The Fiction Enthusiast

B&N

Excerpt:

His head came down. Kara gasped but his mouth smothered it, and she started to push back, then realized he wasn’t forcing her. He eased in close, his knife hand bracing against the top of the SUV while the other came to her cheek, warm and strong as his fingers threaded into her hair and he tipped back her head to better receive his kiss. A second later, she heard voices, people climbing up the path from the dock, their laughter choking to a halt when Kara and Luke came into sight.

Act like it.

Reality struck: It’s an act.

Her limbs loosened, her lips softened, and she gave in to the kiss. Varón slanted his mouth over hers, warm and mobile, and he pressed her against the hot metal of the SUV, marauding and suckling, the very scent and taste of him invading her senses. Frissons of sensation stirred to life at the center of her body. In the distance, the crunch of gravel changed direction— the intruders cutting a wider swath— even so, Varón didn’t stop. His tongue slipped out and traced the crease of her lips, seeking entrance.

A spear of sensation shot straight between her legs. Kara parted her lips and Varón was right there— filling her, possessing her, a tender, insistent invasion that made her knees wobble as his hand slid the length of her spine and pulled her close. She heard what might have been car doors opening and closing, then the hum of an engine coming to life, but the sounds didn’t matter. Her heartbeat deepened and her nipples rose against his chest, and when she reached up to grasp his shoulders, his muscles flexed and strained beneath her fingers. A groan resonated in his throat and his free hand smoothed down the side of her rib cage, his thumb brushing the outer curve of her breast and setting loose a cyclone of sensations whirling in her belly. Sensations she hadn’t felt for . . . forever.

His tongue left her mouth and he suckled her lips, then nuzzled her face to the side and trailed a path of fiery kisses down the curve of her jaw and up again. He stopped in the hollow just below her ear.

“They’re gone,” he whispered, his breath fanning warmth over her ear.

Kara went still. It’s an act, her brain chanted, and embarrassment soared in. She sank back against the SUV, unsure if she could stand on her own. He’d robbed her limbs of strength and her mind of every last thread of cognition, sucked the oxygen right out of her lungs. For one, steamy moment, she’d forgotten about feeling afraid and exhausted and confused, and instead had just been feeling. And for one insane moment, she’d wanted to let him keep going. Keep supporting her weight, keep shielding her from the world, keep kissing her as if he wanted to swallow her whole. Even now, after his proclamation that they were once again alone, his lips still breathed kisses against her temples as if he, too, was reluctant to let it end.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Then back up.” She slid her hands over his arms and laid them flat against his chest, a hot wall of iron. She managed to form a thought in spite of the craven lust that had left her feeling hollow and damp, and exerted just enough pressure that he straightened to allow an inch of space between them. His thumb grazed the corner of her mouth, his gaze snagging there.

“Good work,” he murmured, and brushed his lips against her temple. “Very convincing.”

She blushed deep red, grateful for the darkness. “I know how to act,” she said, and he finally stepped back.

“Apparently so.”

And that was that: a kiss that just about knocked her off her feet, from a murderer who held her life and her son’s life in his hands.

And for a moment, she hadn’t minded at all.

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Giveaway:

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Book Blitz & Giveaway - Stalkers A Collection of Thriller Stories

Release date: November 26th 2013

Publisher: Indie Style Press

Purchase: Amazon

Add on: Goodreads

Shadows follow you in the darkness of the night and the eerie sensation of being watched crawls up your spine. Your sanity pulls apart at the seams as the terrors stalk their victims, leaving you too frightened to turn off the light.

These twisted stories will leave you breathless, dreading the horrors lurking around the corner.

Seventeen authors. Seventeen tales of terror. Infinite nightmares.

STALKERS.

Watch your back.

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I'm excited to share an excerpt from one of the thrilling stories featured in Stalkers.

Bernice by Chad Foutz.

Excerpt

Bernice Hawkes dutifully rose from her desk.

Harlan Berry was her Elvis Presley and her Adam West, her star crushes, all wrapped into one. He was not as tall as Batman, nor was he as handsome as the Memphis rock star, but to her, he was the perfect male…

******

About Chad

Chad Foutz has been writing since the age of seventeen, but always had an irrational fear of submitting any of his work. A lover and collector of books, he spends much of his time reading and writing. He is fairly inept at certain social media, preferring not to be bothered, but recently realized the importance of networking. A lifelong lover of Herman Melville and 80’s hard rock and heavy metal, he spends hours on end listening to old CDs and hoping to one day write a masterpiece nearly as good as Moby Dick.

