Here's what she had to say...
Can cooking be sexy? Well I sure hope so, because sexy cooks are the name of the game in my world. I read a book recently that very realistically portrayed life in a big commercial kitchen, and the chef main character said over and over again, “there’s nothing sexy about what I do,” while ranting about the long hours and the sweat and the grueling pace. Definitely all true. Being a chef is not easy. I should know, I used to be one.
But it sure as hell is sexy. Especially when men do it. Why?
I teach a food-writing class, and we spend most of the class talking about sense-experience with food. Food is one of the rare parts of human existence (sex, in my opinion, being the other) where every sense on high-alert actually makes the act of eating and preparing food better and more intimate. So when you eat a food you really love, the combination of sense experience heightens your enjoyment of the food. Your mouth literally waters for it.
So the correlation between food and sexual experience is easy to make. We talk about them the same way (being hungry, devouring, mouth/other parts watering, satisfied, etc.), not to mention the fact that we do experience them the same way. When sex concludes, the feeling is not dissimilar to having just eaten a great meal. The body responds in much the same way, and we emote similarly.
But more importantly, there is something innately sexual about watching a man cook. It’s sort of like watching a mating ritual. Especially if he’s good at it. In my book, The Barn Dance, which is a foodie erotic romance, my heroine and hero spend a fair amount of time in the kitchen. In fact, they spend most of the book in the kitchen. There are several kitchen-related sex scenes. And plenty of food-related sexual tension.
There’s one scene in particular where Mindy watches Leo cook, and the way he wields a knife turns her into a simmering pool of lust at his feet. I didn’t only write this scene because it was a precursor to their coitus, but because this actually happens to me. There’s something about watching a man cut, chop, peel that gets my heart pumping and makes me want to lick him all over. Especially if he happens to also be hot, which of course, Leo is.
So men, take note. You +Kitchen=Hot. End of story.
A Note from the Book Boost: Whew! I totally agree with you and it is a good thing my hubby cooks all the meals around here. Lucky me. :-) Thanks for joining us today and please tell us about your exciting debut release.
When Mindy needs a baker’s expertise, Leo offers a trade: one day in the kitchen for one night on the dance floor. Either way, the heat is rising.
That was the only way she could think about it. They were like animals, in their lust, and they needed to slake it. Otherwise, if they got into feelings and hearts and futures, it was just too complicated. And Mindy didn’t do complicated anymore.
He glanced at the front of his pants and colored. She’d never seen Leo blush before, but it was really beautiful—a deep, dark mahogany color that spiraled through his face in patches.
“It’s okay, Leo. I want you, too. You just can’t see it.”
His eyes traveled down her body and rested on her chest. “I can see it.”
Self-consciously, she grabbed her breasts and felt the pebbles underneath her bra and shirt.
Leo hissed and closed his eyes.
“Do not do that, Min. Please, God, don’t do that.”
She looked down at her hands, cupping her small-ish breasts, pressing them up into her ribcage. It wasn’t a sexual movement, but obviously, Leo wasn’t being discriminating at this moment. So she released them.
His gaze didn’t move from her breasts, and they tightened under his watchful eyes. The charge in the air left her without breath. All she could do was picture Leo stretching across the counter, and her jockeying his hips like a bronc rider at the rodeo.
If he was having similar fantasies, he didn’t let on. “Can we just make these rolls so they can rise? Then I’ll get out of your hair, and we can both walk this off?”
“Do you have to be here while I do it?”
He laughed. “No, you’re right, I don’t. I’ll just…let me do one, and then you can do the rest by yourself.”
Leo walked around the edge of the kitchen, careful to keep his distance from her. He pulled one of the flat cookie sheets from under the counter and took a paper towel from the roller next to the sink.
“You want to make sure to grease these pans. Dad probably would prefer butter, but I think lard works the best.”
Mindy resisted the urge to ask if his mother taught him that. Last time, he’d shut down so quickly after she mentioned May . And she was secretly hoping that his lust wouldn’t abate, and he’d just throw her up against the counter and pound into her.
She could use a good pounding.
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Camryn Rhys grew up on the border of Canada and the US, and still hasn’t decided which country to call home. She splits her time between the Alberta and Montana Rocky Mountains, with friends and family in both beautiful locations. After running her own restaurant for several years and acquiring advanced degrees in writing, foodie romance seemed the only logical option. When she’s not watching the Food Network, she’s reading a romance novel, or if absolutely necessary, working as a consultant. Someone has to put really excellent food on the table.
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