A seductive spy and a cursed prince – #MFRWHooks #ParanormalRomance #Steampunk

Welcome to the MFRW Book Hooks blog hop! Every Wednesday the talented authors who belong to the Marketing for Romance Writers community share their favorite bits from their work. The list of links at the end of each post lets you jump from one excerpt to another. Who knows, maybe you’ll find your next romance read!

Today I am featuring an excerpt from my multi-genre erotic romance Rajasthani Moon. This exciting novel combines steam punk, paranormal, ménage, BDSM, Rubenesque and Bollywood elements. I guarantee you’ve never read anything like it...

Blurb

A bandit prince cursed into beast form under the full moon.

A brilliant but sadistic Rajah whose robotic sex toys mingle torture and delight.

A voluptuous spy on a mission from Her Majesty, tasked with discovering Rajasthan’s secrets.

She has never faced such a challenge.

When Rajasthan refuses to remit its taxes, the Queen calls on her most lethal and seductive secret agent, Cecily Harrowsmith. Cecily expects to have little difficulty persuading the rebellious Rajah to submit once more to the Empire. Instead, she is the one forced to submit – to endure unprecedented extremes of pleasure and pain.

Kidnapped by the ruler's half-brother Pratan and delivered into the hands of the handsome but depraved Rajah Amir, she soon finds herself fighting against her own lascivious nature as much as the schemes of her captors. Her sympathy for the moon-cursed wolf-man Pratan only complicates her situation. Cecily has never failed to complete an assignment, but now she risks betrayal by both her body and her heart.

The Hook

The prince-bandit most definitely looked the worse for wear. His normally-keen eyes were bloodshot, with grey circles of exhaustion beneath them. His long hair was matted and tangled. Dirt smeared his only garment, a pair of homespun trousers, and a long, rust-hued abrasion disfigured his chest, from his left breast down to his navel. A livid bruise darkened one cheekbone. Blood-crusted bandages wrapped both his hands.

Amir made a noise of concern. Before she knew what was happening, he had released Cecily and tumbled her out of bed, back onto her pile of cushions. The men ignored her squawk of protest.

“Come here—sit down, brother. You definitely did put up a fight, I’ll admit. Took six of my strongest guards to get you into the cage.” The Rajah’s voice took on a more serious tone. “Has this happened before—changing at the new moon as well as the full?”

Pratan lowered himself to the opposite corner of the bed from where Cecily was bound. His normally graceful movements were stiff, as though he was in pain.

“At the Vaishaka new moon, I felt some symptoms of the change, but the beast never arrived. Last month—Jyaistha—the new moon passed without incident, so I figured the previous time was some anomaly. Obviously I should have been more careful. If I’d known…”

Cecily read regret and embarrassment in Pratan’s features. She almost didn’t recognise him.

“I’m so sorry I put you at risk, Amir-ji. If I’d changed during the ceremony—if I’d injured or killed some of your subjects—” The brigand dropped his battered face to his bandaged hands. Cecily experienced a flicker of sympathy, though she didn’t fully understand their conversation.

“Never mind, brother. There’s no harm done. Though perhaps this should be your last new moon ceremony, until the curse is lifted.”

“What curse?” The men had seemed to forget her presence, and she’d sensed she was acquiring useful information, but Cecily’s curiosity got the better of her wisdom.

Pratan and Amir locked eyes. “Should I tell her?” the Rajah asked, no trace of a smile on his succulent lips.

The royal brigand shrugged. “Why not? It’s scarcely a secret. Everyone else knows the story. Perhaps the clever Miss Harrowsmith will have some ideas about how I might change my fate.”

Another extended look passed between them, intimate and full of pain. It was Amir who spoke next.

“Pratan’s mother was a high-ranking courtesan, while mine was the queen—the Maharani. That’s why I’m officially the Rajah. My father loved them both. As the supreme ruler, he was entitled to bed as many women as he wanted. The queen, however, did not agree with this custom.

“She came to my father from the land of the high snows. Daughter of a lord whose palace soared above the clouds, the princess Ziya was cultured, learned and exquisitely beautiful. She was also, unbeknownst to my father, a sorceress with considerable skill in the dark arts. Some say that she enchanted him to bend him to her will. Certainly, for many years, she was the only woman who could arouse his desire. Then, after I was born, he met Pratan’s mother and brought her to court to be his concubine.

