by Dee Carney
He smirked. “As you wish.”
“You can wipe that look off your face, because you’re darn right, as I wish.” Gathering her mental skirts and fortitude, she managed to get the door open without him interrupting. That he let her go unmolested unsettled her; she wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved.
Heading toward the front of the restaurant, she tried not to ogle the diners wearing Armani and Cavalli, Chanel and Leger. So different from her place, where the most designer label might be Levi’s. Here, the silverware shone so brilliantly it might have come off the factory line yesterday. At her place, most people were too busy wiping their hands on the paper napkins crumpled besides their plates to worry about the pattern on the ends of the knives and forks.
She and Lee couldn’t be any more opposite in their approaches if someone had drawn them that way. Yet the simmering heat bouncing between them wasn’t one-sided. She recognized those flares in his eyes when he watched her. And she wasn’t foolish enough to believe her own gaze didn’t soften whenever it found him. They hungered for each other…but it just didn’t seem right. Like it would never work. How could they be lovers at night and restaurant rivals by day?
Simple. They couldn’t.
Ginger delicately pushed through the waiting throng in the lobby until she could break free outside. She inhaled deeply, tasting the ever-present brine lingering on Florida nights. With brilliant stars dotting the night sky, the evening proved idyllic, perfect for a date.
Ginger’s mind again brought up a lazy image of Lee, and she had to shove it to the side. “Get real, girl,” she murmured. The man really didn’t have anything endearing about him other than his looks. Trying to pursue a relationship made no sense whatsoever.
By the time she crossed the parking lot, she’d managed to keep thoughts of him at bay. A smile touched her lips as the sounds of happy diners drifted toward her, and she took a moment to enjoy it. Once inside, she’d have one of the guys whip up a late-night snack for her before rejoining the line. Then, after service was over, it would be a long night of bookkeeping, inventory management and payroll. Ugh.
On second thought, maybe she’d stay out here just a moment longer.
She shoved her hands into her pockets, the fingers of her right hand brushing against paper. Brow furrowed, a frown turning her mouth down, she withdrew the package. Before she’d even laid eyes on it, she recognized the shape of the candy bar previously on Lee’s desk, and all thoughts of Lee flooded back. He’d known she’d been hungry and did his bit to assuage it.
She sighed.
He might be a jerk, but he was a sweet jerk. Kind of made not liking him just a little bit harder.
Chapter Two
Lee’s vision blurred, fatigue screaming at him to shut down and go home, but he gritted his teeth and kept working. He needed the distraction. The run-in with Ginger the night before had been a shock to the system. He’d gone back and finished service on the brigade, calling out orders as tickets came in, and thank God for it. The work kept him focused on what he should be doing and not what he wanted to do.
But now, with the rest of the staff gone for the night, he was left alone with his thoughts and wants.
Mostly, he wanted Ginger.
He couldn’t have her and didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. Instead, he worked on the eponymous root, making fine slivers to add to the daikon radish and purple carrot slaw. Bright green medallions of Thai pepper ringlets had been stacked next to cilantro. He slowly incorporated each item into the slaw before adding the pale green leaves of celery as a foil to the fragrant herb. Once assembled, he drizzled on pungent sesame oil, the dark woodsy color immediately blending into the vegetables, and let out a sigh of satisfaction.
God, he loved being a chef. Loved knowing he could make people’s eyes widen with surprise, their mouths water just from the aromas coming from his kitchen. Yeah, he might have started out as a dishwasher, but he’d been smart to pay attention to the cooks. To watch the magic they made as nimble hands jerked on sauté pans, tossing vegetables in deft maneuvers.
Guys from around the neighborhood used hand skills to steal, hustle or work on cars to get the girls. He’d chosen not only to get the girls by seducing them with enticing food, but get a career as well.
Lately, though, only one girl caught his attention. One woman he wanted in his bed.
Lee cocked a hip on the counter, folding his arms across his chest as he thought about her and this thing they had going between them.
It really was a curiosity, wasn’t it? Trying to figure out how this complicated woman could be anything but. She spoke her mind, no false pretenses beneath her words, and that freedom translated in her food. He’d only had it once, long before she’d even known he existed, and the tastes she’d managed to elicit were unforgettable. She was a damned good cook.
Suggesting Food Fighters had been reckless and brilliant. A good way to get closer to her and a better way to get what he needed as far as their restaurants were concerned.
As he put away the slaw, then wiped down the counters one last time, he considered which one of them would be the victor. If he won the contest—which undoubtedly he would—she’d perhaps nurse a never-ending wound. Yeah, probably not the best way to start a romance. It was like he was in grade school, pulling on her pigtails in hopes she’d notice him. Kind of pathetic when he thought too long on it.
If he won, though—which undoubtedly he would— their peers would be aware she’d been trumped in a cooking competition. At the end of the day, it wouldn’t matter much to customers, most of whom had never heard of Food Fighters, but how would she take being seen as second to him by people “in the know”?
They had this thing between them, a magnetism that for some inexplicable reason they each chose to fight, but honestly, he was tired of fighting it. They were alike more than they were opposed to each other, so they should move forward. Be something more. Friends. Lovers. Friends with benefits, perhaps. An experience they’d both enjoy, without question.