Stalk Chad

Blog

Keep an eye out for Chad’s book of short stories, coming soon.

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Launch Day Blitz & Giveaway - Sun God Seeks...Surrogate? and Angel Seduced

Living in New York City, Penelope Trudeau has seen a lot of weird stuff-but nothing like the insane redhead who accosts her with a wild proposition. Penelope will get a million dollars if she has a baby with the strange woman's brother. With her mother dying from a mysterious disease, Penelope can use the money. Yet the terrified waitress is adamant that her womb and eggs are not for sale . . . until she meets her intended mate. He's impressively built, gorgeous, and red-hot, literally. He's a freaking immortal Sun God.

For thousands of years, Kinich (Nick to his friends) didn't believe in fraternizing with humans, so procreating with them is definitely a no-no. But after one sizzling encounter with the beautiful, passionate Penelope, Nick begins to think he was wrong . . . until he realizes meeting Penelope was just another one of his crazy sister's schemes at manipulation. But now that he has Penelope in his life, he can't let her go. Especially because doing so means throwing her into the hands of his dangerous enemies.

Buy a copy of SUN GOD SEEKS…SURROGATE?

B&N

Excerpt:

The next morning, I slowly stretched my deliciously sore body while luxuriating in the softness of the silky sheets beneath me and the warm, oh-so-very-naked, well-built man snuggled to my side.

My heart fluttered when I opened my eyes and found Nick sleeping next to me, his bed-play-mussed, golden brown hair sweeping to one side across the pristine white pillow. His heavenly eyes were closed, allowing me to study the golden lashes fanning out against his bronzed face, looking like tiny threads of caramelized sugar. He was a picture of exquisite male perfection.

I sighed and resisted the urge to kiss his exposed, chiseled chest—yes, yes, perfectly tanned like the rest of him (nude sunbather?)—and stroke the perfectly formed swells of his biceps, one of which was attached to the arm draped over my waist.

Last night had been the most…the most…

I sprang from the bed in horror. “Oh crap!”

Nick’s eyes instantly popped open. A warm smile swept across his face. “Oh, you’re up.” His large frame stretched across the length of the extra-long, king-size bed.

I stared at him, wondering what to say; somehow screaming, “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!” didn’t seem appropriate.

Okay. Breathe, Penelope. Breathe. Just ask him what happened!

But I didn’t want to insult the guy. Because from the look of his delectable body, it had to have been the best night of my life.

That is…that is…if we did.

Of course you did! Look! Even your eggs are smoking a cigarette.

No! Demon crackers, no!

He rolled onto his side and propped his head up with his arm. “Why are you standing there, naked? Come back to bed.”

I glanced down my body. Oh crappity! I was naked.

I scrambled to the bathroom—a large, modern affair of stainless steel and glass—and grabbed a fluffy, white towel.

Oh shit. Oh shit. What was going on? I needed to go out there and ask him, point blank, what happened. Not with your iguana breath. You might melt the man’s face off.

As long as I get to keep his rockin’ body.

Pen!

I quickly found a bottle of mouthwash in the cabinet and swished. Then I checked the mirror and noticed I was wearing an odd-looking necklace with a large, shiny black stone dangling in the middle. Had he put it on me last night?

Darn it! Why couldn’t I remember what had happened?

Don’t be a child, Penelope. Just ask him.

Yes. That’s what I would do.

Again I glanced in the mirror. “Oh no,” I hissed at my reflection. My dark hair resembled a beehive, but without the symmetry. I ran my fingers through the mess a few times, but it was useless. I’d have to make a polite exit, go home, and ensure I looked hot enough on our next date to erase any memories of my current discombobulation. Is that even a word, Penelope? And do you really think he wants to date you? You’re a one-nighter for a guy like that.

Christ. What had I gotten myself into?

I took three quick breaths and opened the door. My heart ignited from the sight of him still propped up on one elbow and lying in bed with a smug, male smile stretched across his face. He looked frigging perfect, practically glowing. Dammit. So unfair!

“Everything okay?” he asked.

I smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, I needed to wrangle the tornado.” I pointed to my matted hair.

