1. Hi, please tell us a little bit about yourself.
My name is Samael, but you can call me Sam. My job is to take the souls of the damned down to Hell (but don’t worry…not everyone has a one-way ticket to Hell. I just go after the bad guys). I’m currently stationed in Los Angeles -- been there for about 200 years now. It’s not a bad gig. Much better than working downside, if you know what I mean.
2. Where are you from?
Well, Hell. I mean, millennia ago all of us demons were up in Heaven, but no one likes to talk about that. Although I guess if you want to get technical, right now I’m from the Mid-Wilshire District in L.A. That’s where I have a condo.
3. Do you find that people expect you to be bad all the time, being a demon?
Actually, no one should even know I’m a demon. Those of us working topside look just like regular people. We can get in a lot of trouble if our cover is blown. That said, I suppose people would think the worst of me if they did discover I was a demon. We’ve got kind of a bad rap, after all -- too many cheesy movies about possession, if you ask me. Like we don’t have a full enough plate carting the souls of L.A.’s bad guys down to Hell. Who has time for possession? I’m lucky if I can read a paper once in awhile.
4. Who, I mean what’s your favorite snack?
Demons don’t eat people. What do you think we are, werewolves? Anyway, I’m partial to a good rib-eye, but I wouldn’t say no to a pizza with everything on top. No anchovies, though. I hate those little suckers.
5. How did you meet your author?
I guess you could say we sort of bumped into each other. She dropped me a line and said she was interested in telling my and Felicia’s story, so I figured what the hell…in a manner of speaking.
6. Do you find her easy to work with?
Most of the time. Sometimes she asks questions that are a little too personal. That can get annoying. There were a couple of times where she went off to tell someone else’s story and left me and Felicia hanging, but otherwise the whole process was pretty smooth.
7. How can readers contact you or buy your book?
I don’t give out my phone number, but you can always contact me through my author, Christine Pope. She’s got a contact form on her website (christinepope.com) that’s easy to use. She’s pretty trustworthy about forwarding messages. The book is available through the Pink Petal Books website (www.pinkpetalbooks.com), and you can also buy it in the Kindle store, All Romance Ebooks, 1Romance Ebooks, and a couple of other places I’m probably forgetting about right now.
8. Anything you’d like to add?
Demons have a bad reputation, unfortunately. I think if people read my story they’ll see that the situation isn’t quite what they’ve been led to believe. We’re just doing our jobs -- same as you.
Samael calls the City of Angels home, but he’s far from angelic. His assignment: Bringing the souls of L.A.’s unquiet dead to the underworld. His duties don’t preclude more earthly entanglements, as long he keeps things purely physical.
When he meets Felicia McGovern, he soon realizes his attraction to her goes far beyond her admittedly enchanting flesh. Her unexpected discovery of his true nature separates the lovers, but when her life is in danger, Samael risks everything to keep her safe. He faces certain punishment…or possibly a redemption he never imagined could be his.
She wanted him to go home with her. The realization struck Felicia with an almost physical force as she watched him break up the last bit of bread with his long, strong fingers. What would it feel like to have those hands moving up and down her body, touching her…exploring her?
Heat pooled in her lower belly, and she wadded up the napkin in her lap, then smoothed it out once again, hoping those simple actions would help to distract her from the waves of need that had begun to pulse through her. This was ridiculous. She’d never allowed herself to be ruled by her hormones before, so what the hell was it about Sam that made her want to toss aside every scruple about casual sex she’d ever had?
Well, technically, this is our second date. She had to repress a nervous laugh. Amazing, the rationalizations the human mind could come up with when it really, really wanted something. And she knew she wanted Sam. What difference did it make whether she slept with him on her “second” date or her tenth? They were both adults, right?
Although she made an effort to take the bill, he neatly snatched it away from her and handed it and a platinum Visa to the waitress without even bothering to look at the total. Bounty hunting must pay pretty well.
She didn’t have much time to gather her thoughts; the waitress returned with amazing speed, considering her slowness in bringing the actual food. Felicia found herself standing outside the restaurant, valet ticket clutched in her hand, before she had time to collect her thoughts.
If Sam was experiencing the same diffidence, he didn’t show much sign of it. The warm night wind ruffled his unruly black hair as he handed his own ticket to the valet.
“Thank you for dinner,” she blurted, even as the second valet station attendant turned to her, an expectant look on his face.
“You’re welcome.” A brief smile. “I think he wants your ticket.”
“Oh.” She shoved the card into the valet’s hand and waited for him to depart. Then she took a breath. “Did you -- that is, I was thinking we could go back to my place. It’s not too far. For a nightcap, I mean.” Oh, God, if he didn’t already think I was an idiot for that remark about his looks, he’ll sure think it now…
The smile broadened. “Sure. What’ve you got?”
Good question. She wasn’t much of a drinker. She thought she had a bottle of cognac someone had given her a few years ago at one of Lauren’s Christmas parties. It had never even been opened. “You like cognac?”
It must have been the sodium-vapor street lights that made it look as if a reddish gleam came and went in his eyes. “Love it.”
Through some miracle the valet brought her car around first, closely followed by a big truck that must belong to Sam. She gave him her address and some quick directions. He nodded, then climbed into his truck and waited while she slid into the driver’s seat of her Volvo.
Concentrating on fastening her seat belt and checking her mirrors helped keep her occupied for a minute or so. But once she was headed east on Third Street, the misgivings came back full force. What had possessed her to invite Sam back to her loft? All right, so she hadn’t been laid in -- well, if she stopped to count the months it would be too depressing, but it had been long enough. And fingers and vibrators could only get a girl so far.