Is there anything more pathetic than a food critic who can’t cook? That’s Holly Darcy—secret socialite, wannabe author, lousy chef and “The Covert Connoisseur.” Feeling like a fraud for critiquing restaurants when she can’t boil a pot of water, Holly joins a cooking class for beginners…and quickly cooks up serious chemistry with the sexy instructor.
Mark Bennett was born to be a chef, but his foray into restaurant ownership fell far short of his dreams thanks to a scathing review from The Covert Connoisseur. Now teaching is the closest he will venture into a kitchen. Luckily the job comes with an unexpected perk: the attraction simmering between him and a curvy, clever writer with pinup-girl looks.
Flirting over pasta soon leads to passionate kisses and a sizzling relationship. But how can Holly be honest about her job when Mark blames his restaurant’s failure on her review? And when Holly’s secret is exposed, how will Mark be able to forgive her for ruining his life?
I just got my rights back from Harlequin and have repackaged it and plan to blitz social media and advirtising. I've sent it to tons of review sites and will have it up on Audible for auditions this week.
An omelet! It’s the first class. He can’t really be expecting an omelet, can he?
Holly looked to her kitchen partner in horror. Her best friend, Marisol, stood nonchalantly, her hip against the laminated countertop, clearly not in the least concerned about the prospect of burning down the community college’s kitchen classrooms.
“Is he kidding?” Holly whispered, fidgeting in her Manolo Blahniks. Maybe the shoes were a little high for domestic use.
“I’m guessing not.” Marisol shrugged one shoulder and nodded toward the teacher, who was walking around the kitchen spaces distributing eggs out of a Styrofoam carton. “We’ll be fine.”
“Two eggs for each of you. Don’t crack them yet.” The teacher, who only moments ago had given his name as Mark Bennett, announced this to the class as he carefully placed four eggs on the counter next to Holly’s purse. He paused at their station. “You’ll want to stow that away or you’ll get food on it. Besides, that’s not very sanitary,” he told her with an arched brow directed at her brand-new Kate Spade leopard print clutch.
“Oh, of course.” Holly grasped her bag in both hands. She remembered how the housekeeper had kept their kitchen, full of cousins and dogs and, often, toys on the counter. She didn’t recall anyone dying from it. Okay, so he’s a bit of a stickler. No big deal. A cutie patootie stickler.
She looked around the little area that was her kitchen space for an out-of-the-way place to put her bag. Seeing nowhere, she glanced around the classroom to find out where the other women had placed their purses.
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Dutch
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Lisa Aelbers
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French
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Chloé CARDOSO
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German
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Already translated.
Translated by Francesca Pistone
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Italian
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Already translated.
Translated by Giovanni Torremacco
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Fabiana de Moraes da Silva
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Spanish
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Sandra Translanity
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