“Queen Ziya’s jealousy was icy as the peaks of her distant home. She pretended to welcome the newcomer, while practising her charms to weaken Lady Chameela’s hold on her husband. As Pratan’s mother grew pale and sickly, though, my father’s devotion to her only increased. Finally, my mother burst into their bedchamber with a poisoned dagger, determined to slay them both. As they coupled, she stabbed at my father’s labouring back—but the gods protected him and the knife slashed the sheets, which burst into evil-smelling flames.”

Pratan rose from the bed to pace the carpeted tiles as he picked up the thread of the tale.

“Maharani Ziya was condemned to death for her attempt on the Rajah’s life. The people say that when my father pronounced judgment upon her, there were tears in his eyes. On the pyre where she was burnt alive, she cursed my mother and me. ‘Your son shall be a rutting beast like his father,’ the witch cried as the fire licked at her perfect body. ‘And you, whore Chameela, will die without ever seeing his face.’”

Cecily watched Pratan’s restless progress, back and forth in front of the bed. Dark emotion ravaged his handsome face. Clearly, he couldn’t continue. The tendrils of sympathy she’d felt earlier burst into full flower.

Amir resumed the narration in the stead of his stricken sibling. “All she had predicted came to pass. Pratan’s mother expired in childbirth—weakened by loss of blood, she sank into unconsciousness and never awakened. My father sent both of us to England, to educate us but also in the hope that in that distant country, so far from my mother’s home, Pratan could escape his fate.”

“A vain hope,” Pratan added. “My sixteenth birthday fell upon a full moon. That night I changed for the first time, from a mostly innocent youth to a fierce, lustful animal—an enormous wolf with just enough human in my form to rape a village girl and then rip her body to bloody pieces.”

Pratan sank to the floor, as though he could no longer bear the weight of horror and guilt. Cecily laid a gentle hand on his arm.

“You couldn’t help it,” she soothed. “You didn’t know what to expect.” She understood now the solitude of his life in the wasteland, the cage she’d seen in his mountain den. “You’ve paid for that unintentional crime many times over, I’m certain.”

Amir swung himself out of bed and helped Pratan to his feet. “Don’t blame yourself, brother.” His voice was taut with anguish, too. “The fault lies with my damned mother and her evil magic. The blood you’ve spilled stains her soul, not yours. May she be reborn as a blind worm in a pile of dung.”

“Sometimes I wonder what sins I committed in my past lives, to bear this burden now.” Pratan shook off his brother’s consoling hand, strode to the window and threw open the latticework grille. Sunlight poured unhindered into the room. “For more than a decade, I’ve hidden myself away, raging and howling behind iron bars whenever the moon was full. Once a month was bad enough, but now it seems the curse is tightening its hold on me. Will there come a time when I must wear my beast-form every night?”

Cecily’s chest ached with vicarious sorrow. She wanted to go to Pratan and enfold him in the comfort of her arms, but her bonds would not allow that. “Is there no way to lift the curse?”

“Sorcery is forbidden in Rajasthan,” Amir thundered. His voice faded almost to a whisper. “Of course, it’s too late for that now.”

Buy Links

Kinky Literature - https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/363-rajasthani-moon-steampunk-shifter-bdsm-romance/

Amazon US - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09DBMLQQG

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09DBMLQQG

Smashwords - https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1100493

Barnes and Noble - https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/rajasthani-moon-lisabet-sarai/1140045684?ean=2940165000041

Kobo - https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/rajasthani-moon-steampunk-shifter-bdsm-romance

Apple Books -

https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id1582490320

Add on Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58835067-rajasthani-moon

Print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D8CDFSZ5

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks!

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Look into your mind and soul – #Poetry #Giveaway #GuestBlog

 

Lisabet: Greetings, Intensia. Welcome to Beyond Romance!

How did you get started writing poetry and songs? Why do you continue?

Intensia:

Thank you so much for having me and for this thoughtful question.

I must have been about six years old when I realized that music and writing would become something very important to me. It all began with a blue radio double cassette recorder I was gifted with. That device instantly fascinated me. From the moment I received it, I would spend countless hours listening to music, recording my voice, and creating melodies of my own. At that point, I did not really know or even realize that this was actually a job, and part of what songwriters do. But what I truly and deeply felt was a sensation of comfort, calmness, freedom and joy that I had never experienced before.

In elementary school, I started writing little poems, and in middle school I began singing in a choir. From then on, I never stopped exploring my crafts and encouraging others to discover and nurture their artistic side. I’m, among others, an officially recognized vocational teacher in Germany, guiding aspiring singers and songwriters on their path to professional artistry, as well as an award-winning vocal coach.

