Educating Aphrodite now available on the Kindle!

ON SALE NOW!

EDUCATING APHRODITE

Two years is too bloody long to be abstinent, especially when one is married to the insatiable Sebastian Falkner, Earl of Warwick.

ABOUT THE BOOK
READ THE REVIEWS
READ AN EXCERPT
READ ABOUT THE CHARACTERS

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My Calendar is filling up!

I'm looking forward to doing some traveling this year. I hope to see some of you in New York or perhaps New Jersey or maybe in Ohio...

2011 Appearances

Feb 19th
New Jersey Romance Writers
The Woodbridge Hilton, 120 Wood Avenue, Iselin, NJ 08830

Presenting:
DEVELOPING CHARACTER SKETCHES:

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June 3rd - 5th
Lori Foster's 7th Annual
Reader & Author Get Together
Cincinnati Marriott North at Union Centre, West Chester Ohio

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June 28th - July 1st
Romance Writer's of America
31st Annual Conference
New York Marriott Marquis · 1535 Broadway · New York, NY 10036 USA

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Sept 29th - Oct 2nd
RomantiCon
Akron City Centre, 20 West Mills Street · Akron, OH 44308

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Kimberly enjoys speaking and would love to talk to your book club, writing group, library, or school about books, writing, the publishing industry, and romance. To schedule a visit contact Kimberly directly.

TAMING A HIGHLAND DEVIL by Kimberly Killion

I finally finished my book trailer for my February release. This was my first time using real people and I’m so verra happy with it. What do you think?




And you'll have to check out the blooper video! It's probably better than the edited version. At least it's more entertaining. :)

Release day (again)!

I have an erotic short out today with Ellora's Cave!

Here's the skinny:
EDUCATING APHRODITE is a Victorian ménage a quatre novella. Translation: it's H(((O)))T!

Here's the blurb:

Two years is too bloody long to be abstinent, especially when one is married to the insatiable Sebastian Falkner, Earl of Warwick.

Countess Alexandra Falkner is desperate to get her husband back in her bed, including performing in the risqué production of Educating Aphrodite. She knows Sebastian will choose the masked woman who performs in the finale with him and his best friend, sexy theatre manager and hypnotist, Vincent Delacroix, and she intends to be the temptress who catches his eye. Unfortunately, she lacks the confidence and experience she needs to have sex with two men in front of an audience. She solicits Delacroix’s skills as a hypnotist to empower her. What she gets is an education in seduction that leads her heart astray.

Will she lose sight of her goal in Delacroix’s arms?

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CHAPTER ONE

“Have you completely lost your wits?” Vincent Delacroix stood upright behind his pine desk and wrenched his fingers into pitch-black hair. “You’re the bloody Countess of Warwick for God’s sake! A lady of noble breeding. Not a common doxy.”

Unable to hold his boiling black glare, Alexandra twisted her gloves in her lap and blew a white-blonde curl from her eyes. “My husband obviously doesn’t want a lady in his bed.”

“Christ, Alexandra!” His harsh tone indicated his opposition, and she’d yet to tell him the whole of her plan. “Your husband is the proprietor of the Piacere Theatre. Not to mention a close friend.”

“Which is why I came to you.” Perhaps this was madness. Perhaps loneliness drove her toward lunacy, but she was desperate to rekindle the passion in her marriage. Unfortunately, she lacked the courage and experience to accomplish her task without Delacroix’s assistance.

“I cannot begin to fathom why you would go to such measures.”

The light-blue silk choker that matched her eyes seemed to tighten around an expanding knot of frustration. She swallowed it hard and raised her pale lashes to Delacroix. “Sebastian and I have not been…intimate since I conceived Edward.”

The angry lines between Delacroix’s dark brows disappeared. He scrubbed his tightly groomed black beard in obvious astonishment. “Your son is nearly a year old.”

Shame burned her face and stung her eyes. Alexandra bit back the tears and looked down the expanse of her fashionable gold gown trimmed with frills and flounces and lace. At twenty-three, she was fit and well-kept and upheld her role as Countess of Warwick with elegance and grace, but hidden beneath layers of perfumed petticoats was a woman that no longer appealed to her husband. “It has taken me months to accept the fact Sebastian no longer desires me.”

“Forgive me. I did not know.” Delacroix rounded the desk to kneel in front of her. He captured her cold wringing fingers then raised her hands to his warm lips. He kissed one, then the other, and offered her a sympathetic look that began to tear the thin layer of restraint guarding her temper.

“I don’t want your pity. I want your help.”

“I’ll help you.” His agreement came quicker than she’d expected. “What exactly is it you had in mind?”

Hope swirled behind her breast. She sat up taller. “I want to dance in Saturday night’s performance of Aphrodite.”

Shock widened his dark brown eyes. He stabbed a finger between his cravat and neck and yanked. “You know about the performance?”

“I know everything.” She knew about the actresses slated to dance at the Piacere Theatre. They were the same women who warmed her husband’s bed and satisfied his carnal appetite. “I know Sebastian is playing the role of Adonis and will select the woman who performs in the finale. I also know that same woman will attend him privately the remainder of the night. I want to be the temptress behind the mask who catches his eye.”

Delacroix stood and walked away from her to a side table where he poured himself a hefty noggin of bourbon. “Then you’re willing to defile yourself before an audience.” He angled his chin over his shoulder. “With me.”