“You look sexy as hell.” He patted the empty space next to him. “Come here.”

Mischief sparkled in his eyes, and though I didn’t know him well, I knew what that look meant: Encore.

I held up my hands. “Whoa. I think we need to talk.”

His lower lip stuck out in a slight pout and his shimmering eyes seemed to glow against the backdrop of his toasty-almond-colored skin. Damn if he wasn’t the most irresistible man on the planet.

And he wanted me. Wow.

I slowly padded over to the bed. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but what happened last night?”

He cocked one brow, “You don’t remember?”

I shook my head and gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sure it was…great. The best toe curling sex ever—but…no, I don’t remember a thing.”

His smile melted away. “Bloody Christ! Neither do I.”

About Mimi Jean Pamfiloff:

Before taking up a permanent residence in the San Francisco Bay Area, Mimi spent time living near NYC (became a shopaholic), in Mexico City (developed a taste for very spicy food), and Arizona (now hates jumping chollas, but pines for sherbet sunsets). Her love of pre-Hispanic culture, big cities, and romance inspires her to write when she's not busy with kids, hubby, work, and life...or getting sucked into a juicy novel.

She hopes that someday leather pants for men will make a big comeback and that her writing might make you laugh when you need it most.

Find her on the web:

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Kye knows that her boyfriend Kasabian is in grave danger, investigating a series of kidnapped children. She knows he's pushing her away for her own safety, but she won't let him face it alone.

Kasabian will risk anything to rescue the children, and he has a bold plan to allow himself to be taken hostage by the kidnapper, Silva. While he tries to reason with Silva, Kye is racing again time to discover where the kidnapper is holding him.

If Kye is reunited with Kasabian, will their combined powers be enough? The fate of the Crescents-and Kye and Kasabian's hearts-hang in the balance.

Buy a copy of Angel Seduced

B&N

Excerpt:

It was damn annoying how Kye's attention kept straying to Kasabian through the night, how her mind kept replaying their conversation. Women gawked and flirted, but he didn't flirt back. She was glad to see him leave while she finished up with a client session after closing time.

Her relief evaporated when she stepped into the well-lit parking lot and spotted him leaning against a deep yellow sports car. As though he were waiting for her. The thought fluttered in her chest. Not helping, the Lotus's license plate read NOANGEL, and black angel wings spread across the hood. She told herself it was enough to enjoy the view. Men who took care of their bodies, working out enough to build muscle without looking too jacked up, were eye candy. No calories in looking.

The thick black heels of her short boots clunked on the asphalt. She felt such an odd pull toward him that she forced herself to give him a brief smile and bypass him.

“Aren’t you hot in that?” he asked, gesturing as though he were wearing a jacket.

She slowed to a stop in front of him. “Only when I dance.” No matter how warm she got, she never took off the black leather jacket with her patches and studs.

“And you didn’t dance.” He tilted his head, giving her an oh-my-gods-stop-my-heart pout. “Pity.”

"Are you flirting with me?"

"You make it sound like a crime."

"What you're hearing is surprise. I know it's painful for Caidos to feel desire, punishment you unfairly suffer because your angel forefathers fell to human temptation. Don't worry. As a therapist, I'm sworn to secrecy," she added. "Caido clients tell me it's easier to shut down their desire. Yet you do … feel desire."

"Ah, so you did sense it."

"You threw me off back at the bar. First that you were flirting, then that you asked me outright to feel you. I mean, to sense your feelings. You're different."

"Very. I don't usually flirt." He let his gaze drift down over her black leather skirt and fishnet stockings. His eyes met hers again, jumpstarting her heart. "You have a strange effect on me."

Ditto, buddy. Which made her all too aware that they were outside alone together.

His chuckle rolled across her skin. "Don't worry, I'm not waiting out here to pounce on you."

She'd forgotten how Caidos could pick up others' emotions. "But you are waiting for me."

"Yes, I am."

"You're not going to ask me out or anything, are you? Because I don't date." He didn't say anything, which made for a really awkward few seconds. "It's a general rule, nothing personal. If … that's what you were going to ask." She would have thwapped herself on the forehead if it wouldn't look stupid.

And, of course, as a Caido, he picked up everything she was feeling, which put a damned incredibly sexy smile on his face. "As much as I'd love to hook up with you, it's not feasible. Or wise."

