The Chef's Choice (5 page)

“Tell you what,” Damon said. “Come to the restaurant for dinner while you're there. I'll make you a special meal. Off the menu, I mean, just for you two. What does your wife like to eat?”

Tebeau thought a moment. “Garlic, shrimp, crab cakes. And mushrooms,” he added.

Sometimes you just had to go with your instincts. Damon picked up two baskets of tomatoes. “I know just what to make for her. You know anyone who sells ramps here?”

“Ramps?” Tebeau took the tomatoes and set them on the scale.

“Wild leeks. White flowers, green leaves about so big.” He measured. “I sauté them up with morels and asparagus and you'll think you've died and gone to heaven. If I can find them. Got any ideas?”

“Maybe.” Pete took the money Damon offered. “Old Gus Cattrall next door to me, he's got all kinda stuff growing in the woods over on his place.”

“Great,” Damon said. “Does he have a stall here?”

Tebeau shook his head. “Naw. Mostly he just sells stuff out of a cart on the road. Never seen him put out—what did you call them, ramps? But if he's got 'em growing, I bet he'd be happy to let you pick them yourself.”

“Just tell me who to call or where to go.”

Pete handed Damon his change and loaded the tomatoes into a box. “Thing is, Gus isn't likely to cotton to strangers walking around his property. He knows you, though, Cady. You'd better come instead.”

“Me?” she asked blankly. “But—”

“Sure. This guy's got my curiosity up. Why don't you come over to my place tomorrow morning about six? We can catch Gus before he gets working. If he's got any of those ramps growing you can bet he'll know where and we can just pick 'em. Easy as pie.”

“Easy as pie,” Cady said under her breath. “All right, Pete, sure. As long as you've got time.”

“Absolutely.”

“Then I'll see you tomorrow. Damon—” she directed him a thunderous look “—we'd better get going.”

He had better sense than to argue. Cady marched to the end of the row in silence, though he could see from the set of her shoulders that she had plenty to say. He figured he'd just wait her out.

He didn't have to wait long.

“Happy with yourself?” she demanded as soon as they were out of the square.

Now was not the time to smile, he reminded himself as he followed her down the street. “Happy why?”

“Oh, you got your trip to the market, now you're going to get your wild onions.”

“Leeks.”

“Whatever.” She stopped beside her truck. “You're good at getting people to do what you want, aren't you? You're a regular puppeteer.”

He couldn't help laughing at that as he set the tomatoes and mushrooms in the truck bed. “I'm flattered that you think so much of me.”

She glowered. “Oh, I think of you, all right. I think all kinds of things about you.”

“Good.” In the sunlight, her hair gleamed cinnamon and copper. He could see a light dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose. “You know,” he said as she opened her mouth to continue, “for someone who tries to come off so tough, that was a pretty nice thing you did for Pete.”

She stared at him, momentarily disarmed. “He's a friend,” she muttered finally. “I want them to have a nice time.”

“They will, thanks to you.”

“And you,” she said, then blinked as though the thought had ambushed her.

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe you just said something nice to me.”

The flush that spread across her cheeks made her look even more delectable. “Don't try to distract me.”

There was something that kind of delighted him about that bemused look she got on her face when she felt she was losing control of the situation. “Oh, I don't know, I'm beginning to think distracting you could be interesting. Very interesting,” he added.

He reached out, then, to touch, running a finger across her cheek to her chin. Softer than he'd expected. She might dress and act like a tomboy but Cady McBain was all girl. Her eyes flashed with surprise, awareness, the hazel green darkening to amber. He saw the desire flicker even as he felt it himself.

All it would take was bridging that distance to find out how it would be with her. He couldn't help wondering. And even as he told himself it wasn't smart, he leaned in toward her.

The chirp of a horn had them both jolting apart.

Damon snapped his head around to see a blue Escort packed with a trio of what looked like college-age girls.

“Hey, you leaving?” the gum-chewing passenger called out the window.

“Definitely,” Cady answered from behind him, opening the driver's door.

He turned to her. “Why the rush?” he asked.

“We've done everything we need to do here.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” she said. “We're done with this.”

“No.” Damon got in on the other side and shut the door. “That's one thing I'm pretty sure of. We're not done with this by a long shot.”

S
he couldn't believe she'd let it happen. Cady pulled her truck to a stop in the employee side of the parking lot the next morning and stared at the box of ramps next to her. Bad enough that he'd manipulated her into grubbing around some forest glen looking for his wild leeks, but he'd
gotten
to her. One minute she'd been ready to put him in his place, which was as far from her as she could manage. The next, she was gaping at him as if she was hypnotized, as if she didn't have a brain in her head.

He'd charmed her. Her, the one who prided herself on keeping it together, on being immune to good-looking guys. The one who was never again going to make herself vulnerable to some guy who thought the world should be at his feet.

And the worst part was that he hadn't even had to try. All he'd had to do was to make nice to her in that voice that sent those little bubbles fizzing through her veins, look at her with those eyes and touch her.

And touch her.

