the sort of people who live in a house with a thing like that out front!”
Things went quiet for a moment, I don’t think Nat even knew what to say to that.
But I knew this wasn’t going to be about the garden gnome. She’d come about Peachy who we’d hidden from her for a whole two weeks. But I’d had a funny feeling about that lately, Grandma had eyes and ears everywhere.
A minute later, I heard the squeak of metal behind me. And then, to my shock and surprise, the screen door flew open. Within seconds, Peachy bolted out, lunged at Grandma and nearly knocked her off her feet. How on earth did he get out of there, I thought.
“This! she bellowed. “This is exactly why I’m here!” Her face was wrinkled, powdered and puffed, with a coat of bright red lipstick smeared across her lips. Cruella had nothing on her. A true animal hater, she shrieked again at the sight of him.
I came running down the sidewalk then and scooped Peachy up in my arms. “It’s okay, boy,” I said, rubbing his peach-colored fur and holding him close.
“It is not okay! That dog has accosted the neighbors and now he’s attacked me! Always on the loose, with no training and no hope of it at all. Why was I not told about him?”

 

About the Author

 

Gael Lynch

 Gael Lynch is a writer and storyteller who traces her roots back to her dad’s carefully crafted bedtime stories of fairy queens and villains, beggars of old, the rags to riches sagas of the ancients, always set in the rich green tones of the Irish countryside. Her own greatest ideas, though, are not those of far away and long ago, but ones that exist right under her nose. In what seems to be the ordinary, Gael loves nothing more than a chance encounter while waiting on a line at the grocery store. Perfect strangers offer a world of little gems, experiences she might never have had herself.

The Newbury Award winning author, Patricia Reilly Giff, mentored Gael for many of her writing years. Always a person of pure encouragement, it was Pat’s gentle wisdom that kept her writing and believing in herself for many years.

Her debut novel, IVY LEIGH EVER AFTER, is the story of an eleven, almost twelve-year-old girl whose mom has died and whose life is in a swirl of change. With a mix of humor and heart-rending moments, Ivy will learn that by extending a hand to others, she can also help herself.

If Gael is not at her desk writing, she’s off riding waves, tossing balls in the air for her large golden retriever, Wrigley, or listening to live music under a starlit sky alongside her longtime husband, Tom. She lives in coastal North Carolina with its warm nights and soft ocean breezes. But Newtown, with its pastoral beauty and its warm-hearted people, will always be the place she calls home.

 

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