He'd love to hook up with her. She tried to staunch her reaction to those words.

He gave her a sympathetic smile. "The love guru doesn't date? That seems sad."

She debated being obtuse but decided it was better that he knew she wasn't just playing hard to get. "Being involved with someone interferes with my abilities. The drama and distraction, even if things are going well, takes over my mind. All I get is noise when I read someone."

"And that terrifies you. Why?"

She really hated that he could read her. "Helping people is important to me."

"Which leads beautifully to the reason I'm waiting for you. The Caido/Deuce couple who came in and greeted you like you were their best friend, who danced together, and kissed … you helped them, didn't you?"

Kye had watched them snuggling together on the dance floor with just a tiny bit of longing. "Sorry, client confidentiality."

He rubbed his chin. "So you did help them. The only way they could be together is by doing the Essex. I assume you know about the exchange of essences that balances the Caido so he's not as sensitive to her emotions. Because it only temporarily ease his pain, a long-term relationship would mean that her essence would eventually be depleted. No self-respecting Caido would do that to someone he cares about. So how is it that they're together?"

She could only give him a general answer. "I've come up with a way to make the Essex permanent."

He pushed away from the car, interest crackling off him as he came closer. "Tell me more."

She fought the instinct to back up a step. "I've had a few mixed-Caido couples approach me about circumventing the pain. They hadn't meant to fall in love, but now they wanted to be together. I tried several different spells and magick devices, but nothing worked."

He crossed his arms in front of him and rocked back on his heels. "And you take it very hard when you can't fix someone."

"You get that from me too?"

"I suppose we both bear a similar burden in picking up feelings we have no business sensing. How does it work?"

She laid one of her hands on top of the other and let her fingers barely settle between each other. "With the Essex, you're limited to how much essence you can exchange, kind of the way my fingers can't slide together. That's why it's temporary. The Cobra, which I named for the tantric position, allows both essences to reach fully toward each other, like this." She laced her hands together, fingers straight so that they formed an X. "This starts the bonding process. The last step is when both parties actually pull each other's essence into their souls, permanently locking them together." Her fingers wrapped over her hands as though in prayer. "At least, I think it's permanent. The first couple did it four months ago and it's still holding strong."

"Why haven't I heard about this magick of yours? The Caido community should be buzzing."

"There are some side effects I'm still working out. The Caido is bombarded by every emotion he's ever repressed. It can be intense. One Caido even experienced a resurgence of buried memories."

Kasabian's eyes shimmered. "Buried memories?"

"It apparently caused some big problems, but he couldn't give me any details beyond that. He just wanted me to know that it happened."

He went silent for a few moments, rubbing his fingers across his mouth. "Can you do it so a Caido can simply experience desire?"

"Only if you have a committed partner who wants to be permanently bonded to you. Because that's what it does."

"That would not be a good thing. For any woman."

"Why?" The mystery of him pulled at her, the dark desire she'd sensed.

"Oh, love, there you go, needing to help even though you know you should run the other way." He lowered his chin, the street light reflecting off his razor-sharp jawline. "And you should. I'm forty ways fucked up."

She swallowed. No one had ever made her this off-balanced. "I do want to help. Too many messed up people are not only suffering but inflicting their misery on others."

"I assure you that I'm not inflicting my anything on anyone." He reached out with the back of his hand and brushed it down her cheek. "As much as I'd like to."

She stumbled back, his touch curling throughout her body. "I should go."

Hunger flashed in his eyes. "Yes, you should."

Go, run, and never look back.

About Jaime Rush

Things that go bump in the night have always fascinated Jaime Rush. Sometimes those things are human; other times, not so much. Now she has twisted them all together in the Hidden, a trilogy about humans with the essence of gods who walk the knife's edge between the glamour of Miami and a place filled with dark magick and dangerous beauty.

Jaime is the author of the Offspring series and also writes under the name Tina Wainscott. She is the bestselling author of eighteen romance novels. She lives in Southwest Florida with her husband, daughter, and cat.

