Cravings

by Dee Carney

  Chapter Eleven

  Ginger paced, her thoughts too scattered to settle on any one thing. She pressed a hand against her agitated tummy, a futile attempt to get it to settle. The nauseating churn remained of distant importance, though, as her gaze skipped past the bodies shuffling into the restaurant kitchen, searching for just one face to show up. One important face.

  “Where are you?” she murmured, heart hurting.

  Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered the look on Lee’s face as she peered around his body, horrified to see the mugger stab him with a kitchen knife. Blood had sprayed across the pristine crispness of Lee’s shirt, and she’d screamed in horror, terrified.

  A deep shudder rippled through her.

  “You got this, right?”

  Her eyes snapped open, the woman’s voice familiar even after their brief introduction. She took a moment to glance toward the doorway, a wash of disappointment filling her when she still didn’t spot him. “I’m afraid Lee might have to forfeit,” she said with a sigh.

  “Why, what’s happened?” Pepper asked. She stepped closer, placing a hand on Ginger’s arm.

  “Tweaker pulled a knife on us this morning.” Ginger swallowed hard, trying to push down a sour taste. “I didn’t know what had happened until I almost stumbled onto it. Lee stepped in…”

  “Jesus.”

  “Got his hand only, thank God, and I guess the guy got scared once he realized what he’d done. Grabbed Lee’s wallet and took off. I stood there, in shock until Lee came to check on me. Priorities shifted, and I had to flag down a cab.

  “The hospital thought at first that maybe just a few stitches would patch it up. But then he was having a hard time moving his fingers, so maybe there was nerve damage. They were calling in a plastic surgeon to evaluate.” Her gaze drifted to the doorway again. Fewer people trickled in. “He sent me home when they took him in for surgery. I mean, I wouldn’t have gone, except he seemed okay, just pissed, you know? But I’ve been calling all day. None of his staff know where he is, hospital’s not saying anything because I’m not on his allowed list.” Ginger’s throat squeezed tight. She’d been kicking herself all day for simply walking away from him when it mattered. Her stomach rolled, and blowing out a puff of air did little to help. Before tonight, she wouldn’t have believed Lee meant so much to her, that their budding romance had taken root.

  “Before you get yourself too upset, just think. Tonight’s tie-breaker hasn’t been cancelled. Someone as tough as nails as Lee is not going to forfeit, not to a woman. Especially not to one he’s got it bad for.”

  Ginger whipped her head around, staring Pepper down. “What? That last part—what?” It might be true, maybe a little bit, but they hadn’t been obvious in front of anyone. They’d kept their professional relationship strictly that.

  A pretty smile pushed up the black woman’s cheeks. “Girl, you two aren’t fooling anyone. I saw the way he looks at you and you at him.”

  Ginger didn’t know whether to deny or acknowledge. “We’re nothing more than neighbors. Rivals, really—”

  “You see that guy over there? The tall one. Bald with tats?” After Ginger nodded, Pepper continued. “He and I finally hooked up after one of these types of competitions. We were serious rivals before then. But where we ended up, it was a long time coming. Also the best thing that’s happened to me in almost forever.”

  Some of her fluttering heartbeats trickled to a more respectable crawl. “You trying to say that this thing that might be happening between us—not saying there’s anything there, mind you—was bound to happen?”

  She shrugged. “Can’t say that exactly, but maybe being here helped funnel your vision to just you two. Nothing else. Helps you prioritize. Rivalry’s not so important, not when you’ve found someone who makes you happy.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t know so much about happy. Right now, I’m close to a panic attack over what might have happened since I last saw him.”

  Pepper grunted. “Then I suppose you should take a look at who just walked through the door.”

  “What?” Ginger almost stumbled in her haste to face the kitchen entrance again. The moment she spotted him, all tension seemed to leach out of her body.

  Dark circles drew attention away from the color of Lee’s eyes, a small amount of puffiness not helping them either. The skin of his face was pale and sallow. God, even his hair was tousled, in a just-rolled-out-of-bed kind of way. His normally pristine shirt appeared equally rumpled.

  Her gaze drifted to where he’d been injured, and it was all she could do not to gasp aloud. His beautiful hand, the source of his craft, was yellow, a stark contrast to the whiteness of his face. A huge bandage wrapped over the palm and opposing side. His hand seemed deformed and curled in, fingers curved and stiff.

