We’ve got Stacy Gail with us today. She’s a fellow Samhain author, twitter crack monkey, and all around awesome person. Her latest release is Best Man, Worst Man, but don’t miss her first novella, the cyberpunk sci fi romance, Zero Factor. – Reesa
Tell us a little about yourself. What do you like to write? What’s your latest release about? What have you read recently that knocked your socks off?
SG: Believe it or not, this is a toughie! The problem is that I’m crazy in love with ALL subgenres of romance. When I first started writing romance (at the age of fourteen *cough*precocious*cough*), I wrote nothing but contemporaries, which is what my latest release, BEST MAN, WORST MAN is. I’ve since found new frontiers in the romance world, primarily thanks to Samhain Publishing and THE SLIPSTREAM CON. Viva la Sci-Fi Romance!
Do you sometimes sing your sentences to yourself? (Do you think good singability is a quality criteria?)
SG: (Pfffft, Do YOU sing your sentences to yourself, Reesa & Michelle???) Nope, I couldn’t sing my way out of a paper bag. I do the talking-out-loud thing. Which is kinda embarrassing when you realize—too late—that you’re doing it in public. In an elevator. A CROWDED elevator.
We don’t sing them to ourselves. I do read them aloud when I’m editing, but nobody wants to hear me sing that much. – Reesa
What is the most important thing about your favorite pair of socks? Do you have a favorite pair of socks? – Submitted by Gabi from Boston
SG: NOVELTY SOCKS!!! Oh, I have so many! My favorites are the ones with the limbo-ing giraffes that are saying “How low can you go”, even though they now have a hole in the toe. After that, it would have to be the pink pair with flying pigs all over them. Oh, and penguins. I have hoarded VAST QUANTITIES of penguin socks. Because penguins rule. (Sorry. Was that a little too enthusiastic? I guess I’m too much of a Dumbledore devotee. I like socks…)
How do you see your writing- words, pictures, or something else entirely?
SG: There’s a never-ending movie going on up in here, yo. ^_^
How many of your daily meals make it into your writing? (That is, if you make pecan waffles on Saturday mornings, do you ever have a character do the same?)
SG: For my cyberpunk romance, ZERO FACTOR, I showcased both MREs and an elaborate formal tea, and the reason I had those scenes in there was to underscore a vast social dichotomy. But for the contemporary romance, BEST MAN, WORST MAN, I just wanted to show off the unique cuisine of South Texas. I guarantee that after reading this one, you’ll crave authentic Tex-Mex the way a zombie craves brains. Taquitos, gorditas, chimichangas, enchiladas de mole poblano… *drools*
Have you ever eaten raw squid? Did you like it?
SG: I can only stomach it sashimi-style, and even then it’s a struggle. It’s not too bad taste-wise, but I’m a texture-person. The overall sliminess is… not for me. *shivers*
Still reading? Good! That means you would just LOVE to take a peek at this blurb and excerpt from BEST MAN, WORST MAN, available October 25th from Samhain Publishing, right? Of course, right!
He’s the one problem she can’t solve.
From hysterical bridezillas to grooms with sub-zero feet, renowned wedding planner Claire Pomeroy has never met a disaster she couldn’t handle. Then she runs afoul of her client’s not-so-best man, a devilishly flirtatious rogue with a killer smile and a chest as solid as a concrete roadblock. Yet their sparks of attraction only highlight his obvious quest—to make sure this wedding knot never gets tied.
Confirmed bachelor Ryder Price knows one unshakable truth: marriage is nothing but a fairy tale. No way is he going to stand idly by while his wingman face-plants into the dreaded marital trap. But there’s a problem. A dark-eyed, dangerously curvaceous problem who’s bound and determined to pull this wedding off.
As her suddenly skittish clients teeter on the edge of cancellation, Claire challenges her nemesis to imagine long-term as something more than a quickie and a vague promise to call. Ryder counters with a challenge of his own. Let him give her a taste of just how fulfilling a little no-strings-attached passion can be.
Read an excerpt below:
Claire sighed and followed Rachel into the living room, only to have her vision filled with Rachel’s houseguest sitting on a sofa, coffee mug in hand as he chatted with Matt. He was impossible to miss. Even though he was seated it was obvious the man was built like a warrior of old, with wide shoulders and a chest you could play handball on, narrow hips and long legs that filled out his jeans in all the right places. His dark hair was as black as a raven’s wing, and the sweep of his shoulders was so breathtaking she couldn’t help but suffer the innately feminine desire to explore the muscular terrain with curious, wanting-to-squeeze fingers. The smile he gave Matt was a devilish white slash against bronzed, sun-kissed skin, made that much darker with a hint of a five-o’clock shadow. Then he looked up at their approach, and Claire found herself freezing solid, from the tips of her toes all the way to the orderly movement of her lungs.
He had silver eyes. God help her, silver eyes.
“Ryder, I’d like you to meet wedding planner extraordinaire, Claire Pomeroy. Claire, this is Matt’s best friend, Ryder Price. Since he and Matt are settled in so nicely here, why don’t you and I have our consult in the kitchen while the boys do whatever it is they do?”
Matt shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”
“Absolutely not.” To Claire’s surprise, the man named Ryder pushed to his feet and crossed to them, and for no fathomable reason Claire’s heart decided to do its best impersonation of an 808 drum machine. “Please Rachel, I insist you go about your usual routine and just pretend I’m not even here. Remember, you swore I wouldn’t be a bother, so don’t let me get in your way now.”
“My goodness,” Rachel said through a tight smile that made her look like she wanted to bite something. “How considerate of you, Ryder.”
“And I wouldn’t want to inconvenience your wedding planner.” Ryder turned the full brunt of his smile on Claire as he took her hand in his. “Claire, is it?”
It took most of her strength to get her tongue unglued from the roof of her mouth, mainly because the heat of his hand was branding her nerve endings with the glorious feel of him. “That’s correct.” What wasn’t correct was how her brain slipped its gears to plunge her into the heart of fantasyland the moment he touched her. With shocking ease she imagined how the glide of his hands, as big as baseball mitts, might feel against other, more intimate parts of her body. With one glance at his made-for-sin lips, she could almost feel them molding against hers, seducing her with the promise of dark pleasures. She had no doubt he would be a reckless lover. This modern-day gladiator looked as though he lived to conquer his intended target inch by tantalizing inch, unveiling her as he would a piece of fine art to revel in a slow, sensual exploration first by his gaze, then his hands, then his mouth…
A flush of heat rolled through Claire until she thought she glowed with it, and to her dismay sensual warmth bloomed between her thighs. Way to be professional, she thought, horrified. Apparently her little voice of reason was suffering an epic case of laryngitis. And the worst part of it—all he’d done was touch her hand.