Find her on the web:

Website

Facebook

Twitter

Goodreads

Launch Day Blitz & Giveaway - Undone by Shannon Richard

Things Paige Morrison will never understand about Mirabelle, Florida:

Why wearing red shoes makes a girl a harlot
Why a shop would ever sell something called "buck urine"
Why everywhere she goes, she runs into sexy-and infuriating-Brendan King

After losing her job, her apartment, and her boyfriend, Paige has no choice but to leave Philadelphia and move in with her retired parents. For an artsy outsider like Paige, finding her place in the tightly knit town isn't easy-until she meets Brendan, the hot mechanic who's interested in much more than Paige's car. In no time at all, Brendan helps Paige find a new job, new friends, and a happiness she wasn't sure she'd ever feel again. With Brendan by her side, Paige finally feels like she can call Mirabelle home. But when a new bombshell drops, will the couple survive, or will their love come undone?

Buy a copy of Undone:

Barnes and Noble

_________________________________________________

Excerpt:

Paige was wrapped in just a towel as she searched for something to wear. She had exactly twenty minutes before Brendan was supposed to pick her up. There was a knock on her door as her hands closed over a pair of jeans.

“Come in,” she called over her shoulder.

The door opened and Paige turned, throwing her jeans onto her bed.

“What time is he picking you up?” Denise asked as she stuck her head inside the doorway.

Paige had a sudden flashback to high school when her mother would help her get ready before a date. She immediately thought of Brendan and Grace and how their mother had died when they were both so young. They’d missed out on so much, especially Grace. Paige couldn’t imagine not having all of those years with her mother and she felt intensely grateful for every single one of them.

“At seven. You busy?”

“No,” Denise said, shaking her head.

“Will you sit and talk with me while I get ready?” Paige asked.

“Yeah,” Denise said, her mouth breaking into a smile. She opened the door farther and walked into the room, a glass of wine in hand. She shut the door behind her and sat down on the edge of Paige’s bed, just like old times. “What are you going to wear?” she asked, grabbing a pillow and playing with the frilly lace edging.

“Jeans,” Paige said, pointing to the pair on her bed. “I haven’t decided on a shirt though,” she said and turned back to her closet.

“Shoes?”

“My black wedges.” She knew they drove Brendan crazy, and that’s exactly what she planned to do tonight. She didn’t feel guilty about it at all either; he obviously had no problem doing it to her.

Turnabout was just fair.

“What about your red peasant top. The one that hangs off your shoulders and hugs your waist.”

Paige grabbed the shirt and turned around, holding it up to show her mom.

“Red on a first date?”

“You look good in red,” Denise said.

“You don’t think it’s too much?”

Her mother gave the blouse a critical eye. “Just wear ugly underwear. If you wear stuff that you don’t want him to see, you’ll be less likely to sleep with him.”

“Mom!” Paige said shocked. “I’m not going to sleep with him on the first date.”

“I know. Just wear something to keep you grounded, and then you won’t slip.”

“I have some self-control.”

“Yes, well, I’ve seen that boy. Slipping would be completely justifiable considering the circumstances.”

“What circumstances would those be?” Paige asked as she walked over to her dresser and opened her underwear drawer.

“That gleam in his eyes,” Denise said.

“What gleam?” Paige asked, turning to her mom.

“The one he gets when he’s looking at you. It’s something that goes way beyond sex.”

“Well, he is a nice young man,” Paige said mockingly.

“Yes, he is.” Denise nodded, taking a sip of her wine.

She grabbed a fairly tame pair with yellow and white stripes. Stripes didn’t scream “I’m going to have sex tonight,” at least not like black or red lace would have. She could’ve sworn she’d read that stripes were unflattering on everyone. Or was that faux fur?

She dug around in the drawer and found her strapless bra. She grabbed her clothes from the bed and went into the bathroom.

_________________________________________________

About Shannon Richard

Shannon Richard grew up in the Florida Panhandle as the baby sister of two overly protective but loving brothers. She was raised by a more than somewhat eccentric mother, a self-proclaimed vocabularist who showed her how to get lost in a book and a father who passed on his love for coffee and really loud music. She graduated from Florida State University with a BA in English Literature and still lives in Tallahassee where she battles everyday life with writing, reading, and a rant every once in a while. Okay, so the rants might happen on a regular basis. She's still waiting for her Southern, scruffy, Mr. Darcy, and in the meantime writes love stories to indulge her overactive imagination. Oh, and she's a pretty big fan of the whimsy.