Involuntarily, Cady shivered. It didn't mean anything. It had been so long since anybody had touched her outside of family, that was all. That was why it had affected her. It wasn't him, certainly not him.

Definitely not.

That didn't mean she wouldn't be smart to keep her distance. While she sincerely doubted that Damon Hurst had any real interest in her, she had no plans to give him any opportunities. She checked her watch and got out of the truck with the box of greens. Best to drop off the ramps and get to work.

Her steps faltered a bit when she discovered the back door to the kitchen unlocked and the lights on. For an instant, she debated just leaving the box outside the back door. She hadn't spent a backbreaking hour picking them only to see someone walk all over them by accident, though. Besides, she was many things but she wasn't a wimp. She'd go inside just as she'd planned.

It was probably only Roman there, anyway. It wasn't like Mr. Celebrity Chef was going to be up at the crack of dawn doing prep. And even if it were him, it wasn't a problem, she told herself quickly. She'd been caught off guard at the market, that was all. This time, she was prepared for any games he might play. Everything would be fine.

And if she held her breath when she walked through the passageway into the kitchen and put the box on one of the stainless steel counters, it was nobody's business but her own. She'd fulfilled her obligation. All she had to do was—

“Stop.” Damon's voice sounded in her ear. Adrenaline flooded through her. Every muscle in her body tensed. She moved to turn.

“No. Close your eyes,” he ordered.

Cady bristled. “Who do you think—”

“Just do it.”

And she found herself obeying, as much out of surprise as anything. Her heart thudded in her chest. He was right in front of her; she could feel him, sense the heat from his body.

Feel his breath feathering across her face.

“Open your mouth.”

Pulse jittery, she did.

“Tell me what you think of this,” he murmured. His fingers were hard and warm against her lips and cheek. The contact sent shock rippling through her, all of her nerve endings coming to the alert. Then she stilled because he slipped a tidbit of something that smelled incredible into her mouth.

And tasted even better.

She bit down and exquisite flavor burst through her mouth. Crisp, soft, rich, savory, it was a glorious blend of taste and texture that bombarded all of her senses, occupied every taste bud. She wanted to savor, she wanted to swallow. She wanted more. She couldn't prevent a humming moan of pleasure.

“I take it that means you approve?”

The words dragged her back to the moment. Her eyes flew open to see Damon standing there, staring at her, intent. Something skittered around in her stomach. He watched her unwaveringly, but he didn't watch her with the gaze of a chef interested in his creations.

He watched her with the eyes of a man who'd just pleasured a woman, not with taste but with touch.

The breath backed up in her lungs. He was close, way too close in his checked trousers and whites, the apron tied around his lean hips. She swore she felt the air heat around them.

It was just the line of stoves across the room, that was all, Cady told herself unsteadily. The place was always hot. That was why he had his sleeves rolled up. Her bad luck that years of demanding kitchen work had left him with the kind of powerful, sinewy forearms that made her more aware than ever of the strength and purpose driving that rangy body.

“Was it good?” he asked.

“Good?” she echoed blankly.

“The food. Did you like it?”

“Oh.” By sheer force of will she dragged herself out of the sensory overload and stepped away for her own sanity. “Good, yeah, good doesn't begin to cover it. What was that?”

“Judging by the way you looked just now, something that belongs on the menu. It's an appetizer,” he elaborated. “A
croustillant
. Squab, fois gras, morel emulsion in brek dough.”

“You're talking to someone who eats pizza and macaroni and cheese. Translate.”

“Ah. Pigeon, duck liver and mushroom sauce in pastry.”

Her brow creased. “I think I liked it better when I didn't know.”

“Sorry, I'm fresh out of cheese Danish.”

“Too bad. I'm not much for fancy food.”

“Oh yeah?” He leaned against the counter. “For not being much for fancy food, you seemed pretty into it. Maybe you should spend less time worrying about what you don't want to like and just go ahead and like it.”

She had the uncomfortable feeling he was talking about more than food. She raised her chin. “Thanks for the sage advice, Yoda. I'll keep it in mind. Here are your ramps, by the way. At least Gus thinks they're ramps. If not, you've got a bunch of matching weeds.”

“They look right to me,” Damon said, picking one up to inspect it.

“Great. I hope they rock your world. I'm out of here.” She headed for the door before she could start staring at his forearms again.

“Wait.”

“I've got to go.”

“Just hang on a minute, will you?” He followed her.

“I already got up at the crack of dawn for you. What do you want now?” she asked, a tiny thread of desperation in her voice. She turned with her hand on the latch, heart hammering, to find him behind her.

“I wanted to say thanks,” he said softly. “You didn't have to do this. It wasn't your job and you still took the time.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “I did it for Pete and his wife.”

“I like that all the more.” He took another step closer.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. “I should get to work.” She moistened her lips. “You should get back to work.”

He looked down at her as though she was the next course on the menu. “We should do a lot of things.”

“We shouldn't do this.”

“You don't know, you might like it.”

