The Chef's Choice

by Kristin Hardy

  Deep within her, something began to grow, some tension, some awareness, some deep-seated need. This time, when he broke the kiss, she dragged his head back down to hers. This time, she was the one who demanded, she was the one who teased, she was the one who took.

  Damon felt the wanting drum in his veins. He walked her backward so that she was against the wall, catching her hands and pressing them against the wallpaper on either side of her head and devoting all his concentration to the kiss.

  Because it was a kiss worth concentrating on.

  The other times had been stolen moments, distracting, if all the more exciting, because of the chance of discovery. This, though, this was just about the two of them. There would be no interruptions, there would be no diversions. This time, this place was just for them, and for just this night they had all the time in the world.

  He worked his way across her cheek, smoother than he’d have ever guessed. “You smell like apples,” he muttered against the skin of her throat. “Why do you always smell like apples?”

  “Shampoo,” she said breathlessly.

  Of course it would be something like shampoo and not cologne. It was one of the delightful mysteries of her, that she drove him nuts without ever once trying. And that she had no idea she was doing it.

  “It makes me want to take a bite of you,” he said softly. He nipped at her and heard the catch of her breath.

  And there was this, the artless way she responded to the least thing he did. He’d been with women who were wildcats in bed. It had excited him in passing, perhaps, but it always left him with the uneasy feeling that it was a performance, for them and for him. With Cady, he knew her reactions were real. Because she was real. He could feel her trembling, feel the quick jolt of surprise as he licked his way down the smooth skin over her collarbone, and lower, into the shallow vee between her breasts.

  Cady moaned at the heat of his breath against her skin, at the warmth of his mouth as he did things to her, divine things, even as his nimble fingers ran down the buttons of her shirt, clearing the way. When he pulled her shirt open and slid it off her shoulders, there was no room for self-consciousness. In the breathless rush of the moment, all she could think of was the touch of his hands, the taste of his mouth, the hard-muscled body under her fingers.

  The steps to the bedroom were few; there was no need to separate to reach it. When they stumbled over the threshold, they stumbled together, and when they fell to the bed, they fell as one.

  It was a race, now. He unbuttoned her jeans and she moved to help him strip them off. Then he tore off his own clothing, flinging it aside impatiently. There was no time, there was no patience, there was only need, need driving them both.

  Then they were body to body, skin to skin, all heat and texture and an overwhelming rush of sensation that swept through her like the wind of a nor’easter.

  There would be time, Damon thought feverishly. There would be time to pleasure her with mouth and hands, but right now he had to be in her, to feel her clench around him, to take her up until she’d reached the point where she couldn’t hold back, watch her tumble over into ecstasy.

  And know he was the one who’d taken her there.

  Her hands urged him on, her mouth seduced. When he moved to poise himself over her body, she stared up at him, her eyes darkened to green, her lips parted on a gasp. Then he shifted and drove into her. And the cry she gave nearly put him over the edge.

  Her fingers pressed against the slick muscles of his back, feeling them surge and tighten with each stroke. And the rhythm, the rhythm caught her up until she was driving to meet him, wrapping her legs around his waist so that she could go with him, their bodies moving in a kind of contrapuntal rhythm of pleasure.

  And, oh, it was almost more than she could stand, the feel of him inside her, on her, around her, against her, driving her, into her, and taking her, taking her, taking her. And suddenly, it was like the start of a roller-coaster ride. One moment, the tension was winding tighter and tighter until she swore she couldn’t bear it, and then suddenly, shockingly, she was flying over some invisible edge she’d never dreamed of, the pleasure exploding through her body out to her fingertips so that she was crying out, shaking against him, even as he groaned and spilled himself.

  And in a moment, in an instant, in an eternity, Cady McBain finally understood what all the fuss was about.