I write and sing poetic pop songs that feel like after a meaningful conversation with a good friend. Songs to inspire, connect, and entertain. Lines that linger a little longer and carry emotional weight, created also for the deep feelers, the intense ones, the passionate thinkers, the curious minds, the heartfelt souls, the kindred spirits who read every line carefully and let it become a part of them. The lovely, sensitive people who think they are too much, feel too much, muse too much.

Life inspires me and emotions drive me to always go further, to support and give my best through music, to evoke something in my fans, the lovely people in my community.

This award-winning book is an introduction to my art and journey. You are warmly invited to join me on Substack for this creative unfolding adventure. Completing the lyric fragments and turning them into full songs to stream at a soulful and deliberate pace, one track at a time.

Blurb

Have you ever wondered how your favorite songs really began?

Not with the words, not with the melody, but with a feeling.

Becoming a vision, becoming lines, becoming a complete piece of sonorous truth meant to be shared to unite people who resonate with it.

A mystical, fascinating process you can now be part of.

INTENSIA, a new heartfelt, poetic singer songwriter likely to belong with your favorite pop music companions, is turning the traditional release model upside down, inviting you to look into her soul and mind before anyone else.

Be among the first to witness this spark before her distinctive voice echoes through the world. This unique approach offers an unprecedented glimpse into evolving art, so you can feel and enjoy the essence of her songs before they are even complete.

Dive into this curated collection of lyric excerpts and emotional snapshots from pop songs in progress. Each piece stands on its own as a modern, poetic message, paired with brief reflections about the meaning or emotions behind the words.

It is more than something to read. It is a space to pause, reflect, and connect, with room for your thoughts and reflections too. Write what moves you, what you feel, what you dream. This book and its songs to be are meant to accompany you wherever you go.

For even more space to express yourself, the companion notebook PLACE TO THINK. OR TO WRITE. (ISBN 978-3-911445-02-3) is available as a dedicated space.

WORDS TO THINK. OR TO SING. out 26 June 2025 on Amazon. Paperback (ISBN 978-3-911445-00-9), eBook (ISBN 978-3-911445-01-6).

Join INTENSIA’s free Intense Inside Club at www.intensia.music and discover this special music developing experience as it unfolds, where connection begins as songs come to life.

 

Excerpt

S T A I R C A S E

I saw red while you held my hand

on that hill in a castle of sand

being nice, coming out of the blue

you were losing me, undeniably true

I was just another trophy for your shelf

overloaded by the further rusty twelve

Dissociating from this charming place

you are a mess inside, I know it’s the case

this romance had better leave no trace

but at sunset we sat here on the staircase

THE HIGHER THE STAIRCASE, THE CLEARER THE VIEW.

 

About the Author

 

From Munich’s vibrant core, Intensia is sparking a poetic, tuneful movement with a unique glimpse into her evolving pop songs-to-be book, “WORDS TO THINK. OR TO SING.”. It combines lyric snippets with heartfelt reflections, inviting readers to discover her art in progress in a new and unexpected way.

INTENSIA’s story began in childhood with a simple radio cassette recorder, a portal to a mesmerizing world where her voice became a powerful way to explore emotions and transform them into melodies.

Her lyrics delve into self-reflection, personal growth, relationships, and empowerment. Themes that reflect the vision of her boutique flagship label, Intensia Music International, which is also dedicated to inspiring others to explore their creative side.

With a high art, down-to-earth attitude, INTENSIA stands for emotional pop tunes that feel like after a meaningful conversation with a good friend. Step into her world at www.intensia.music and you will find a new sonorous companion for life.

Artist Website: http://www.intensia.music

Publisher Website/Music Label: http://www.intensia.international

Author Amazon Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B09HZ6HCH9/about

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/24676392.INTENSIA

Find reflections, impulses, and progress on the lyric excerpts from the book as they turn into cinematic, emotional pop songs to stream and experience: https://substack.com/@intensiawords 

Book buy link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F9RR5TK9

Intensia will be awarding a $10 Amazon gift card to a randomly drawn winner during the tour.

Let him wonder – #EroticRomance #Steampunk #MFRWBookHooks

It’s hard to believe it’s Wednesday already, and time for another Book Hooks blog hop!

One of my New Year’s plans – I won’t call them resolutions because that generates too much pressure – is to create print versions of my other novels during 2026. (Only three are in print now: Raw Silk, Incognito and Rajasthani Moon.) I will start with my steam punk trilogy The Toymakers Guild, which are among my most popular titles.