Maybe once they settled the question of who made the better chef—most certainly, he—and after a cooling-off period, she’d be amenable to turning their business relationship into something more personal.
“Of course she will,” he mumbled. It only made sense.
Competing against Ginger wasn’t a bad idea. It couldn’t be.
In fact, he should go over there right now and give her the latest update on the competition sure to be burning her imagination. Had nothing to do with the fact his own imagination was slightly curious about the inside of her kitchen or a neglected libido wanting another glimpse of her. Nothing like that at all.
He made quick work of locking up and then headed over to Ginger’s restaurant. Her place stayed open later than his, and the odds she was still there were in his favor. The rest of the city might be in Dreamland, but cooks and waitstaff alike were getting ready to hit the bars and clubs.
A dark-haired man leaned against the building like he kept the structure upright. In one hand, a lit cigarette dangled, the gray ash tip seconds away from breaking free and nose-diving toward the ground. He did little more than lift his chin in acknowledgment as Lee went into the open door beside him.
A few more guys worked on wiping down the stainless steel counters and throwing water on the tiled floor. The sting of bleach hit Lee’s nose, but it was a scent familiar to him at the end of a long dinner shift.
“Yo,” called a young black man in a white T-shirt tucked into black-and-white-checkered pants as he walked past. He’d straightened from his task of stacking plastic bins on the line to attend to Lee. While his expression wasn’t outright hostile, there wasn’t anything friendly about it either.
“Ginger?” Lee replied.
The young man scrutinized Lee, studying him in a long head-to-toe sweep as if memorizing every detail. There was an unspoken message in his body language suggesting that if Lee dared something untoward, the younger man had Ging
er’s back. At this hour of the night, Lee liked his protectiveness over a woman who would probably be the last person out the door. “She expecting you?” The way his lips tightened made Lee aware the man knew she wasn’t.
“Lee. I own the place next door.”
His bored stare didn’t spark in recognition, but the man jerked his head toward the back. “Office. She know you coming?” Lee didn’t think he’d dodge the question a second time, so he shook his head and received another sidelong glance. The man said, “We’re locking up, so be quick, huh?”
“I’ll get the lady to her car before I leave. You don’t have to hang around if you have something better to do.”
The response sounded like a snort. Something that vaguely translated into not on your life.
Ignoring his scowl, Lee went in search of Ginger. It was a spacious kitchen with plenty of room for staff to dance around one another as they shuffled hot pans and carefully arranged plates. In contrast, he found her in a back office just big enough to take a few steps into and not much else. She hunched over a beat-up desk scarred from years of abuse. From his vantage point, he could only spy the blonde spikes of her hair, and, based on the soft snores, she slumbered deep.
“Wake up, Chef,” he said gently so as not to startle her.
Her head whipped around, and Lee almost staggered back in surprise.
“What are you doing here?” she all but yawned.
He stared. “What are you doing wearing glasses?”
God, they were sexy. Crazy sexy.
She looked at him like he’d grown two heads, projecting a glower of disdain. He couldn’t tell if the look was directed at him or at his dumb question. In his defense, he’d been surprised. Pleasantly, wonderfully surprised.
The frames were deep blue with swirls of iridescent silver throughout. The effect brought out the brightness of Ginger’s blue eyes and captivated Lee’s focus. The most shocking thing about them was just how schoolmarmish they somehow seemed to be, while at the same time stylish and contemporary.
He had the sudden image of Ginger, blonde hair tied up in a severe bun, wearing a high-necked dress that clung to the curves of her breasts and flat stomach before flaring out over those decadent hips. All he needed to complete the image was for her to smack a twelve-inch ruler against the desk in exasperation.
Hello, latest Ginger fantasy.
He wasn’t supposed to look at her like that. Like a four-year-old in the candy aisle.
She didn’t know honeyed eyes could darken into chocolate drizzled with cream. Not just a sweet change, but one that smoldered with heat she could almost feel coming from his entire body.
Prior to his arrival, she’d been intent on a new marketing plan for the fall season. A way to grab the attention of those who hadn’t yet tried her global soul food at the Squash Blossom Café. Once she got them to sample one of her creations, they rarely strayed. But damn it, she was only a cook. She accepted having to deal with inventory and ordering supplies and even staffing, but coming up with advertising ideas and budgets and all the related financial stuff…ugh. It had literally put her to sleep.
She reached for the glasses, the new object of Lee’s attention, pinching her nose.
“Don’t,” he whispered.
The way he said it… The breathy slowness that stopped her and stayed her hand. It hovered near the frame’s temple, despite a little mischievous voice in her mind urging her to do it. To pop the little bubble of anticipation hanging in the air between them. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing. Never mind.” He shook his head as if to clear a daze. “I came over to talk a little about Food Fighters. Got a minute?”
Another yawn tried to creep out, but Ginger stifled it. “What time is it?” she murmured, eyeing her watch. Seriously? Couldn’t this have waited until morning? Then she sat up straighter, actually comprehending what he’d said. “Wait.” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you here because you’ve changed your mind? Maybe because you’re scared?”