Find her on the web

Website | Facebook | Twitter

Monday, February 24, 2014

Book Blitz & Giveaway - The Headhunters Race by Kimberly Afe

Series: Headhunters #1

Release date: January 3rd 2014

Publisher: January Sky Publishing

Purchase: Amazon

Add on Goodreads

Sixteen-year-old Avene was sentenced to prison at thirteen for a crime she didn't commit. Now she has a chance to win her freedom back – if she enters the Headhunters Race. Second prize isn't so bad either, an upgrade to the Leisure Prison if you make it to the finish line. To win either prize, Avene and the other prisoners must navigate one hundred and fifty miles of dense forest, desert, and worst of all, cannibal territory.

With a mechanical collar timed to strangle the prisoners if they're not back in nine days, Avene allies herself with seventeen-year-old McCoy, another prisoner that insists on helping her at every turn and a boy she's trying hard not to fall for. Together they battle nature, other prisoners, and the timed death collars to win the coveted prize. But when Avene is tested with one deadly conflict after another, she realizes there is more at stake than winning her freedom – first she has to survive.

___________________________________________

Excerpt:

This excerpt is from the day the race starts and Avene is getting ready.

Hours later, when the birds start chirping, I know it's almost time to wake up. I get out of bed and change into my special clothes. The ones I've been saving for this day: a sturdy pair of jeans and a man's blue flannel shirt. Underneath I wear my white fitted tee-shirt, depicting a crudely drawn skull. I added the crossbones bearing a set of daggers with a nearly dried-up marker I found a year ago. It represents my mantra for the race: stay away from me or I'll kill you.

I tie my sheath around my thigh, re-lace my boots with longer and sturdier cord I found on a pair of men's boots in the goodie two shoes clothing pile, and then gulp down several handfuls of water. I wipe the droplets from my mouth while I pace like a caged panther. A few minutes later I slug down another five handfuls before I remember to fill my water bottle.

Zita leans up on her elbow. "You're sure you want to do this?"

"I have to, Zita. It's our only way out. The only way we'll be free."

She throws off her cover and leaps to her feet. "Well, we better do something with that hair. They'll start calling the prisoners out soon."

Zita snatches our slop container from the table. She fills it with dirt from the corner and mixes in a bit of water. "I'm not sure how well this will work," she says, stirring it with her finger. "Sit."

I sit on the ground cross-legged at her feet. She kneels beside me, takes a small lock of hair, and rubs mud all through the strands. The stringy tresses stick together, cold and wet against my cheek. After one side of my head is finished, she steps back and surveys her work. "Nope, this isn't working. Your roots are still too light."

"Why don't you wash her whole head in it?" says McCoy.

I stiffen. Leave it to him to think of dunking my whole head in mud.

"You're a genius!" says Zita. She grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet. "Help me," she says to McCoy and I cringe at the thought of him touching my head when I'm a direct competitor. He might send his ninja blade across my neck.

He grabs the sink, half full of water, water I need to drink, and dumps three quarters of it into the corner. "Hey, I need to drink that!" I say.

"You can drink ours," says McCoy.

Right. I'm not going to drink theirs. He'd love that. Especially now that he's going to have to hunt on his own and the only way he knows how is by poaching off me.

Zita stops short of pouring in handfuls of dirt. Instead she goes to the fire pit and scoops out gobs of ash. She swishes it around with her fingers, stares at it like she's not satisfied, and goes ahead and dumps in a handful of dirt anyway. "Okay, bend over, girl."

I lean over the sink while Zita pours the murky mixture over my hair and massages it in. It's gritty and gross.

"Hand me that old shirt in the corner," says Zita.

I'm looking upside down at McCoy while he retrieves the old shirt she uses as her dust rag. She wrings out my hair and then places the shirt over top and squeezes out the excess water. "I wish I had a comb," she says, flipping my head up and steering my behind back to the ground.

"It's okay, I can use my fingers," I say.

McCoy dashes into their room. "Boom has one, hold on."

I lean my head back in defeat. He's determined to help me, to make me feel obligated to help him in return, but his niceties aren't going to work on me.

______________________________________________

About the author:

Kimberly is the mother of two awesome kids, wife of the nicest man in the world, and her dog's best friend. She works by day and writes middle grade and young adult science fiction and fantasy novels in her spare time. She lives with her family in the beautiful Sonoran Desert.

Find her on the web:

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