  “Go get ’im, girl,” Pepper’s soft voice said in her ear.

  Ginger nodded, almost having forgotten the other woman. Right now, she just wanted to know that he was all right. She needed to hear him say it. To touch him.

  It was a few minutes to ten o’clock, and the crowd began to rustle and voices grew louder as she pushed through the mass. Her feet felt like cement blocks as she slogged toward him, determined not to stop until they were face-to-face. If people were agitated that she’d moved from behind her station to get to him, they could simply bite her.

  By the time she stopped in front of him, her bigger concern became the way her pulse raced like she’d power walked her way through the kitchen. At least it distracted her from the sudden urge to hold his head between her hands and kiss him senseless.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  The big jerk got to her first when all she could do was stare at him, mouth dry and stumbling to come up with the right thing to say. Ask him about his surgery. His hand. Him. Her tongue tied as she tried to sort through it all, her brain too sluggish to come up with the priority question.

  She nodded. “You?”

  “I’ll live.”

  “Your hand—”

  “Will be fine.”

  “Did they—”

  “No surgery after all. Just stitches.”

  “But the—”

  “Might need occupational therapy, but we’ll see how I do.”

  She had a million more questions, not certain at all which should be asked first. Not that he was giving her the chance to speak in full sentences anyway. Typical, arrogant chef. Typical Lee.

  She couldn’t have been happier to see him. Still… “Lee—”

  “Let’s go cook, right?”

  Cook? Could he even with a hand that looked like it had been pieced together out of leftover parts? She hadn’t seen him move those critical fingers yet. Winning against him meant the world, but not if he wasn’t fully functional. He couldn’t win with this much of a handicap. “But—”

  “I’m fine, really.”

  Ginger snapped. “Shut it and let me talk!”

  His brow lifted, those sleepy eyes widening in surprise. He drew back as if he would step away, but to his credit, he didn’t.

  Throwing her head back, eyes slammed shut, she searched her mind for the right words. The relief at seeing him now, the embarrassment for having abandoned him at the hospital, the horror of living through being mugged. The joy of being intimate with him. The uncertainty for the future.

  Did she even know what she wanted for the two of them after this?

  All the words that would make up those feelings conspired against her, tumbling on each other until she couldn’t sort through any of them to pluck out the most important.

  She drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “Lee, I—”

  “Chefs, to your stations, please.”

  Damn it!

  Max strode up to them before Ginger could ask him to give them a little extra time, and despite the smile creasing his face, his next words were harried. “Glad that you’re finally here, Lee. We need to get moving. I don’t have the staff to cover a long event, so
let’s get in and out before the crowd figures it out.”

  Lee seemed to finally notice her agitation. He met her gaze, and she could almost feel his touch on her face. “We’ll talk. After this round is over, there’s nothing stopping us from sitting down and having that heart-to-heart. I won’t let anything interrupt us this time. Nothing.”

  Hell, it wasn’t like she knew what she was going to say anyway.

  Swallowing her disappointment, Ginger nodded, turned and went to her station.

  Hand beginning to throb, Lee watched her stroll away. If it wasn’t for the pain, he’d be tempted to push his fingers into his hair and pull until a handful came out. What a way to end the evening. Every time he went to call her with an update, a nurse or a tech or a doctor broke his train of thought with another test or procedure or wanted to ask him a question. He’d been ready to throttle the next person to approach him by the time he was discharged.

  Mistake number two had been to pop a few pain pills before lying down for a quick nap. Between the lack of sleep, overexerting himself with an amazing night of loving, the later adrenaline crash and those fucked-up pills, he considered himself lucky to have arrived at Food Fighters on time. To make it worse, he still felt like shit.

  He trudged over to his station, mind spinning as he tried to get himself back into fighting mode. Though truthfully, he didn’t know how much he wanted to win anymore. Yes, it would be great, the recognition, yadda, yadda, yadda. But right now, he just wanted to get back to his place, curl up on the couch and crash. Then again, the fastest way to accomplish that was to stand behind this station and make a damned good dessert. Afterward, he and Ginger could talk. Then couch time.

  Lee stopped short.

  What would happen after they finished this thing? If he won, would Ginger want to finish what they’d finally gotten started yesterday? Or would she harbor a grudge, unable to let it go?