  “Good Lord.” Cady half laughed. She wanted to run, she wanted to leap, she wanted to shout out to the skies. She’d just been through the most incredible experience of her entire life. Nothing that had gone before had prepared her for it. And now that she knew, nothing would be the same.

  Damon rolled over onto his back.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Trying to remember how to breathe,” he said. “I’ll get it in a minute.”

  “So that’s what sex is like in the big city.”

  He gave a low laugh. “Uh, well, not exactly.”

  Not exactly? How, not exactly? Cady wondered. She couldn’t tell from his tone. She’d thought that it had been good for both of them, but maybe he was used to something else. So what if he’d rocked her world? Maybe she’d merely gotten him off, no more, no less. Nerves suddenly seized her. Feeling exposed, she moved to rise.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m just—”

  He looped an arm around her and pulled her on top of him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She tried to squirm away but found herself held tight. “I just…I’m sorry it wasn’t what you’re used to.”

  “What do you mean? Were you here in the room with me two minutes ago?”

  “I haven’t done this a whole lot, okay?” she said defensively. “Maybe I don’t keep up with your Manhattan girlfriends. I don’t know any of those tricks with feather dusters and hair scrunchies and spearmint toothpaste.”

  He gave her a perplexed look. “Hair scrunchies?”

  “Hair bands. You put them around…” She waved toward his crotch and flushed. “My girlfriend Tania reads a lot.”

  “I guess so. Well, in case you didn’t notice, we did just fine without the spearmint toothpaste and if you come at me with a hair scrunchie, I’m going to run.” He pressed a kiss on her. “Look, I’m not big on comparing, but I’ve never been through anything quite like that before. And I mean that in a good way.”

  “Oh. Well, then.” She relaxed infinitesimally.

  “And you don’t have to tell me anything but it sounds like maybe you’ve been with some idiots who were too stupid to appreciate you…and maybe too clumsy or clueless to give you any reason to appreciate them. You’re amazing. What just happened was amazing.”

  “Really?”

  “Trust me.” His gaze was steady on hers. “And if you don’t believe me, I’ll be happy to demonstrate it again.”

  “Well, I might need some convincing,” she said, pressing her mouth to his.

  “Coming right up, ma’am.”

  “Oh, I hope so,” she breathed.

  Chapter Twelve

  Damon stood at the stove in the Sextant kitchen, whistling to himself. He’d been doing that a lot the past few days.

  It was strange to feel so good. For years, he’d gone to the parties and bars to look for it. He hadn’t found it; instead, what mattered to him most had slipped away. Grace Harbor didn’t have the nightlife he’d grown accustomed to but oddly enough, he didn’t miss it a lick. He felt good at work, he felt good at home, and especially he felt good with Cady.

  She fit his life in a way he couldn’t explain. She wasn’t easy. She might have challenged him but she seldom bored him. She amused him, kept him guessing.

  Most of all, she excited him.

  And it wasn’t just her. He’d found his kitchen mojo again. He was back at the stove, back in the one place he’d ever truly belonged. He was doing what he loved. And he was with a woman he—

  Wanted to be with. He completed the thought hastily and turned back to th
e stove to splash a bit of port into the cider sauce he was working on.

  Mornings, when the sun had just come up, were the part of the day he liked best. The rest of the staff hadn’t arrived. It was just him, maybe with Roman working quietly at the far end of the kitchen. The unstructured time gave him a chance to experiment, a chance to refine the new cuisine he was gradually developing.

  He tasted the sauce, letting the flavors roll over his tongue, letting the profile build. Then he began to analyze it. Was there enough acidity to bring out the sweetness? Did the complexity added by shallots and herbs enhance the flavor or mask it?

  Thoughtfully, he added a squeeze of lemon juice, a dash of cider vinegar and tried it again. Leaning down to sniff it, he inhaled the scent of apples.

  And he wasn’t thinking about cider sauce anymore. He was remembering Cady, skin rosy by lamplight as she rode him, finding her own pleasure, her face transforming as she shivered over into climax, quaking against him, clenching around him—

  “Do you realize what you’ve done?” Amanda McBain burst into the kitchen, Ian hot on her heels.

