Alex is overseas on an assignment again, and I’m all caught up with my work. Selena is busy writing, editing, obsessing over her next release, so I volunteered to interview Tack Morgan, the hero in Stevie Kisner’s romantic comedy, WAKING UP IN VEGAS.
Stevie Kisner is gifting a copy of the book to one lucky reader (details below.)
Plus, Heidi Wiley gives us her review on WALKING UP VEGAS.
So let’s get this party started and help me welcome Tack Morgan. (I won’t mention his sexual harassment suit or the fact that he needs therapy for it, as that is all addressed in the blurb below). Tack is also sharing a fun excerpt from the book.
Maddie: Hey, Tack, welcome to Selena’s blog and thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to chat with us. By the way, nice abs. Alex, in case you’re reading this, calm down. You always say that as long as I just look at the menu, it’s not a problem, because you know, babe, I only eat in your kitchen.
Tack: Nice to meet you, Maddie, and it’s always a pleasure to chat with all you lovely ladies. Romance readers are the hottest.
Maddie: Totally agree with you about romance readers. Let me preface this first question by saying that I’m not one to judge anyone’s extracurricular activities, or add labels to those extracurricular activities, however, you have been known to admit to being a man-ho. So what exactly is a man-whore? How does one get that title? And do you charge money for your talents?
Tack: First, Maddie, let me clear the air; I’ve occasionally been called a man-whore, and for reasons of brevity, I simply nod and agree. But for you, beautiful, I’ll explain. I adore women. Every shape, every size, every color. They’re God’s most amazing creation. So much strength, passion, and compassion in such a soft and lovely package. And experiencing the bouncy *clears throat* I mean bounty that surrounds me has always just been what I do. I think the ‘manwhore’ moniker came about because I refused to sample the same lady twice. As for charging, never. I can’t be bought, although until just recently, I could surely be had *winking* Besides, don’t you know that prostitution is illegal in Clark County, Nevada?
Maddie: I’ve never been to Clark County, Nevada, however, although the women don’t pay you in money, I imagine they pay for it in heartbreak. However, that’s to be expected, you’re a romance hero after all. I love the way you describe your passion for women of all sizes and color. I know you’re a dude, but still, that’s sweet.
You’ve been named Las Vegas’ Sexiest Man. Congratulations. Now, if you were asked to describe the sexiest woman, what qualities would you look for to give a woman that title?
Tack: The sexiest woman is about five-foot-one or two, with hair the color of melted caramel. She has astounding eyes that are lighter than brown, but darker than topaz, with little green flecks and a dark ring of the richest chocolate around the iris. She loves things with sparkles and glitter, rocks out to AC/DC, and her voice sounds like she just rolled out of bed, 24/7. She also doesn’t take one ounce of my bullshit and has the uncanny ability to know exactly what I’m thinking even before I do.
Maddie: Sounds like a certain DJ that co-hosts with you. She is my sister-in-spirit; not taking an ounce of bullshit. Good stuff. Good choice on your part. How did you celebrate winning the Sexiest Man in Las Vegas?
Tack: You know that Jensen is right out in the hall, right? So I can’t answer, on the grounds that I will most definitely incriminate myself.
Maddie: Gotcha. However, she probably knows all about it, because us gals know more than you guys think we know, we just let you think we’re in the dark. You’re right though, bragging about how you celebrated probably not a good move. What song best describes your life?
Tack: Lately? ‘Best Day of My Life’ by American Authors. Every day when I wake up, I’m struck again by just how lucky I am.
Maddie: Sweet! I have to say, that Man-Whore title is tarnishing, the more I talk to you, however, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t get a bit more personal. What non-sexual gesture turns you on?
Tack: Recently, I’d have to say Jensen worshiping her morning cup of java.
Maddie: You’re a romance hero that will definitely capture the readers hearts. It’s so interesting to hear about what non-sexual gesture turns you guys on. Alex gets all frisky when I eat chocolate, or comb my hair, or wear his boxer shorts, his sweatshirt and write on my laptop. Who knew? So ladies, see, it doesn’t take lingerie, red lights, or having to take pole dancing to get your man fired up.
So, Tack, what’s your take on Valentine’s Day?
Tack: Valentine’s Day is a made-up holiday designed to get guys to give women presents when they don’t care about them enough to appreciate them every single day, instead.
Maddie: Yup, that’s how Alex and I feel about it as well. What’s it like for a gal to be on a date with you?
Tack: I was never a dater, because date number one leads to expectations of a second night out. I’d rather just dive right in to the ‘enjoying each other’ portion of the evening.
Maddie: And the man-ho title is retained again. Naughty boy, but that’s okay, because you have grown (no pun intended), and that’s what the best part is when reading about a tap-it-and-leave type of guy, to see how he settles down and stays down (not down that way, but you know what I mean).
