Book Review: Bring Down the Stars by Emma Scott


Bring Down the Stars CoverI fell for Connor Drake. I didn’t want to; I fought against it, but I fell in love with him anyway. With his words. With his poetry. With him. The gentleness and beauty of his soul that speaks directly to mine. He writes as if he can feel my heart, hear its cadence and compose the exact right lyrics to accompany every beat and flow. I’m in love with Connor…so why do I feel an inexplicable pull to his best friend, Weston? Grouchy, sullen, brooding Weston Turner, who could cut you down with a look. Fiercely intelligent with a razor sharp wit and acid tongue, he’s the exact opposite of Connor in every way, and yet there’s electricity in the air between us. The thorny barbs Weston wraps around himself can’t keep me away. But the more time I spend with these men, the more tangled and confused my emotions become. When they both sign up for the Army Reserves during a time of increasing strife in the Middle East, I fear I’ll never unravel my own heart that sometimes feels as if it will tear straight down the middle…for both of them. ********** Bring Down the Stars is an emotional, angst-filled novel of unrequited love by bestselling author, Emma Scott, and is inspired by the classic tale, Cyrano de Bergerac. (Roxanne) It is Book I in the Beautiful Hearts Duet, coming this summer. Book II, Long Live the Beautiful Hearts, to be released a few weeks later. #lovetriangle #confusedhearts #notamenage  

REVIEW

Wow. I am still in shock from this book. I have never read anything from Emma Scott before but she has been bumped to a must read. This book still has my emotions reeling and I finished it over 10 hours ago. In most duets there is a cliffhanger but this book tore my heart out. I need to know what happens. From the prologue the author had me hanging on her every word. I fell in love with Weston. With a backstory that is truly heartbreaking he just closes himself off to any possibility of love. Or that he could ever feel enough for someone. I love a ¨bad boy¨ who never thinks they are enough. Even with his nickname and his issues I knew he had the biggest heart. He has taken care of Connor for all those years. Helping him when he didn´t have too. And Autumn she is such a sweet innocent woman who is searching for her soul mate. She is a hopeless romantic. And she thinks she found it in Connor. Connor is extremely wealthy but that doesn´t mean it defines him. He has goals himself but he will never amount to what his parents expect of him. Connor and Weston are an unlikely pair of best friends but they are more than that they are like brothers. Without giving spoilers, this book is AMAZING. Stop reading my review and go read it NOW!!!!It destroyed me in every way possible but as a reader we hope to be emotionally involved. For me, that is how I know a writer spoke to me. This author had me turning pages and reading non stop for hours because I just had to know what happened. And than as my kindle percentage was getting closer to 100% and in my mind I knew it was a Duet but I was still like I need some sort of wrap-up or a little inkling of an outcome. I was left high and dry and literally upset but I am not mad. I am so happy that this book was able to speak to me in such a way. And I imagine I am not the only one who felt this. I can´t wait to read the other half of this duet and continue to read books by Emma Scott. If I could give this book a million stars I would!  ♥♥♥♥♥  