In preparation (hah!), I thought I’d share a bit from Book 2, The Journeyman’s Trial, for today’s event. Enjoy!

Blurb

If she builds it, will they come?

Technically brilliant and thoroughly wanton, Gillian Smith has found her vocation: designing innovative erotic devices for the Toymakers Guild. Lust is a lubricant to creativity at Randerley Hall. But what happens when two Toymakers fall in love?

The Hook

After cleaning up the remains of breakfast and thoroughly extinguishing the fire, they went out to the shed where he’d secured the horses. Somehow she wasn’t surprised to find the interior far less ramshackle than it looked from outside. Samson and Dorothea wore thick blankets and had boxes full of fresh hay and pails of fresh water. They pranced and snorted as Rafe saddled them, their breath making white clouds in the cold air.

He led Dorothea over to a strategically placed boulder, then handed Gillian the reins. “Can you mount her by yourself?” he asked. “I’ll be right back.” With the extra boost of height offered by the rock, she was able to reach the stirrup with her left foot, then swing her right leg over the mare’s back. She settled into the saddle. Though she was somewhat stiff from the previous day’s ride, the position felt more familiar and comfortable then she might have expected.

Meanwhile, Rafe disappeared back into the cottage. Perched on her horse, she gazed out over the empty moors, back in the direction of Randerley. Her own breath emerged in feathery puffs of condensation. The sky was a blue bowl overhead. There was no sign of any other human habitation. They might have been the only people in the world.

A lonely spot, Gillian thought. Anything could happen here. No one would ever know. A little shiver crawled up her spine. She drew her scarf tighter, trying to convince herself that the wintery temperature was responsible.

With a bit of a clatter, Rafe emerged, a leather sack thrown over his shoulder. He fastened the padlock, then tugged to make sure it was secure. It took mere moments for him to attach his bag to the saddle, then spring onto Samson’s back. Sweeping his hair back with his long fingers, he gazed at her with clear approval. “Ready?”

Gillian nodded, stroking Dorothea’s grey coat then gathering the reins. He led the way across the trackless moors, starting with a walk then switching to an easy canter as their mounts warmed up. Though likely colder than it had been the previous afternoon, the air was still. The crisp clarity of the morning brought out the subtle colours of the moorland shrubs and grasses. A flock of grouse erupted from a clot of bushes as the horses passed. Glancing up, she caught sight of a hawk wheeling above them. Despite her curiosity and frustration, her spirits soared as well.

At the spot where the rudimentary trail began, Rafe drew up his horse to wait for her. “How are you managing?” he asked. “Are you sore from yesterday?”

“A bit,” she replied. “But hardly anything to complain of. I believe I’m starting to get the hang of this.”

“Well, then. I’ll race you back to Randerley! Gi’yup!” He dug his heels into Samson’s flanks and the stallion took off like a shot.

“Wait!” Gillian cried. “I don’t—” But he was already fifty feet ahead of her, well out of earshot. “Bloody hell!” She snapped the reins against the mare’s neck. “Come on, girl! Go!”

Dorothea broke into a smooth gallop, chasing Rafe and his stallion. Gillian flattened herself against the horse’s mane, letting her have control. The fleet-footed mare dashed across the uneven terrain, her hooves beating against the half-frozen earth. Wind whistled in Gillian’s ears and whipped her hair into her eyes. Her heart thundered in her chest as she and her mount gradually gained ground. The speed was intoxicating; she and the mare both craved more. When they swept past the black horse and his black-clad, black-haired rider, Gillian laughed aloud.

She had a good twenty yards on him now, though he was catching up. Soon they were tearing along, neck-and-neck, urging their respective horses to go faster still.

She and Dorothea both recognised the dirt path that would lead to the road. She pulled ahead of Rafe, ready for a last sprint up to Randerley’s gates. She had no idea of the prize, but she was determined to win this race.

In the end, however, they pulled up to the mansion’s portico at the very same instant, their horses lathered and labouring for breath. Gillian managed to dismount without assistance. “Nice work, girl,” she murmured, patting the mare’s sleek coat. Dorothea whinnied and pressed her soft nose against Gillian’s neck.

Rafe slid from the saddle with the ease of long practise. “Jolly well done, Jill!” he cried, clapping her on the shoulder. “We’ll make a horsewoman of you yet.” Leaning in, he brushed his lips against her cheek. The gesture took a mere instant but left a hot brand on her skin.

“You get inside where it’s warm. I’ll settle Samson and Dorothea.”

“Wait – Rafe!” She snagged him by the sleeve. He paused, his dark eyes searching her face.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave.