  “What?” Damon jerked around to stare at them both. Cady? he wondered for a frantic instant before registering the smiles on their faces. Not smiles, he corrected himself, ear-to-ear grins.

  “The Globe. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it.” Amanda’s eyes were glimmering, excitement coming off her in waves. She brandished the food section of the Boston newspaper, the part that talked about recipes and menu planning and cooking.

  And restaurants.

  Damon felt the adrenaline start to pump through him. He’d lost track, he realized. Preoccupied with the restaurant and Cady, he’d forgotten it was Wednesday, the day the paper ran its main restaurant reviews.

  And on the front of the section was a picture of the beef tenderloin with truffled fois gras sauce, inset with a photo of the restaurant. Hurst Steers Sextant to Top, trumpeted the headline.

  Damon Hurst is back and his food is exquisite. Don’t miss the Sextant if you’re visiting the state, and if you’re not visiting, make the drive anyway while you can. It’s worth it.

  “Four stars,” Amanda said, hugging him elatedly. “They never give four stars.”

  “Hell of a job, son.” Ian shook his hand and slapped his shoulder.

  Roman came over to read along as Damon stared at the print.

  At a time when the prevailing restaurant philosophy is to put as many things on the plate as possible, Hurst understands that less is sometimes more. There is complexity, but the flavors have room to work together. The result is food that intrigues the palate without overwhelming…

  In the mix of emotions that swirled within him as he read the review, he felt most of all validation. Find a good restaurant with room to grow and turn it into something, Paul had said, and he’d done just that. He still had the skills that had taken him to the top and he’d shown it. He’d reinvented himself.

  He was back.

  Next to him, Roman gave a start of surprise. “Hey, Chef, did you see this part? ‘If the tenderloin and scallops and lobster are irresistible, the ramp-wrapped shrimp appetizer is a revelation.’ A revelation, they say. Ramp-wrapped shrimp,” Roman repeated giddily. “That’s me.”

  Damon slapped him on the back, an effervescence building in his blood. “That is you, Roman. Your first mention in a review. How does it feel?”

  Roman grinned. “Like we’re winners.”

  And Amanda and Ian looked on, for all the world, like proud parents.

  “Okay, we’ve got something to celebrate here,” Ian said. “Make family meal tonight special, whatever you want. And wine. We’ll all have a toast.”

  A family, Damon thought. For the first time in his life, he felt a part of one.

  “‘This isn’t Pommes de Terre at a new address,’” Tania read aloud from the paper as Cady drove them into Grace Harbor. “‘Hurst is bringing us something—’ Whoa!” Tania stomped her foot on the floorboard.

  Cady glanced at her. “What?”

  “What?” she demanded. “Do you know you almost took the fender off that Navigator?”

  “He moved when the light changed,” Cady said reasonably.

  Tania made the sign of the cross. “What possessed me to get in a car with you?”

  “Your car’s in the shop getting a new battery and you needed a ride,” Cady reminded her.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “That means your job is to read the review.”

  “This is great stuff. Let’s see, where was I? Right. ‘Hurst is bringing us something entirely new, presenting fresh takes on classic down east ingredients while reinventing New England favorites with a sure hand.’ You never told me anything about his sure hands.” She gave Cady a sidelong glance.

  “You never asked.”

  “I shouldn’t have had to. We did the twin bonding ceremony in third grade, don’t you remember? I’m your best friend. You’re supposed to tell me everything. Although so far, you haven’t told me much.”

  “Oh, well, you know,” Cady said evasively. “You have enough stories for both of us.”

  “I don’t know, with those sure hands involved, he could have come up with something entirely new I should know about. I think you’re holding out on me, girlfriend.”

  “It’s for your own good. I’m worried about your tender sensibilities.”