Something stirred again in her stomach. It was a risk she couldn't take. “It doesn't matter,” she reminded herself as much as him. “I know what I don't like to like and I stick with it.”

And with a turn and a step, she was out the back door.

It was a good thing, Damon told himself as he stood staring through the screen at Cady's retreating back. He had no business kissing her, however much he'd had the urge.

And he'd been having the urge a lot in the past few days.

It made no sense. She certainly wasn't like the women he usually went after. He already knew what she thought of him. Anyway, he didn't need to be distracted just then by a woman, especially a permanently cranky woman who'd made it her mission to irritate him. However much it might fascinate him to see her hard shell dissolve, to watch her gaze blur and her mouth soften, she wasn't for him.

But still he stood watching as she walked away.

Maybe if he hadn't seen that look on her face, the complete and utter absorption in pleasure when she'd tasted the
croustillant.
He'd expected her to like it. He'd never in a million years expected the reaction he'd gotten. He'd watched her face and all he could think was that this was how she'd look at climax. And he'd felt himself tighten as though he'd just brought her there.

And he was doing himself absolutely no good by thinking about it. He was working for her parents, Damon reminded himself, walking back into the kitchen. He was supposed to be changing his life, not just taking his act from Manhattan to Maine. Cady was right; they had no business doing anything about whatever it was that was suddenly simmering between them.

But as a chef he knew that the longer you left something on simmer, the stronger it became.

There was a brisk ticking noise from the kitchen. Roman, he saw, on the clock and jumping straight into work.

“You're in early,” Damon said as the sous chef began to deftly and precisely cube the carrots that they'd use to make the stock for the lobster bisque.

Roman shrugged. “It's gotten to be a habit.”

“It's a good way to get ahead.” Damon reached for his knives. “How long have you been cooking, Roman?”

“Going on three years. Took a job cooking the summer after I got out of college. It stuck.”

“College, huh? What was your degree in?”

“Business. Kitchen's for me, though.” He flashed a smile. “My mom about had a stroke. All that tuition money down the drain.”

“Not necessarily.” Damon started cleaning beef tenderloins, the sound of his knife against the cutting board providing a brisk counterpoint to the steady tick of Roman's. “The business degree could come in handy if you ever decide to open your own place.”

“No ifs about it, Chef. My wife's from Rochester. We're going to go back there in a few years and start a little place of our own. In the meantime, I'll save money, get better in the kitchen. I figure I can learn something from you. I hear you're supposed to be a pretty good cook.” He glanced up, humor in his eyes.

Damon looked at the pile of perfect carrot cubes. “You look like a pretty good cook yourself. Now you've just got to work on coming up with your own food.”

“I try things at home, sometimes.”

“Not here?” Damon methodically sectioned the tenderloins into tournedos.

“Nathan liked to keep pretty tight control of his menu. Since he's been gone, I've pretty much just been keeping up. Not a lot of time for specials.”

“Now there is. It's a good time of year for squash blossoms. Any growers sell them around here?”

Roman snorted. “Not until July. This is Maine.”

“So I'm told,” Damon murmured.

“You want to get them now, you'll have to have them shipped in.”

Damon shook his head. “They're too delicate. Besides, you can always taste when something's been shipped.”

“Skip the squash blossoms and try fiddleheads,” Roman suggested. “That's one thing you can get local. They usually have them at the market.”

“I must have missed them.” Too busy getting distracted by Cady McBain, he thought, annoyed at himself. “I'll look again on Saturday. In the meantime, we've got ourselves some ramps. Any ideas?”

Roman considered. “Twist a few of those babies around shrimp and give 'em a nice sauté. Forget about the restaurant. You and me, we could have ourselves a nice dinner.” He switched to celery, his knife a blur.

“Ramp-wrapped shrimp. You ever made it?”

“A couple of years ago when I was working down in Jersey. I put it with a cilantro-lemon sauce but it was too light to stand up to the ramps. I'd probably do it again with something stronger, maybe roasted chilis or smoked paprika.”

“Try it,” Damon suggested.

The knife stopped. “What, now?”

“Sure. One of the farmers from the market is coming to dinner this Saturday with his wife. They've got an anniversary to celebrate. Chef's tasting. His wife likes shrimp and garlic, by the way.”

It was both opportunity and test. He watched Roman prep, first the shrimp, then the ramps. The young sous chef ran into trouble when he started to wind the green stalks around the shrimp, though.

“You need to soften them a little.” Damon spoke up. “Sauté the ramps separately and then twist them around the shrimp. Or blanch them.”

“A sauté would give more flavor.”

“My thought, exactly.”

This time, Roman worked two sauté pans, one with ramps, one with the shrimp, dusting them with spices and seasoning. He picked the hot ramps out of the pan, wrapping them around the even hotter shrimp. Tough hands, Damon thought, always a good attribute in a chef.

And an ability to multitask. Even as the wrapped shrimp were in the pan for their final sizzle, Roman pulled out a plate and prepped it with a bed of salad. He set the finished shrimp on the lettuce, drizzling them with chili sauce.