What indeed? Questions crowded her mind. Emotions clashed in her breast, clamouring for recognition. She needed time to sort it all out.

“Thank you,” she said finally. For what? She really wasn’t sure herself. Releasing his arm, she turned her back and headed up the steps. Let him wonder.

Find the links (ebook and audio) on my website: https://www.lisabetsarai.com/journeymanstrialbook.html

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks!

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Review Tuesday: Bound by the Blood by Cecilia Tan -- #BDSM #EroticRomance #ReviewTuesday

Bound by the Blood by Cecilia Tan

Flingass Productions, 2026

Sex is magic. I won’t be able to start this way in my Amazon review or I’ll be censored, but on my own blog I can speak the truth, a truth I’ve known personally for as long as I can remember. Of course I’m not talking about the reflexive, bored, scratching-an-itch type of sex, but the kind where there’s a genuine bond between you and your partner, where you open yourself emotionally as well as physically. It might start as a conjunction of bodies but soon you understand that the physical is just a conduit. Intense pleasure can blast you out of your body, pushing you beyond the limits of the of the mundane into a realm where the ordinary rules don’t necessarily apply. Barriers can dissolve. You may find yourself hearing your partner’s thoughts or experiencing their sensations as if they were your own. You may discover you have powers you never imagined – for instance, the power to intuit your lover’s deepest desires and to make them manifest. This is the kind of sex that can change you, or even change the world.

The erotic dynamics in a serious and sincere BDSM relationship have a special potential to expand beyond the physical realm, because the trust and connection often go deeper than in vanilla scenarios. Indeed, a scene may be extremely arousing without there being any explicitly sexual acts involved. Power lies at the heard of BDSM. This is not just jargon. The submissive surrenders their body and their will; the dominant wields the offered power to support and satisfy both participants in the D/s dance. And in some scenes, things happen—things that can’t be completely explained by a mechanistic view of the universe. The first time I submitted to my master, I saw his fantasies of domination, as clearly as if he’d been narrating them to me out loud. Our discussions afterward confirmed my visions; I wasn’t just imagining things.

At its heart, Bound by the Blood is an exploration and exposition of this truth. When Mira and Clive meet at a kink club, neither can quite believe the immediate connection they feel to one another. Even in their first encounter (an extremely erotic punishment scene), there’s evidence of their perfect reciprocity.

Through Clive, Mira becomes involved with the quirky, fractious members of the Circle of Light, a (possibly) ancient secret organization of sex magic practitioners. The Circle is engaged in an ongoing struggle with their nemesis, the Partisans of Fire. Though the members are loathe at first to trust her, she proves unexpectedly adept at their rituals. Her apparently unbreakable psychic bond with Clive enhances her capabilities but means that in every crisis she has more to lose. Meanwhile, both she and Clive harbor deeply-buried secrets that warp their power in unexpected ways. Both will need to face their pain and admit their vulnerability and guilt before they can fully commit to one another.

Bound by the Blood might be called an erotic fantasy. In my view, it’s fantasy at several levels, some of which work better than others.

The core and anchor of the book is the incredibly arousing bond that exists between Mira and Clive. Clive offers himself completely to Mira, body and spirit. He literally gives her his life. If she decrees that he must perish, he’s willing.

Cecilia Tan does an amazing job conveying the seductive intensity of this connection, from both the dominant’s and the submissive’s perspectives. (The latter is particularly impressive since Mira, the dominant, is the POV character throughout the novel.)

We devotees of power exchange love to fantasize about perfection: perfect devotion, perfect surrender, perfect control. This is the ultimate desire. I suspect that this sort of total connection is in fact a fantasy that can never be achieved. We all have limits, much as we might wish we did not. We all can be selfish. No one can fully banish fear or anger. While you’re reading Bound in the Blood, though, the author convinces you it’s possible and manages to convey the intoxicating, yes, magical, experience of a perfect bond.

The novel offers fantasy at another level as well, in its explications of the Circle of Light and the Partisans of Fire, with their histories, rituals and conflicts. Indeed the book is subtitled: “An Urban Fantasy BDSM Romantic Suspense”. (That’s a bit of a heavy burden for one novel to bear.)

I had some problems with this aspect of the fantasy. Although I loved the characters of Jair, Kish, Roland and Niko (as well as Barrow, a fascinating villain), the plot felt somewhat incoherent. There’s a lot of running around from one place to another, rescuing people; quite a few intriguing rituals; and a whole series of sanctuaries, where a new hide-out conveniently becomes available when the current one is compromised. I kept forgetting what constituted the current crisis and what was really at stake. This is partly because the Circle of Light members repeatedly vanish from the narrative for many chapters at a time while Mira becomes deeply involved with Clive, Barrow, or both.

