Hi there, everyone! I'm Michelle Roth and I'm here to introduce my latest release, Bite Me. It's the second in my vampire paranormal series, The Transfigured Ones. Magnus Corbett, my hero, was modeled a bit after Gordon Ramsey. I wanted him to be a rough around the edges guy who didn't necessarily have time for love. I knew, whoever I matched him with would either need to be a bad ass chick who didn't take any crap.. or she'd need to be so sweet that she called to the softer side of him. Caroline Lundquist is both of those things.
If you've got any questions about the book, for me as the author, or about the series in general, feel free to use the #transfiguredones hash tag and I'll do my best to answer!
Magnus Corbett is the world renowned head chef for Usquebaugh, the wildly popular restaurant and whiskey bar inside the Foxwood Hotel and Casino. He's certain that it was his status as one of the Transfigured that put him on the map. It will be bold flavors and his tireless work ethic that keep him there. And, if he has to be a little blunt to get things done? So be it.
When bar manager, Caroline Lundquist, develops a line of cocktails to breathe some life into the drink menu, she's determined to have new gin-inspired dishes to pair with them. During their collaboration she finds herself falling for the side of Magnus that people rarely see. He's sweet. Compassionate. Caring. As they begin to navigate the perils of a vampire-human relationship, both of their pasts crop up, threatening to destroy everything they're working so hard to build together.
- And what about something more personal? Living your dream? Making something out of nothing? How is that not personal? Did you write these bloody questions?
- Why is that so meaningful to you? I did it completely on my own. My family kicked me when I was seventeen. I managed to finish high school and go to culinary school on my own. There was no silver spoon or college fund. I did it on my own.
Michelle Roth is a novelist from the Great White North (Toronto, ON). When she’s not disappearing into foreign lands, or making two perfect strangers that she invented fall in love, she’s probably curled up somewhere with a glass of wine and a good book.
In her spare time she is typically hanging out with her awesome boyfriend and their two equally awesome cats. She likes taking road trips to nowhere in particular, cooking elaborate meals then making other people do the dishes, and being nerdy on the internet. Her books are currently available on Amazon, Nook, Kobo, and any other place that sells absolutely filthy romance novels.
Twitter: @mroth_author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mrothauthor Website: http://www.michelleroth.net Newsletter: http://michelleroth.net/mailing-list/ GooglePlus: http://google.com/+MichelleRothAuthor Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8178847.Michelle_Roth Amazon Author: http://www.amazon.com/Michelle-Roth/e/B00KQNZOAW Email: email@example.com
Happy Book Birthday to Evernight Publishing's Bad
Alpha anthology and my very own
Resisting His Mate!
Resisting His Mate
Bad Alpha Evernight Anthology
PNR / Shifters / Erotic
By Lynn Burke & Various Authors
Release Date: August 21, 2015
Publisher: Evernight Publishing
Warrick Keaton eludes a forced pairing with one of his kind. No one is going to choose his mate for him, not when he wants nothing to do with being tied down to a woman. He never expects fate to intervene in the form of a freezing, barely alive female. With his independence in jeopardy, Warrick fights his inner hawk's desire to stake a claim on her.
Clare Byron longs to escape her domineering ex-husband, a jealous bear shifter determined to keep her prisoner. She seizes the opportunity to run and lands in the arms of another alpha—exactly what she doesn’t want or need.
For Warrick, Clare is everything he's ever wanted in a mate and all that he's run from.
For Clare, Warrick is freedom in a way she never dreamed possible—the one man who will own her heart yet give her wings to fly.
No fucking way, Warrick grumbled to himself as his feathers retracted, and human skin once more covered his body.
A female, the one thing he had no interest in—the thing that he’d traveled across the country to escape. And she floated down the river, sporting a black and blue eye, appearing half-frozen and ready to take a short jaunt with the grim reaper.