He cursed low, then muttered, “Not a chance…”
The realization that Lee might be running tail-tucked was better than any shot of espresso to her system. Ginger jolted awake. Wide awake. “You can’t win,” she declared, certain she knew why he stood here after issuing the challenge in the first place.
“That’s not—”
“You can’t win.”
“I didn’t—”
“You.”
“Ginger—”
“Can’t.”
“Will you—”
“Win.” She grinned. A big fat, cheese-eating—hell, cheese-inhaling—grin.
“I never said that!” he barked.
Oh, but he didn’t have to say it. There wasn’t any other reason for Lee to be over here at minutes-to-pitch-black o’clock while everyone else was rushing like mad to get home.
“First,” he growled, beginning to pace the room like a caged animal, “take off those glasses so we can have a conversation.”
Ever contrary, Ginger arched a brow, folded her arms over her chest and leaned forward to make certain Lee knew she had no intention of doing anything other than listen to what he had to say. She liked teasing him, knowing she kept him on edge. If the glasses kept him unbalanced for now, so be it. “I think you’ll manage, regardless of my accessories. Quit stalling.”
He stopped eating up the tiles with his stride just long enough to glare back at her.
Good God, he was sexy when angry and flustered.
“Tell me more about this inability to beat me in a cooking competition.” She smiled even bigger, and the sight of it must have scraped across every single vertebra in his spine. “I’m all ears.”
Before he began speaking, however, two quick raps on the door followed by an excessive level of throat clearing interrupted him. The gorgeous head of Byron, her sous chef, ducked into the doorway. With his high cheekbones, mocha-dusted skin and a smile that made women’s knees weak, she could admit she’d initially lusted after him during his job interview. Once he’d proven he knew his food and had a willingness to learn how to run a successful restaurant, she’d shoved aside her attraction and taken the young man under her wing.
Sliding into her office, he said, “Boss, everyone’s ’bout done here. Ready to lock up?”
She hated that something inside went soft whenever she looked at Byron these days—not attraction, but seeing him handling his newborn baby girl tripped her heart every time she thought on it. He’d been working for her going on six years now, but the last year, he’d been the most frazzled and the happiest. That little girl had Daddy wrapped around her tiny finger, and it showed every time he talked about her. She loved that he’d taken to his new role with such heart and abandon. Watching him almost made her ache to start her own family.
“Don’t wait on me, hon,” she said kindly.
Byron’s dark gaze drifted to Lee. “I can stay if you need me to.”
Hoo boy. Based on the way Lee stiffened, he didn’t take to that idea too much. “I told you already,” he said tightly, “I’ll get the lady to her car. No need to wait.”
Fierce menace lingered beneath his words. A hint of threat.
“Man, I don’t know you,” Byron snarled back, all teeth and feral intent.
Ginger watched the two men, fascinated. Both of them were feathers and fur, hackles and fangs. Byron’s protectiveness, while understandable, might have seemed a little over the top to others. But she knew him well. They worked together day in and day out, six days a week. He knew her tastes and almost her thoughts before she did. They were fast friends, eating, drinking and laughing together at work and family functions.
But Lee? She didn’t understand his hostility at all.
“Lee, let’s just get this over with, huh?” she said. “What did you need?”
“This is between you and me. No need for an audience.”
Why couldn’t he say what he had to in front of Byron? It wasn’t as if her entire staf
f didn’t already know about the food competition, because she sure as hell had told them. Especially Byron.
A forceful exhalation from Lee. “Fine. Just wanted to let you know that we’re on for Monday night.”
“Great!” She nodded. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you’ll be forced to stop calling tow trucks on people.”
“You’re the fool getting people towed?” Byron’s harsh voice echoed in the small room. Ginger winced. “You owe me two hundred bucks.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, asshole. My ride got picked up last weekend.” He started forward, his hands beginning to curl at his sides.
“Whoa, fellas…” Ginger put up her own hands and came around the desk, sliding in between the two bulldogs. She didn’t think either man would really get physical over the towing, but she wasn’t taking chances. “Hey, Byron, me and Lee here have some things to discuss, including retribution for your tow fees.”
“Like hell…” Lee grumbled.
“So if you want to give me a call in the morning,” she continued as if uninterrupted, “I’ll let you know the details.”
At first, she didn’t think he’d back down, but Byron blew out a long, slow breath. He turned angry brown eyes her way. “You sure, Gin?” he asked. “I don’t got nowhere to be.”
That wasn’t true, and she knew it. She also deeply appreciated having such a good friend. Lee would so eat asphalt while on his hands and knees begging for forgiveness as part of their little “talk” to make up for some of his rudeness to Byron.
“Go on. I’ll be fine.”
Byron scowled at Lee before softening his gaze on Ginger. “You text me when you get in. Don’t care what time it is.”
She saluted. “Deal.”
Although Byron had left the door gaping open, without saying a word Lee crossed the room and pushed it to almost closed in his wake. It left Ginger with a sense of doing something clandestine. Tension built until it existed as a physical thing, forcing itself to fit around them, pushing the two of them closer.