Ultimately, I had the feeling that Cecilia Tan was a bit torn between writing an intense BDSM romance and writing an urban fantasy. I can understand the problem. The gorgeous eroticism of Mira’s and Clive’s connection could serve as a significant distraction from the plot.

Overall, I very much enjoyed Bound in the Blood. I’m looking forward to the next book in the series in the hope that the goals of the Circle become more clear. There’s also the question of what will happen between Mira and Clive. When you have a perfect dom-sub bond, then what?

I’m sure Cecilia Tan will have an intriguing answer to that question.

Friday Friends: And a good time is had by all... #LarryArcher #Erotica #FridayFriends

For today’s Friday Friends feature, I’m showcasing the work of one of my closest author friends, Larry Archer. Larry writes lively, sexy, no-holds-barred erotica where every character ends up having a good time (even the ones who start out as shy or prudish). I think you’d have to categorize his work as smut, but it’s happy, horny, non-exploitative smut. There’s no angst, no guilt, and definitely no coercion – just temptation, and satisfaction!

Larry and I tried to write a book together once. It all started with this luscious cover image: 

 

I thought we’d alternate writing chapters. As it turned out, I couldn’t keep up with his dirty mind. By the time I’d finished my first chapter, he’d already written three more. So I tossed Nina the Fallen Ballerina over the wall and let him finish. Meanwhile, that experience kicked me into erotica gear and inspired Hot Brides in Vegas, the first of seven books I’ve written that are set in Larry’s fictional world.

My books are a bit more restrained than Larry’s. But only a bit!

The first book of Larry’s books that I read is still one of my favorites: Driving the Stripper Mobile. Apparently it’s based on a true incident, where a bar in Vegas tried to build business by having a vehicle with a transparent back where strippers would perform. I gather the real Stripper Mobile didn’t last long, but Larry has immortalized the clever marketing idea.

You can read my review here: https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2015/01/review-tuesday-driving-stripper-mobile_27.html

Another rollicking tale is Company Benefits. When a hard working sales professional receives a well-earned promotion, he discovers that executives in his organization enjoy a raft of erotic benefits he’d never expected to receive. The package includes sexy diversions to help his loving wife deal with his absences on business trips.

 

Read my review: https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2022/04/review-tuesday-company-benefits-by.html

My most recent Larry Archer read was The Shrink, part of the House Party series. For the most part, Larry’s stories don’t include much conflict, but this series is an exception. The result is something more than just a sexy romp.

 

Sound interesting? You can read my review here: https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2025/05/review-tuesday-shrink-by-larry-archer.html

I’ve never met Larry in person, but I love him dearly. He has a heart as big as his native Texas and a powerful sense of morality. His anything-goes-as-long-as-nobody-gets-hurt attitude toward sex is very similar to mine. 

He often encourages me to just let my hair down and write pure smut, the way he does.

It’s tempting. Indeed, like his characters, I sometimes do slip over to the dark side!

Stir in a pinch... #MFRWHooks #RomCom #NewRelease

Happy New Year! Welcome to the first Book Hooks hop of 2026. I hope you’re ready to discover some fabulous new romance reads, because that’s what this weekly event is all about. Members of the Marketing for Romance Writers (MFRW) community come out to share their favorite snippets from the new books or their back lists. Just follow the links at the end of this post to visit each of the participants.

As for me, I’m sharing an exclusive excerpt from my latest erotic romance, a contemporary rom-com entitled Her Secret Ingredient. Hope you like it!

Blurb

Stir in a pinch to stir up his passion.

When the Tastes of France food channel offers Mei Lee “Emily” Wong a series of guest spots, she jumps at the opportunity to take her culinary career to a whole new level. Ultimately, she wants a show of her own, but first she has to prove herself to Michelin-starred network founder and effective dictator, Etienne Duvalier. A legend in the world of classic French cuisine as well as a domineering perfectionist, Etienne is skeptical about the culinary abilities of a woman from Hong Kong. To make things more difficult, the master chef is also so gorgeous that Emily can’t help being attracted to him.

