Stir in a pinch to stir up his passion (#MFRWHooks #romance #cooking)

Welcome to this week’s MFRW Book Hooks blog hop!

Today I’m featuring my humorous erotic romance Her Secret Ingredient. Emily Wong is one of my favorite heroines. In fact, I liked her so much I made her the heroine of an entire follow-up novel, The Ingredients of Bliss!

When you’re done reading my snippet, I hope you’ll visit some of the other authors joining Book Hooks this week. Just use the links at the end of this post.

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 sceptical 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 M 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

I selected a six-inch blade from the rack on the counter and began peeling carrots. “Anyway, you were saying the viewers are bored?”

Harry swivelled his seat so he could watch me work. I didn’t mind—I’d cooked in open kitchens, and if I was going to be on television, I had to get used to having an audience. And somehow, though I’d known him for only a few minutes, the dishevelled young producer made me feel comfortable.

“Yeah. The ratings for the channel as a whole are falling, because he won’t work with any chef who refuses to toe his line. That’s one reason the execs pressured him to contact you. Fresh blood and all that.”

“Hmm.” My knife rose and fell with satisfying precision, creating uniform half-inch cubes of crisp orange. I swept the diced carrots into a pile at one end of the cutting block then started on the onions.

“Amazing. I could never do that. When I try to cook, the results look like something from a slasher movie.” He flipped his hair out of his eyes. “Anyway, the first two guest chefs the network hired—Etienne drove them away.”

I set the blade down. I’d chilled the onions ahead of time, but my eyes watered nevertheless. Harry handed me a handkerchief. What a sweet guy. If only Etienne were more like him.

“He’s not going to drive me away, Harry. I swear it.” I’d been the only woman in my class at the Cordon Bleu school in Paris, and the only Asian. They’d made it clear I didn’t belong. I’d stuck it out, three gruelling years to get my Grand Diplôme. Then there was all the time working my way up the ranks—commis entremets, chef saucier, sous chef.

It would take more than one sexy, stubborn Frenchman to stop me.

Buy Links

Amazon

https://www.amazon.com/Her-Secret-Ingredient-Whats-ebook/dp/B00GOZU4EC

BN

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/her-secret-ingredient-lisabet-sarai/1118070571?ean=9781781848647

Totally Bound (Now 99 cents, at TB only!)

https://www.totallybound.com/index.php?route=product/product&product_id=3014

Don’t forget to visit this week's other Book Hooks posts!

When Love Gets Real (#crisis #romance #giveaway)

I’ve been writing romance for—jeez, can it really be true?— eleven years. During that time, I’ve learned a bit about what readers want. Often, escape is at the top of the list—a quick trip to a fantasy world where the guys are all hunks who know exactly how to show a gal she’s adored. We want to be pampered and cherished. We want moonlight and luxury, exotic locations, flowers, champagne, and of course lots of physical affection. We want everything to be perfect, the way it so rarely is in our daily lives.

I’ve been thinking, though, that love shows its real colors only there’s some crisis or tragedy. Love means taking care of your partner when he’s ill, rescuing him when he’s in trouble, forgiving him when he has done something less than admirable, supporting him when he’s under attack. In the interests of escapism, romance sometimes avoids seriously negative situations (though that’s becoming less true these days). Yet these are exactly the circumstances where love shines brightest.

For instance, in my contemporary romance The Ingredients of Bliss, my heroine has to deal with the fact that her lover has been abducted by a ruthless gang of criminals. The mob boss has threatened to slaughter his prisoners. The police don’t believe her story. Emily knows she must save Harry herself—as unlikely a prospect as this might seem. Up until that point, she had not been sure he was the one man for her. It takes this crisis to make her love real.

Here’s an excerpt. Emily has made contact with the gang, telling them she has recovered the stolen goods she promised in return for Harry’s release. It’s all a bluff, though. She and Toni, the renegade police woman who’s become her ally, have nothing to rely on but their own wits.

****

It was barely two. Toni had promised to come fetch me at four-thirty. After the feverish activity of the last thirty-six hours, I wasn’t sure what to do in the interim.

I glanced around. At this hour, I was the café’s sole customer. One waiter hung out behind the bar, peering at his mobile and ignoring me.

All at once, I felt utterly alone.

Roger had called the Tastes of France team back to the States. No one knew how long it would be before Etienne and Harry were freed, and meanwhile, we didn’t want one of the crew to let the secret slip. If the police decided to take another look at the case, the Triad might respond by cutting their losses—and their prisoners’ throats.

We broadcast the official story that Etienne was in isolation due to complications from influenza. Apparently, the studio had been deluged with get well cards and messages of sympathy.