You’re a powerful guy in DJ-land in Las Vegas. Do you think power is an aphrodisiac?
Tack: No, power is definitely not an aphrodisiac. It’s a damned magnet, drawing people to you, and drawing a whole lot of attention, whether you want it or not. It means your life is lived under a microscope and every little thing you do is magnified and projected onto your career and your life. The weight of it can be nearly overwhelming. I just want to entertain.
Maddie: I so agree with you on living under a microscope. Alex and I were put through that for awhile in our book, and it tested our patience, but it also helped us realize what is important in life and gave us the ability to ignore the asshats who tried to destroy us. But us romance hero and heroine’s are made of strong stuff. Tack, what was your most embarrassing moment?
Tack: My most embarrassing moment is in my journal, which somebody recently published (with my reluctant permission). Actually, there are several embarrassing incidents in there, and all of them involve Jensen MacKenzie in some way or another.
Maddie: I have had a few (okay, maybe more than a few) embarrassing moments, and so I feel your pain. However, I look at them as being little blips along this journey we call life. As long as we can laugh about it, and learn from them, then it’s all good.
Do you think one day you’ll get bitten and smitten by love?
Tack: To be totally honest, I already have been. And I couldn’t be happier.
Maddie: 🙂 And that’s what makes our readers swoon. Thanks again, it’s been a pleasure chatting with you. Best of luck!
A hot morning radio host, who was voted Las Vegas Magazine’s sexiest man in media, had no trouble separating his sex life from his professional one. But when a beautiful petite co-host with a velvet voice sends his testosterone levels skyrocketing, Tack Morgan finds honesty can land you in counseling, the friend zone sucks and there isn’t a shower cold enough to wash away sexual frustration caused by his new co-host.
I’m always intrigued when I find a romance that is written from a male perspective and absolutely love it when the author gets it right. Using a first person narrative, Stevie Kisner introduces Tack Morgan and the reader gets to experience firsthand what it’s like to be inside the mind of an impulsive, arrogant but loveable man whose mouth has no filter and his sexual confidence is off the rails.
Jensen Mackenzie, beautiful, with a spirited personality, rocks as the one woman who tests the boundaries Tack has built around his professional career, sex life and his heart. This story is set in a Las Vegas morning show that provides a refreshingly different backdrop and Tack’s mom, friends add fun and realism to this sexy-hot story that has just as many laugh out loud moments as tender ones.
Waking up in Vegas is a fun, sexy read and thanks to author Stevie Kisner I will never look at a bag of frozen peas the same way again. Recommend Highly.
What’s your name, Beautiful? Never mind. It doesn’t matter, and I won’t remember it, anyway.
I’m Tack Morgan, and I’m Las Vegas Magazine’s Sexiest Man. I’m the host of the most listened-to morning drive-time show on Vegas’s FM dial.
I’m also in therapy for sexual harassment. My therapist is the one making me write this. The doc says it’ll help me put things into perspective.
To be clear, I don’t have sexual harassment issues. I have sexual frustration issues. And it’s totally not my fault. That responsibility rests squarely with the person I’m being accused of harassing. I see her each and every weekday morning at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m. Funny. I used to think that was the best time of the whole day. I lived for starting my mornings so early, not seeing my bed until many, many hours later. Unless it was for recreation.
At the risk of sounding cocky, I recreated a lot. Sex is my sport of choice. Or at least it was, until Jen waltzed through the station door and announced she was my new morning-show co-host.
I swear, she’s developed some sort of pheromone-canceling ESP that follows me around everywhere and cockblocks me at every turn.
I haven’t gotten laid in… too long. Honestly, I haven’t been keeping track. Actually, yes, I have. It’s been two months. Coincidentally, that’s exactly how long Jensen McKenzie has been my co-host.
I don’t think my balls can get any bluer.
There’s not much to say about the beginning of the week; the first two days of The Rubbish Report were an enormous success, based on Jen’s Facebook feedback. And on the number of sponsors lining up to have their name added asPresented By. And damn her if she didn’t beat me to the punch again.
She sweet-talked the photo studio into emailing her the new photo so she could plaster it all over the place online. They even couriered over her box of black-and-whites on Tuesday morning.
What’s that, you asked? What about mine?
I had to pick them up after work.
Which is why I was juggling the flimsier-than-a-cheesy-Christmas-shirtbox of photos, the rest of my travel mug of coffee, a package of black Sharpies, and my door badge, all while trying to avoid the swathe of muck all over the sidewalk from the sprinklers.