Emily tries to solve both problems by spiking her luscious profiteroles with an ancient Oriental aphrodisiac. Unfortunately, Harry Sanborne, the low-key, bespectacled producer for Emily’s show, samples the delicacies she intends for Etienne’s consumption. His powerful reaction to her secret ingredient comes as a pleasant surprise to them both. Harry turns out to be far more impressive in bed than on the set. However, he can’t do nearly as much to advance her ambitions as Etienne. Emily tries once more to tempt the exacting Monsieur Duvalier with her special cooking as well as her feminine charms. The outrageous results threaten to end her TV career forever—until Harry steps in to save her reputation and claim her heart.

The Hook

“And how am I supposed to cook in this?” I’d been working on my recipes for the show that morning when Roth had appeared with an ankle-length, scarlet silk brocade cheongsam and announced that this was the costume Etienne had chosen for my first appearance on Tastes of France. It fit perfectly—meaning that it felt like it was spray-painted onto my body and hugged every curve. A slit climbed to mid-thigh, allowing me to walk without difficulty, but I was worried that one overly energetic twist might split the seams. That would be some television debut!

“It really suits you.”

“Honestly, though. I’m a chef, not a courtesan!”

Lisa had styled my hair too, plastering my chin-length locks to my skull with a gallon of mousse and adding a fake knot at the back, decorated with frangipani. I’ll admit that the woman facing me in the mirror was voluptuous, glamorous and elegant, but she certainly didn’t look like me.

“Etienne said he wanted to emphasize your cultural differences. You know—French cuisine as a universal standard, around the globe.”

I sighed and shook my head, careful not to dislodge the hairpiece. The gold dangles I’d gotten from wardrobe brushed against my neck. Did I really want a guy like him in my life—and in my bed? He had a lot to learn about the Chinese. We’d been civilized, rulers of a vast empire, when France had been the domain of hairy barbarians.

Then again, it might be fun to teach him…

A knock on the dressing room door interrupted my musing. The object of those meditations entered, looking devastating in a royal blue shirt and tight leather trousers, with a ruby-hued cravat knotted at his throat. My critical thoughts scattered like a flock of cranes rising from a marsh. He favored me with one of his twenty-carat smiles. The birds seemed to take residence in my chest, fluttering and making it difficult for me to breathe.

With a dramatic flourish that would have come across as silly for most men—but not for him—Etienne raised my hand and pressed his lips to the bare skin just below my wrist. A tingling sensation lingered at the spot after he’d released me. My nipples tightened within their silk casing.

“Emily, you’re magnificent. Exactly what I’d planned.”

“Um—thanks. You don’t think this is too much?”

“Not at all. Remember, this is show business. You’re not behind the kitchen doors anymore. We have to give the audience something to look at.”

He, at least, certainly fulfilled that objective. At that moment, I would have sworn he was the most handsome man on the planet. His makeup was subtler than mine. Somehow it accentuated his high cheekbones and strengthened the line of his already firm jaw. A hint of shadow brought out the blue in his eyes, making them warmer and more welcoming. His lush mouth, so often pressed into a narrow line of disapproval, was relaxed and full today, quick to quirk into a smile.

Overall, he appeared to be in a far better mood than the previous day. I understood suddenly that this was because he was about to perform. Etienne Duvalier loved being in the spotlight.

Find the buy links (and another excerpt) at my website: https://www.lisabetsarai.com/hersecretingredientbook.html

Don’t forget to visit the other authors joining today’s Book Hooks!

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The Reality of the Recipe – #FrenchCuisine #FactCheck #NewRelease

https://www.theseasonedmom.com/beef-burgundy/

Saturday I had a new experience.

We’d invited friends for dinner at our apartment. When I asked Jean about her favorite types of food, she listed French as her first choice.

I’ve always enjoyed cooking, but I have little or no expertise in the area of Gallic cuisine. However, having just published Her Secret Ingredient, a rom-com featuring a Chinese chef who runs a Michelin-starred French restaurant in Hong Kong, I thought, “What the heck? Why not give it a try?” So I decided to try my hand at boeuf bourguignon, one of the dishes featured in the story.

I learned quite a bit. For one thing, this recipe takes forever. Just marinating the beef requires four hours! (Fortunately I had allocated the whole day for cooking and preparation, so this wasn’t a problem.) My cookbook calls for a minimum of three hours on the stove; beef tends to be tough in my part of the world so my cooking time was closer to five hours.

Then I faced issues with ingredients. The recipe includes salt pork (what the French call lardons) but that’s simply not available here. I substituted bacon, which seemed to work fairly well. Instead of button mushrooms, I used shitake mushrooms, which are much more flavorful (as well as easier to find here, and less expensive). I also couldn’t find any small white onions (I was supposed to have 24 of them!) so ultimately I cut up some larger ones. This made the dish look much less elegant, with random pieces of onion rather than consistently-sized pearls.