Heat crawled up Alexandra’s neck, spread across her face, then scalded the tips of her ears. That was the one obstacle she hadn’t quite figured out how to get around. The literal climactic ending included three players—Aphrodite and her two lovers, Ares and Adonis. More specifically, Sebastian and Delacroix. She’d never been with anyone other than Sebastian. And she’d certainly never been with two men at the same time. But her faithfulness had gained her naught but an empty bed. “I am willing to resort to whatever means are necessary to have my husband back in my bed.”

“Warwick will kill me if I agree to this.” He emptied the contents of his glass in one loud gulp.

“I do not need your permission to take the stage. I own the theatre. But I lack the confidence and the experience to play the role, which is why I need you to hypnotize me.”

Delacroix paused for long moments, no doubt contemplating her request.

“Please, Vincent. I cannot continue to live like this. I feel like a widow in the latter months of her mourning period.” This shell of isolation grew colder every day and she feared she would freeze to death waiting for Sebastian to warm her again.

Delacroix exhaled a fierce breath then removed his cravat and waistcoat. “Let it be known that I’m doing this against my better judgment.” He pivoted on his heel and splayed his long fingers toward a fainting couch. “Lie down, Alexandra.”

Mammoth Book of Scottish Romance is officially out!

Today is the official release date of the Mammoth Book of Scottish Romance!!!

There are some fabulous authors penning wild and passionate tales of highland flings. Among them are Julianne MacLean, Connie Brockway, Terri Brisbin, Donna Grant, and I give thee Keiran and Sorcha:

Scotland, Inner Hebrides – 1587

Sorcha’s husband is easily the meanest cur alive. He blamed her for every misfortune that befell his clan since he took her to wife four years past. And now the bastard is determined to kill her. If she were half the witch he accused her of being, then she might possess the power to save herself, but Da had ousted her grandmum from the clan before she taught Sorcha the Pagan ways. She is certain of only one thing—if she lives long enough to become a widow, she will never take another husband.

Keiran, the Falconer of Barra, knew he and Sorcha were worlds apart in station—he, the son of a crofter, and she, the eldest daughter of the chieftain—but he’d spent the past seven years of his life trying to change his stars. Everything he’d done had been for her. He’d fought and killed for the clan and learned the Pagan ways, for her. And now that he’d saved her life and took her pain away, the foolish wench accused him of doing it all for the chieftainship.

Will Keiran’s gentle touch crush the last of her resistance? Or will Sorcha’s husband hunt her down and kill her before she discovers the depth of Keiran’s love?

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CHAPTER ONE
Scotland, Inner Hebrides – 1587

The bastard was finally going to kill her.

Sorcha trembled inside her wool mantle as icy wind thrashed strands of brown hair over her face. The rope binding her wrists stung, and her battered legs ached where Hector had pushed her down the steps of the keep. But none of it compared to the fear clutching her insides. She craned her neck over her shoulder and gawked wide-eyed at the white waves pummeling the base of the cliff.

“Ye destroyed my crops with hail, infested the clan’s meat with maggots, and set the outbuildings afire. ’Tis August, yet snow blankets my land.” Hector pressed her closer to the pebbled edge with his dark glare and intimidating size. He stood a full head taller and easily outweighed her by ten stone. “And now this.” He held up his sword arm covered with lesions of oozing puss. “Ye give me a whore’s disease!”

“I did naught, m’lord. I swear it,” Sorcha pleaded between chattering teeth. She considered reminding him that he hadn’t come to her bed in over two years, but knew ’twas useless to defend herself. Hector had blamed her for every misfortune that befell Clan Ranald since he’d taken her to wife four years past.

“Ye lying bitch!” He struck her hard across the face with the back of his hand.

Sorcha twisted at the waist and landed on her knees and elbows. The pain stinging her cheek was soon forgotten when Hector kicked her in the side. She heard her rib crack just before an unbearable streak of pain shot through her very core. She couldn’t fight, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. The coppery tinge of blood spread over her tongue as she rolled onto her stomach. She spit a string of crimson and pulled herself forward by her bound hands.

“Think ye I dinnae hear ye chant your spells in the old language?” Hector wrenched her back to her feet.

If she were half the witch he accused her of being, then she might possess the power to save herself. She wished Da hadn’t ousted Grandmum from the clan before she taught Sorcha the Pagan ways.

“Ye have cursed me and my clan for the last time,” he bellowed over the howling wind.

“If ye kill me,” she panted through the pain, trying to draw upright to stare him in the eye, “my kin will avenge me.” ’Twas a false threat, but she was desperate.

A deep throaty chortle burst from Hector’s pocked face. “Your da died before naming a tanist to reign in his stead. The MacNeils have no chieftain, no bloodline, save for a sixteen-year-old girl. And your sister will be easy to break.”

Sorcha’s heart lodged in her throat. She tried to shake the horrid images of what Hector would do to her sister, but they erupted in her mind’s eye like a nightmare. Peigi would be powerless to defend herself against Hector and his men.

“As soon as I send ye to your Otherworld, I’ll be claiming the Isle of Barra as my own.”

Sorcha looked to the gray sky and pleaded with the king of her gods. Thou Christ of the cross, snatch me from the snares of this evil demon so I might protect my kin.

A bird cawed overhead, circling them. ’Twas a falcon—a white falcon. Mayhap the Goddess Cliodna had come to escort her to the afterlife.

“Fare thee well, Sorcha of Barra. I’ll see ye in Hell.” Hector raised his foot high and drove the sole of his boot into her stomach, sending her reeling over the edge of the cliff.

Shock numbed her insides. She wanted to hold onto something, to scream, but she could do neither. Her body seemed to fall faster than her soul, and for one breathtakingly frightening moment, she felt as though her physical being separated from her spirit.

Through it all, she kept her eyes fixed on that white falcon following her downward to her death.