Warrick ran his fingers through his shoulder-length hair, cursing his damn luck. Only back at his summer home for two days, finally getting time away from his demanding job with the CIA, and a battered female is tossed in his path?
Even worse, his inner bird had decided to bond with the woman and latched onto her soul like a motherfucker.
With a growl, Warrick sprinted toward the river. Naked and shoeless, he jumped over brush and fallen logs, focused on the female his animal half demanded he rescue.
He reached the shore. The log she’d clung to lay half-submerged far downriver.
Maybe he was too late, and she’d given in to the freezing water. “Couldn’t be that lucky,” he grumbled, taking off south.
Dragging marks showed where she’d pulled herself up and out of the river. Stepping on light feet, and ears straining, Warrick followed her trail to a dip in the land where leaves had piled. The wet tracks disappeared, and he squatted down, scanning the ground for sign of her.
A lock of dark hair caught his eye.
The female had buried herself beneath the leaves, but she didn’t stir.
Passed out or dead?
“Hopefully the latter,” Warrick mumbled, staring at the matted hair. He recalled the fear and anxiety that had shown through her eyes. Eyes the same damn color as his. “Fuck.”
Without another thought, he reached through the leaves and lifted her into his arms. Her head lolled back. A weak pulse beat in her neck. The stench of unwashed body and … bear wafted past his nose. Instant rage kicked his stomach.
Jaw clenched, Warrick clutched her freezing form close and cursed the lush curve of her ass beneath his hand. Fucking prick had a mind of its own and obviously didn’t give a shit about body odor or the fact she’d recently been with his northern enemies.
“I don’t have time for this shit,” he ground out between his teeth while starting toward home. He needed to unload the burden, and quick. His brother was better with women—he’d drop her at Heath’s and hightail it to his own place before the woman opened her eyes and swamped his soul with emotion again.
Poseidon, God of the Sea, has spent millennia alone due to a single terrible act. His consort Amphitrite has sworn never to forgive him, and he’s forced to live with the knowledge that he drove an innocent girl to her doom.
But when one of the Olympic Cove cottages gets an occupant with an all-too-familiar soul, Poseidon discovers that the Fates have given him a second chance. Now he must try to right the wrongs of the past and win back both his beloved consort and the mate he betrayed.
Assuming, of course, that the Mad Nereid Thetis doesn’t interfere…
You’ve been separated from Poseidon for seven thousand years. Do you think it’s possible that the two of you will ever get back together?
Amphitrite: (thoughtful pause) If you had asked me that even a month ago, I would have said no. But with all the things going on at Olympic Cove, I’m starting to suspect that anything can happen.
You’re a licensed psychologist, among other things. Why does a Nereid and goddess have to work for a living?
Amphitrite: I choose to work because it makes me feel like I’m contributing something useful to the world. Plus I enjoy helping people. Lying around doing nothing all day may sound perfectly lovely in a Bruno Mars song, but in reality it’s incredibly dull. I’d rather spend my days working at something I love.
Speaking of work, how are your sisters Ligea, Pasithea, and Iaera doing with their business?
Amphitrite: It’s Divine Events? It’s going great guns as I understand it, especially now that they’re branching out into wedding planning. I’m rather sorry I wasn’t able to join their business, but I have something of a loaded work schedule at the moment.
Feeling like he was in another one of his dreams, Griffin let himself be eased onto the beach blanket. He stretched out, wiggling a bit to get comfortable as Dunn followed him and did the same. Overhead, the Floridian night was heavily spangled with stars.
“This is nice. Should’ve done this the first night I got here.” He glanced at Dunn. The man was a shadowy form stretched out at length, hands clasped placidly on his middle. “Comfortable?”
“Very,” Dunn said, staring up at the stars. “You’re right. This is quite lovely.”
“Yeah.” Griffin swallowed. He had no idea what to do next.
Except to be honest. “Dunn, I need to say something.”
