Cooking Up A Storm by Emma Holly
There’s nothing wrong with a healthy dose of…erotica, right? Right? *Shifts eyes* Especially when this is my FIRST erotica, and I have these Smart Bitches and their guide to trashy novels to thank for decking my halls with prose of Holly. It was Candy Tan (or was it Sarah Wendell?) who was all over the moon about how Emma Holly’s sizzling prose made her skin steam on the subway until someone asked if she was having a heat stroke. And, like a true scholar, my ears perked up at the word ‘dirty’ and I hopped into my Batmobile: “To the library Robin!” If there’s a dirty book out there, I plan to be all over the mother.
Okay. Not really. I pussyfooted around on Amazon in search of the least porny cover I could find, which, is NOT the cover of the motorboating man ‘buuurrrrrrr.’
The man in question is Storm Dupree. He’s a French Canadian master chef who cooks up a storm (Get it? Get it? Guffaw!) in the kitchen…and the bedroom. Plus, he breaks into his mother tongue when he’s um…arriving. This makes me think of Gambit or Pepe Le Pu “Oh, Mi Amour! So clean, so pure” and I chuckle to no end.
His amour is Abby Coates, owner of a Cape Cod inn. She’s a sexually repressed buxom blonde who, under Storm’s capable hands, blossoms like a ‘flower dripping with nectar.’ (Ew. Ew. Ew. EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!)
Buried under all this ‘arriving’ and ‘blossoming’ is a plot about Storm trying to take over Abby’s inn, but who cares? We know what this book is really about…. Cue the slow jazz.
Abby-the-repressed is now Abby-the-Ho; one night with Storm and she’s opening up her flower to old sea captains, lesbian waitresses in spandex bicycle shorts, sleazy construction workers and Holy Oceanic Orgasms Batman! There’s a scene where she does the deed with THREE dudes at once…on a trapeze!
I’m not done. Not by a long shot. *Must not insert dirty pun. Must not!*
There are…toys. And scented oils. And manscaped men rubbing their freshly waxed man titties with said pleasure oils in front of an open window while our erstwhile Abby-Ho watches from afar and contemplates the likelihood of hairy palms.
There’s…a randy sea captain (Argh! I’m reminded of the old sea captain from The Simpsons) with a camera and a penchant for backside attacks.
Leather! Did I mention the leather!
Normally, I’d say this book blew my mind all over my face, but I’ve read enough about THAT to last me a lifetime.
I don’t like my romances this…fluid-filled. I’m going to bathe myself in holy water and think about innocent things like Anne of Green Gables and Jane Austen.
As for a rating, I give this book a B. If anything, it let me showcase my arsenal of double entendres and use that photo of a strawberry dipped in zebra.