I’d stayed in France ‘out of concern for my colleague’, a tale that only confirmed the popular assumption that Etienne and I were a couple. Meanwhile, Harry was such a low key presence—at least outside the bedroom—that nobody even seemed to realize he’d disappeared.

Nobody but me, that is. I hadn’t had time think much about my Master since we’d spoken two days ago. Now it hit me, like a speeding train with failed brakes—sharp fear and terrible need. My beloved, rumpled, horny, bossy Harry! There was some possibility I’d never see him again. That he, or I, might not get out of this alive.

My stomach lurched and a sour taste filtered up into my throat. This wasn’t a game of Go. One false step and his life could be forfeit. I liked to imagine I was clever, some sort of woman of international intrigue, bargaining with the Iron Hammer as if I had the upper hand. But what did I have, really? Nothing. No drugs. No weapons. Nothing to offer in trade for Harry’s life. Nothing I could use to protect him.

Hysteria built in my chest. Tears blurred my vision. I had to get out of here. I tossed a twenty onto the table and ran for the elevator before the storm burst.

Back in my room, the floodgates opened. I sobbed and wailed, face down on the bed, until the pillow was soaked with tears. A fit of hiccups seized me. My moan became a silly yelp with each rhythmic clench of my diaphragm.

‘Get hold of yourself, girl.’ I could almost hear my grandmother, scolding me. ‘Crying won’t help.’

Closing my swollen eyes, I breathed deeply, trying to will the spasms away, along with my despair. I needed a clear mind for what was to come. Fear would only muddle my thoughts and corrupt my judgment. Gradually my panic ebbed. I released it, grateful for my Dragon training.

I focused my thoughts back on my lover. Harry wouldn’t want me to be upset. He’d tell me to relax, to let go, to trust myself and him. He’d take me in his arms and I’d know that all was well. New ease flowed through me as I remembered the magic he could work on my body and my spirit.

****

Get your own copy of The Ingredients of Bliss today!

Totally Bound

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Barnes and Noble

Meanwhile, I’m giving away a copy of the prequel to the book, Her Secret Ingredient to one person who comments on this post. Let me know how you feel about romance that includes dire situations and severe life challenges. Do you prefer that authors keep things light, or do you like to see the characters’ tested? Be sure to include your email address in your comment!

Smut Sunday - Her Secret Ingredient (#humor #cooking #smutsunday)

I had put together a brief but steamy Sunday Snog for today. Then I discovered that Victoria Blisse has officially ended the Sunday Snog series and started a new meme - Smut Sunday.

Oh well... this excerpt should qualify! It's from my short story Her SecretIngredient. This is the prequel to my full-length BDSM menage novel, The Ingredients of Bliss.

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 sceptical 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 M 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.

When you're done with my offering, head over to the Smut Sunday page for more lovely smut! 
 

Oh God! He was all over me, fondling and caressing whatever flesh he could access through my dishevelled clothing—and it was glorious! Crumpling my skirt to the waist, he worked his clever fingers under the elastic of my panties to stroke my soaked fur. I jerked against his palm, wanting him to explore more deeply. He appeared happy to oblige, pushing into my channel with his fingers while strumming my clit with his thumb. I wormed my way into his loose trousers and clung to his cotton-covered ass, feeling his glutes flex as he ground his astonishing hardness against my belly.

I’d never doubt my grandmother again.

His mouth returned to mine for a reprise of that breath-stealing kiss then he licked his way along my collarbone and burrowed into the valley between my breasts. Without removing his hand from between my thighs, he somehow managed to drag our tangled bodies down to the kitchen floor.

The feel of unyielding ceramic tile under my back brought back a moment of sanity.

“Harry—wait! Stop!” Here we were writhing half-naked, in public, on the studio kitchen floor. Anyone could walk in—Roth, or Marty, or heaven help me, Etienne himself! It must be close to his appointed time for sampling my creations and I’d bet my Cordon Bleu diploma that Etienne was never late.

Terror flashed through me, momentarily eclipsing my lust. “We can’t do this, not here, not now…”

Harry replied with an inarticulate grunt, parted my thighs and dove between them to press his mouth against my silk-covered mound. His hot breath had me boiling in an instant. I grabbed his head to pull him closer and I heard a chuckle, smothered by my moist pubis. The vibrations sang through me, kicking off a minor explosion of pleasure that left me panting and limp.

Harry profited from my temporary immobility by stripping off my drenched panties and applying his tongue directly to my wet, aching pussy. He lapped along my cleft, down to my rear hole then back again, finishing with a flick to the swollen bead at the apex. I shuddered under him, hauled to the edge of another climax by his talented mouth. He obviously knew exactly what he was doing. Pursing his lips around my clit and sucking hard, he sent me tumbling over the cliff and into ecstasy.