But it tasted amazing! Though I did find I needed to add more broth and adjust the seasonings, overall the dish was a huge success. As well it should have been – I devoted a full day to the preparation!

The experience made me realize that I’d been a bit unrealistic in the book. Emily whips up her boeuf bourguignon in just a couple of hours. And she and Etienne actually demonstrate the recipe on their TV show.

You could demonstrate individual stages: the marinade, browning the meat and creating the roux, frying the onions and pork... but it would take imagination or prior preparation to pull the whole thing together within a single hour-long demonstration.

Just for fun, here’s the scene from the book:

 

“You should let me do the talking,” Etienne instructed. “At least at first. You’ll find that it’s not all that easy to cook while focusing into the camera.”

“Yes, sir.” In another situation, I would have found his bossiness offensive, but now that I was actually here, minutes away from being on live TV, I was willing to listen to anyone’s advice.

Marty came up to clip a wireless microphone to the stand-up collar of my cheongsam. “Say something,” he ordered.

“Um—good afternoon. Testing, testing…”

“Great. Thanks!” He scurried off.

Etienne resumed his lecture.

“I’ll introduce you and ask you to say a few words. Then we’ll begin making the beef. You prepared the vegetables this morning, right?”

“As you suggested.” I went to the refrigerator to retrieve the bowls of chopped onion, garlic, carrots, parsnips and potatoes, which I set upon the counter in what I hoped was an artistic arrangement.

“One of the challenges of cooking for television is managing the time. We have just scant of an hour, so we have to take short cuts.” He checked out my veggies, reminding me of my old teachers in Paris. I found I was holding my breath until he nodded his approval. “The other problem is keeping the viewers’ interest while things are actually on the stove or in the oven.”

“I’ve made pissaladières.” I indicated the tray of onion, olive and anchovy tarts I’d created just before heading off to makeup. They were still warm. The savory, thyme-laced aroma set my saliva flowing. I hadn’t had time to eat any lunch.

“Excellent. They look delicious.” His praise made me glow. “We’ll sample those and chat about you and your background while the beef is stewing.”

“Sixty seconds,” someone called out from beyond the glare of the lights.

I took a deep breath. My pulse was loud in my ears. I can do this, I told myself. Compared to Cordon Bleu, this will be easy.

“Thirty seconds!”

Without any warning, Etienne encircled my shoulders with his arm and gave me a quick squeeze. “Don’t be nervous. I’ll take care of everything.”

Right. That was just what I was worried about.

“Cue theme.”

The Baroque melody sounded familiar, harpsichord and viol starting low and soaring higher. Lully, or perhaps Marin Marais. The spotlights grew brighter and hotter still. My smile felt glued on. A bit of sweat trickled down my spine.

“Bon jour, mes amis. Welcome to Toutes Saveurs Francaises, the place for people who love authentic French cuisine.” Etienne’s rich, carefully modulated voice was like a fur coat on an icy day, full of luxurious warmth. He smiled broadly and extended his arms as if blessing his invisible audience. “Today we’re fortunate to have a very special guest, a talented cook from the other side of the world.”

The music changed to the dissonant notes of a Chinese fiddle, a jingle-like tune reminiscent of old Charlie Chan movies. Behind my fixed smile, I fumed. Was that really the best they could do, when San Francisco was more than thirty per cent Asian?

“Mei Lee Wong is head chef at acclaimed Belvedere Restaurant in Tsim Sha Tsui, Hong Kong, which was recently awarded three Michelin stars. She holds a Grand Diplôme from the original Cordon Bleu school in Paris, and is renowned for her creative mingling of Asian and traditional French cooking techniques.”

At least he was aware of my reputation!

“On today’s show, though, Mei Lee and I are going back to fundamentals, preparing one of the classic recipes that form the foundations of Gallic cuisine. In any case, I’m delighted to have you cooking with me, Ms. Wong.”

His pause shook me out of my paralysis. “Ah, thank you very much, Etienne. It’s quite a thrill for me to be here, as you might guess. I’ve been a fan of your show since the first time I watched it.” On YouTube, five weeks ago—but why be picky? “And your book French Cooking: From Basic to Advanced was one of our texts when I studied in Paris.”

Etienne beamed. Was flattery all that was required to win him over?

I probably should have done more detailed research before writing this scene.

Hopefully readers will be sufficiently engrossed in the plot that that they’ll not notice!