  In reality, it was her own sensibilities she was worried about. She didn’t talk about it because she didn’t know how to. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to. What was between her and Damon seemed improbable, fantastic, far too fragile to expose to the public eye, even to a friend like Tania.

  “The bigger question,” Tania went on, “is why haven’t I met this god yet?”

  “He’s busy presenting fresh takes on classic New England ingredients, didn’t you read?”

  “He can’t be that busy,” Tania complained.

  Cady fought a smile. “You want to meet him, come to the restaurant.”

  “Oh, like that’s going to happen now. You guys are going to be mobbed.”

  “It’s only a review in the Boston paper.”

  “Haven’t you heard of the Internet? Trust me, this is going to get around. Not just Boston. I’m betting you’re going to see people coming in from New York and all over. Word’s going to get out. Even if he did get kicked off the Cooking Channel, Damon Hurst is a big name.”

  Cady had grown up with Grace Harbor’s split personality, where for the few short weeks of high summer, the friendly, sleepy town she knew became a crowded, chaotic mass of sunburned strangers. She was used to having the place she loved taken over by out-of-towners.

  She wasn’t at all sure how she felt about a sudden influx of year-round foodies coming for Damon.

  “It’ll be good for the restaurant,” she said aloud as she pulled to a stop in front of Tania’s salon. “Good news for my parents. You should’ve heard my mom when she called this morning. She was so psyched.”

  “What about your hunka hunka burnin’ love?” Tania asked.

  “It’ll be good for him, too,” Cady said. And she believed that.

  She just wasn’t sure it was good for her.

  The house was a sand-colored Colonial, built on spec by a contractor who’d lost it to foreclosure when the housing market crashed. He’d planned to build an entire development. So far, Damon’s only neighbors were raccoons, wild turkeys and deer.

  “The landlord was thrilled when I took it,” Damon said. “He told me it had been empty for almost a year.”

  “I don’t see why. It’s perfect out here—this whole area all to yourself, no one to bother you.”

  “No one to help dig you out if you get stuck in the snow,” he chimed in.

  “Forget snow. There wouldn’t be anyone to find you if you got lost in this meadow you call a backyard. You should carry rescue flares when you walk around out here,” she told him. “You could disappear and never be heard from again.”

  �
��I’m counting on you to rescue me.”

  “You want me to jog up with a barrel of brandy around my neck?”

  “Just bring yourself.” He leaned in to brush a quick kiss over her lips. “That’s all I need to revive me.”

  She wondered if she would ever be able to get near him without that rush in her veins. Reluctantly, she pulled away. “None of that,” she said. “If you want to get this garden in today, we need to get going. It’ll take a good hour or two just to clear space for the beds.”

  In reality, it took closer to three, between weed whacking and mowing the meadow grass and using the Rototiller to dig down to the soil. And then there was the process of getting the compost into the ground.

  “How many more of these are we going to need?” Damon steered the dozenth wheelbarrow of compost to a stop by one of the vegetable beds and dumped it out.

  “One more and I think that’s it,” Cady told him, digging it in, then raking it smooth. The ground had gone from pale and dry to rich and dark. Now, it looked like soil where seeds could grow. Of course, having Damon run a few more loads of compost over wouldn’t be an entirely bad thing, she thought, watching his muscles flex under his T-shirt as he tipped the barrow up again.

  There was something about a man in jeans and work boots, especially if those jeans hung just above his hips and showed off a truly excellent ass that was normally hidden by his apron and checks. And then there were those arms and shoulders. They never showed those on TV, she thought dreamily as he grabbed a shovel. Yep, add a scruffy stubble and a little bit of sweat and she was a happy girl.

  Damon glanced up at her, then at the rake she leaned on. “You planning on using that anytime soon?”

  “I’m busy supervising,” she told him blandly.

  He straightened slowly. “Supervising, huh?” He spiked his shovel into the ground.