I have no idea why the stupid things were even on—it’s been raining off and on for the last two days, turning anything that wasn’t paved into a muddy quagmire. This is the desert and water’s practically a form of currency here. You’d think someone would remember that and flip the switch on the sprinkler timer.
To top it off, I was limping, ‘cause my knee was only seventy-five percent back to normal, and I had a suspicion the low-hanging stormclouds were making it feel worse.
Add them all up and I was feeling inordinately grouchy.
I muttered a prayer of thanks that it wasn’t currently raining on me and my early morning juggling act, then I saw Jensen bouncing up the sidewalk from the curb and I was, for once, happy to see her. Not that I’m ever unhappy to see her (so far as she knows). There are just some times that I appreciate her more than others. And right now, I wanted to appreciate her ability to hold open the door.
“Good morning, Tack!” Now she was just showing off, bounding past me on her perfectly functional little knees. She spun back and I braced myself for whatever chipper cheerleadery suggestion was about to exit her lips.
“Why are you bringing your photos in today?” she asked, pointing at the box. “Everybody here already knows what they look like.”
And yes, that they do. Because Jen also charmed the guy into emailing her my new photo, so it, too, could get posted every-damn-where.
“I’m going to pre-sign them this morning, so I can spend time actually talking to the fans on Friday.” And, naturally, spend time scoping out the babes. Even though our command appearance is at the club my mother manages, as long as I don’t hit on her employees, I’m allowed to take my pick of the ladies. And I intended to pick one. Or two.
“Lemme help with them, then,” she said, holding out one hand.
I’d rather she just opened the door, but since she offered… I stretched out my arm to hand her the box.
And without warning, 500 eight-by-ten black-and-white glossies were soaring up into the fading morning starlight. There went my face, spinning in five-hundricate, their flight slow-mo and surreal. I had time to register that the photo-smile really did look like a grimace. Especially when all half-a-thousand of me started heading face down toward the mud.
It took a moment for me to realize that she had whacked the box out of my hand. Deliberately and with gusto.
“What the fuck, Jen?” I tried to come up with something else to bellow, but my brain was too busy short-circuiting to help me out. I felt my right eye begin to twitch, and had the fleeting thought that it’s never done that before. Her smug smile evaporated and she started backing slowly toward the door. I followed, matching her speed. There was no reason to hurry; it was a security door and it was locked. She wasn’t going anywhere.
The sprinklers were soaking the photos, but I didn’t give a rat’s left testicle. I pitched my car mug into the black-and-white wreckage because I needed both hands free to wrap around her dainty little throat.
Her hands fluttered around like crazed birds and I wondered briefly if Miss Smackety was looking for something else to smack. “God, I’m sorry, Tack! The box my pictures were in was thick and sturdy. I thought it would just tip a little and it would make you laugh because you were looking so serious. Like you are again, right now.” She was almost to the door, and I was only one step behind.
Jen had tucked herself into the corner by the hinges. Idiot.
I stalked closer until there were only inches between us.
She had nowhere to go.
My hands raised themselves; I didn’t know where they were heading.
Trapped now, she tried placating one more time. “I was just playing around, Tack. I didn’t mean it. I’ll even pay for the replacements.”
I squinted down at her and didn’t say a word, although I was aware of an exasperated growl that might or might not have been coming from my chest.
Her eyes loomed huge, and her chin tilted defiantly. The half-smile that her lips seemed to perpetually exist in returned. She might be ready to play at being brave, but I noticed her palms had come up and were poised to shove me away, if necessary. “Just what do you plan to do with your big bad self, now that you’ve menaced me into this corner?”
I felt something snap deep inside my brain.
It was kill her or kiss her.
As I dropped my face closer, I still wasn’t sure which one it would be.
In her own words; about Stevie Kisner:
I’ve been writing stuff for other people to see since I was just shy of five years old and read my cousin’s copy of ‘Charlotte’s Web.’ I wrote my glowing opinion (and a few study questions) all over the nice tan hardcover, *singing* I got to keep it…(and, get this, I STILL have it. Somewhere.)
I’ll read anything. books, magazines, cereal boxes, shampoo bottles, whatever catches my eye on the Internet, and liner notes. Boy HOWDY on the liner notes! I’m a total rock music junkie, and collect old vinyl, ‘cause nothing beats the intricate details you can see on a twelve-by-twelve album cover. But I won’t discriminate—you can’t pry my mp3 out of my hands most days.
When I’m not reading, I’m writing (both into the wee hours of the morning) and have an unfettered love affair with caffeine in all its magical forms. I grew up in and around Cleveland, spent most of a decade in Sacramento (and consider that home), and currently live in a suburb of Albuquerque, New Mexico with my husband and college-student son. By day, I work in customer service for a credit card company, and scribble down as much as I can during my breaks.
Where to connect with Stevie online: