For
today’s Book Hooks hop, I’ve picked out a never-before-shared
excerpt from my BDSM ménage
romance novel, The
Ingredients of Bliss. I had a lot of fun writing this, at
least partially because I could work in a lot of memories from a trip
to France I’d taken the year before I wrote it – including lots
of food!
Enjoy!
One
sexy French chef. One kinky American TV producer. One ambitious
Chinese gal who thinks she wants them both. The ingredients of bliss?
Or a recipe for disaster?
Accomplished
cook Mei Lee ‘Emily’ Wong knows exactly what she wants—her own
show on the Tastes of France food channel. But life is full of
complications. First, her deceptively nerdy producer, Harry Sanborne,
initiates Emily into the delights of submission. Then her boss,
legendary chef Etienne Duvalier, begs her to dominate him. Emily just
can’t resist—especially when Harry orders her to explore her
inner mistress. Suave and sexy Etienne will do whatever she asks—in
the bedroom if not in the kitchen. And Harry, her lovingly diabolical
Dom, adores pushing Emily’s limits.
When
the network sends the trio to France to shoot a series of cooking
shows on location, Emily knows her career is on the upswing. Her
plans fall apart in Marseille as a Hong Kong drug syndicate kidnaps
both Etienne and Harry. The Iron Hammer Triad mistakes Etienne for
notorious gangster Jean Le Requin, who has stolen their drug
shipment, worth millions. Emily realizes she must find the real Le
Requin, retrieve the purloined dope, and bargain it for Harry’s and
Etienne’s lives. The secret she’s been keeping from Harry might
prove useful. Still, what chance does one woman whose knife skills
are limited to chopping vegetables, have against the ruthless cruelty
of two criminal organizations?
“‘Silk
worker’s brains’? Are you joking, Etienne?”
“Not
at all. You’ve never encountered cervelle
de canut? A Lyonnais specialty, and
quite delicious, I might add.”
Morning
sunlight poured through tall windows into the demonstration kitchen
of the École Supériore de Cuisine Lyonnais, the site for our show
that afternoon. Seated side by side at a butcher block table, Etienne
and I pored over drafts of menus and recipes. I was trying to ignore
the effects his closeness had on the speed of my pulse and the
humidity of my pussy.
“Er—do
you really think our American audience will be interested in brains?”
We Chinese have a reputation for eating almost anything—I have a
particular fondness for zhafeichang,
deep fried pork intestines with sweet bean sauce—but I knew that
Westerners tended to be more squeamish.
“No
brains are actually involved, Mei Lee. The dish is based on fromage
blanc, seasoned with fresh herbs,
shallots, olive oil and vinegar. Very savory, I assure you, and
unique to the Lyon region.”
“All
right—whatever you recommend.”
Etienne
shot me a sharp look, as though he found my acquiescence surprising.
Today he looked devastating, as usual, in a blindingly white dress
shirt tucked into narrow black jeans. He had rolled up his sleeves.
The red-gold hair dusting his forearms was very distracting. I knew
how soft it was.
“We’ll
do quenelles de brochet,
Lyonnais potatoes of course, salade
Lyonnais with bacon and poached egg,
and marrons glacés
for dessert. Do you think that’s enough?”
“For
an hour-long show? Plenty. I’ve never made the quenelles,
though.”
“You’ll
find them straightforward. Baked fish, bread crumbs, egg yolk, a
standard cream sauce—quite simple.”
I’d
sampled quenelles
the previous evening, while dining at a classic bouchon
with Harry and Etienne and thought them a bit bland. To be honest,
though, I hadn’t really paid much attention to the food for which
Lyon was renowned. My senses were too dazzled by the proximity of my
two lovers. Although I’d consumed only one glass of the robust
Beaujolais presented by the rotund proprietor, I’d felt totally
intoxicated, joy bubbling through my veins like champagne.
My
mind wandered, reviewing the marvels of the last twenty-four hours.
After
the astonishing night with Harry and Etienne in Paris, the routine
details of traveling felt completely unreal. Along with the rest of
the crew, we’d piled onto the bus for the four hour drive to Lyon.
I’d shared my seat with Lisa, not wanting to encourage any gossip.
I’m afraid I hadn’t been very sociable. I’d been preoccupied
with recollections of the night’s pleasures. Whenever we’d
stopped for a bathroom break, I’d felt the eyes of both men
following me. I’d spent the entire trip in a fever of anticipation.
Once
we’d arrived and settled into the hotel, they’d whisked me away
to the narrow, cobbled lanes of the medieval Old Town. We’d roamed
the streets together, poking our heads into cramped souvenir shops,
sampling bits of sausage and cheese, pausing in a café facing the
majestic Cathédrale St-Jean to admire the sunset behind the hills of
Fourvière.
The
golden summer dusk had slipped gradually into a violet evening. Every
sensory impression had possessed a sort of magical clarity—the lilt
of children’s voices as they’d kicked a ball around the cathedral
square, the twittering of starlings wheeling above the tiled roofs,
the saliva-inducing smell of grilling pork emanating from the open
doors of traditional bistros, the anise flavor of the Ricard that
Etienne had ordered for Harry and me. The warmth of the balmy night
and the heat coming from my lover’s bodies. I’ll
remember this all my life, I’d
thought, gazing at them in the deepening gloom.
They’d
kept touching me. A brush of casual fingers against my thigh. An arm
encircling my waist. A powerful hand, clasping and squeezing mine.
We’d spoken of superficialities, the history of the city, the show
the next day, which restaurant we should choose for dinner. The
silent messages we’d exchanged had dealt with different topics all
together.
Old Town quarter of Lyon
The
Ingredients of Bliss is available in ebook and print at
Amazon,
Barnes
and Noble, Totally
Bound, and other fine bookstores.
Be
sure to visit all the other great authors joining today’s hop, for
lots more romance!