“I hope this doesn’t offend you because I really don’t want to do that, and to be honest I don’t know why I feel this way but…” He swallowed, hearing his throat click. “I really want to kiss you right now. If you don’t want to, it’s fine, I understand, but I thought I’d ask.”
“Ah.” Dunn’s head turned towards him. “Well, then, if we’re being honest, I’d like to kiss you as well.”
Something electric shot through Griffin, swamping the fear. “Oh. I didn’t … I mean, I thought—”
“That I prefer women? I do, as I suspect you do. But I’ve been known to make exceptions.” The other man chuckled softly. “I believe the term is heteroflexible.”
My God, has he done this before? That’s not bad, though. At least one of us knows what he’s doing. “Okay, good. Um…”
“Shall I come over there?”
Griffin rolled onto his side and Dunn mirrored him. A hand came up and cupped his cheek, warm against the soft coolness of the evening breeze.
He closed his eyes as Dunn leaned forward. Lips brushed against his, delicately intent. His lips tingled under the soft pressure, and he could feel the prickle of Dunn’s mustache and beard, something he’d never felt before, at least not during a kiss.
It was weird and slightly scary. It was also fucking terrific. “Do that again,” he whispered when Dunn pulled back.
“Eagerness. I like that in a man.”
They kissed again, and Griffin let his lips open. The tip of Dunn’s tongue traced along them with that same delicacy. The sensation sizzled across his nerve endings, poking his dormant libido right where it counted.
Dunn pulled back a bit. “If you want to stop at any time, say so,” he said, his voice rough.
“Right, got it. Now kiss me again.”
He did, tongue slipping into Griffin’s mouth with deft skill. Griffin gave himself over to it, enjoying the sensation. It was similar to kissing a woman but with a different undertone to it, hungrier somehow. He felt like he didn’t have to hold back, that anything he threw at Dunn the other man could take.
And then Dunn’s tongue licked along the roof of his mouth, sending sparks of desire shooting through him. He couldn’t help moaning in unabashed pleasure.
Dunn took that as a signal to roll closer, fitting himself along Griffin’s body. It was like the kiss, scary and exciting at the same time. Dunn slid an arm around him, a hand coming to rest in the small of his back as his mouth continued to duel sweetly with Griffin’s.
After a bit Griffin felt something poking him in the thigh. It dawned on him what was happening. He broke the kiss with a gasp, sucking in air. “Fuck. You’re hard.”
“Well, yes, that does happen.” Dunn sounded amused. “Does it bother you?”
Griffin gulped. It should, he knew that. And yet all he wanted to do was do a wicked little shimmy against Dunn, make the other man moan for once. “No. It’s fine.”
But Dunn paused, his hand lightening on Griffin’s back. “You’re not aroused.”
He shook his head. “It was the last round of radiation. Haven’t been able to get it up since.”
“Oh.” Dunn’s hand came to rest again, but now it was on his waist. “Am I hurting you? Doing this, I mean?”
“If you’re asking me if you’re giving me blue balls, yeah, a little.” He swallowed again. “If you’re asking me if I want to stop, the answer’s no. Just don’t expect me to be poking you back.”
He wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn he saw Dunn smile. “All right.”
Nicola Cameron is an expatriate Chicagoan who has lived in England, Canada, Holland, and Sweden, and keeps a confusing amalgamation of languages in her head as a result. Currently located in the clavicle of Texas, she has finally mastered the proper use of "y'all," much to her Chicago family's dismay.
Despite a healthy interest in sex since puberty, it wasn't until 2012 that Nicola decided to try writing about it. As it turned out, the skills she picked up during her SF writing career transferred rather nicely to erotic romance. When not writing, she wrangles cats, smooches her husband, makes dolls of dubious and questionable identity, and thanks almighty Cthulhu that she doesn’t have to work for a major telecommunications company any more (because there’s BDSM, and then there’s just plain torture...).
· Website: http://www.nicolacameronwrites.com
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