Intimate moments in the bedroom   attractive couple in love under white bed sheets I took the cement stairs into the library and entered the cool, hushed confines of the main reading room. None of the long mahogany desks with green-shaded lamps were empty. One of the university clubs had taken over two- thirds of the space. The rest of the tables were filled with students like me, trying to get a head start their course load. I finally found an empty seat at the end of a table, opposite a blond guy engrossed in reading. His open backpack spilled books and papers into what I hoped could be my table territory. “Excuse me,” I whispered. “Can I…?” He looked up, his expression vaguely hostile. Piercing blue-green eyes set in a stunningly handsome, if angular, face met mine. High cheekbones, sharp chin and long straight nose. He looked chiseled out of smooth stone at first glance, then his features softened for a moment as his gaze swept over me. Something like recognition lit up his eyes, and I could see the gears of his brain turning as he studied, analyzed, and then came to a conclusion. Not a good one, I guessed, because his expression hardened again. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered. He stood up, leaning his tall, slender frame over the table to corral the books back into his pack. “Thanks,” I said, thinking if he wasn’t a basketball player or a runner, he was a model. All right, girl, get a grip. I sat, cracked my textbook and settled in to read. I wasn’t through two pages when the words blurred to nonsensical gibberish and my skin prickled with the sensation of being watched. I glanced up, straight into the ocean eyes of the guy across from me. A million thoughts swirled in their soft depths before they quickly glanced down. He slouched lower in his chair, disappearing behind his book—the collected poems of Walt Whitman. Part of me wanted to melt. Good lord, a hot guy reading poetry? I was only human. And this is how you wound up with a broken heart in the first place. I must’ve been frowning at the book because the guy held it up and said, “Not a fan?” I blinked back to reality. “No,” I said. “I mean, yes. I love Whitman. And poetry in general. I just… Never mind.” He regarded me a long moment, then slowly closed Whitman and picked up Atlas Shrugged from his short stack of books. “Ugh, that’s even worse,” I muttered without thinking, and then shook my head. “God, sorry, I left my filter at home. Don’t listen to me.” His lip curled. “Is there anything in my collection you approve of?” A hot, smart asshole, I thought. Game on. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m not in a good mood today and it’s making me forget my manners. I’ll leave you to read your capitalist propaganda in peace.” The guy’s eyebrows shot up, disappearing under the blond hair that fell across his brow. “Not a fan of Rand either?” He smirked knowingly. “No, of course you aren’t.” My blood heated at his flippant tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?” The guy nodded at my textbook—Global Responsibility and the Third-World Hunger Epidemic—and shrugged, as if that answered everything. “Oh.” I frowned. “Well… yes. I mean, Rand’s point of view is purely capitalist and mine isn’t. Not by a long shot.” The student sitting to my right exchanged glances with the girl sitting across from him. Then both packed up their books and left. “We’re being disruptive,” I said to my across-table neighbor. “We need to stop talking now.” He leaned back in his chair, his eyes intent on me. “So what’s your point of view?” “My what?” “You said your point of view isn’t capitalist.” He raised a brow. “So what is it?” “Humanist, I suppose. Since you asked. I think everyone, regardless of race, creed, income-level, or sex should be granted the same shot as anyone else.” I raised a brow at him. “But you don’t?” “Are you asking me or telling me?” he said with a slight chuckle. “Since we’re tossing labels around, I’m a realist.” He held up his book. “And not a fan of Rand either.” “You’re not?” I leaned back too, crossing my arms. “Are you just messing with me or what?” “Maybe,” he said. “What do you care what I think anyway?” My mouth fell slack. “I don’t. Thanks for reminding me.” “No problem.” “Wow, you’re rude.” “That’s the word on the street.” “I can see why.” I lifted my own book up to signal conversation over, but my eyes wouldn’t focus. I could feel the hum of his presence like a field of electrical wires, getting under my skin and infiltrating my thoughts. The buzz went beyond distraction. It felt like a challenge had been laid down. And I never walked away from a challenge. I lowered my book to see the guy’s glance hide behind his book again. “Well?” I demanded. “Well what?” Why are you watching me? “Why are you reading Ayn Rand if you don’t like her either?” “Required reading for an English Lit minor.” “And your major? Let me guess, pre-law.” “God, no,” he said. I raised my eyebrows but he offered nothing more. “Are you going to make me run through Amherst’s list of majors until I guess which one is yours?” “Yes,” he said. “Alphabetically, please.” A laugh burst out of me against my will, and the guy almost smiled. Every one of his hard angles softened. “Economics,” he said. “But I don’t know what I’m doing with it.” “That feels like the most honest thing you’ve said to me so far,” I said. “And that’s important to you?” “Yes,” I said, my laughter dying away as I remembered Mark and that girl, naked in the bed I’d slept in just the night before. “Honesty is very important.” He lifted one shoulder. “You don’t agree?” I asked. “Being honest is sometimes mistaken for being rude.” “You must be really honest,” I said. Again, he almost smiled. “Must be.” Satisfied that I’d held my own against this beautiful but hostile member of the opposite sex, I went back to my book…for eight entire seconds before my skin started prickling again. The electric hum of his attention was impossible to ignore. When I looked up this time, he didn’t look away but cleared his throat. “I’m Weston Turner.”  

Foreplay Attractive woman dancing in the field with her boyfriend  

headshotEmma Scott is a bestselling author of emotional, character-driven romances in which art and love intertwine to heal, and in which love always wins. If you enjoy thoughtful, realistic stories with diverse characters and kind-hearted heroes, you will enjoy my novels. NEWSLETTER | FACEBOOK | WEBSITE | TWITTER | INSTAGRAM | FACEBOOK READER GROUP | AMAZON PAGE

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