  She’d been hanging their restaurants over them, perhaps making the barrier bigger than it was. Certainly, he’d seen it that way in the beginning, but now…she was worth it. Did she feel the same, that they were worth it?

  He had no idea, and that bothered the fuck out of him.

  “Okay, chefs,” Max said while clapping his hands and bringing the room to order. It caught Lee’s attention as well, and he leaned forward, leaning on the chopping block to focus on the next few events. “This is an epic tie-breaking round to determine who was the winner of last night’s food fight. Hopefully, tonight there will be no one driving a vehicle into the power-station transformer and knocking out the lights.”

  Lee’s gaze drifted toward Ginger. She’d already been watching him, and, once caught, their gazes held. Tension tightened her lips, a small furrow creasing her brow. She was shaking her head at him, and he didn’t have to study her for long to know she was upset. But what over, he couldn’t figure. Yeah, they definitely needed to talk once they left the kitchen.

  “So, in this round, you’ll have thirty minutes to prepare for us an exceptional dessert. Just as a reminder, you’ll have two mystery ingredients to work with, and they both must feature prominently in your dessert. Oh, and there’s a twist…”

  He’d only been half listening up to this point, but the pause captured Lee’s attention. A twist?

  Max continued, “Just to make sure there isn’t another tie, and to guarantee a show for tonight’s audience, who was gracious enough to return without warning, we’re going to make this a mite bit harder.” Max grinned, the effect causing the audience to let out a collective moan of approval. “Let’s make this a little more challenging for the two of you. And by that I mean you’ll be limited in your supplies. Instead of each of you having your own burner and oven to use, we’re forcing you to share.”

  Lee’s pulse jumped. What the hell?

  “Each of you will have two burners right next to each other, and you will be sharing an oven. Hope whatever you decide to make needs to be baked at the same temperature, or else one of you is hosed. Or I guess you’ll just need to work fast so that you get to the oven first. It is a dessert round, after all, and I expect to see some baking of some kind to really impress the judges.”

  Lee would have groaned aloud had it not been bad form. Working next to Ginger would be tempting and a distraction, but doable. Half the burners and sharing an oven, however, could already be disastrous for a course that wasn’t his strongest suit in the first place.

  “And so your mystery items tonight are…cherry wheat beer and jalapenos. Time starts now!”

  Lee froze. The names of a dozen different desserts swept through his mind, and he couldn’t get himself to pick one to create in the next thirty minutes. Tarte tatin, clafouti or flaugnarde, maybe a play on the classic mendiant… How would he incorporate those two crazy ingredients into any of those?

  “Anyone got a match for the chef?” a sultry voice whispered next to him.

  His lips quirked up, the familiar words tickling a funny bone buried deep inside. Ginger brushed past him, her destination the pantry. Lee wasted precious seconds watching her withdraw flour, lemons and strawberries. Obviously, she had no problem with the mystery ingredients and would be creating something homey for the judges in no time while he stood around navel gazing.

  A sharp and vivid reminder of early this morning, the fear that the junkie might get to her, rose up to grip his heart. He’d come this close to losing her. But then he’d reverted back to the man he’d been before contending for a Michelin star and demanding that no menu item cost less than twenty dollars. Before he’d refined his taste buds into appreciating the earthy undertones of a truffle and the rich, fattiness of foie gras. Before he knew these things, he’d known how to enjoy crunchy fried chicken eaten with his fingers. And consumed mashed potatoes so decadent it was hard to distinguish which taste arose first: potatoes, cream, butter or salt. When had he lost that hunger? Or had he even lost it permanently?

  Then again, if last night had proven anything, it was that the man he’d been before fame and success still lived within him.

  “If you let me walk away with this win, Lee Solomon, I will be very annoyed with you,” Ginger called.

  He glanced up at the clock, realized four minutes had passed and he was still no closer to starting. “But didn’t you come here to win?” he replied, very aware they had an audience.

  “Not because you’re not at your best. I’d rather we stop right now.” To make her point, she did stop, resting hands on hips.

  It angered Lee. “Move it, woman. I got this.”

  She squinted back at him. “You sure? No narcotics messing with your system?”

  “I got this,” he growled back. And he did.

  And he knew if he didn’t give it his all, Ginger would be more than annoyed with him. Annoyed would be an understatement. She expected him at his best, and he would give her nothing less.

  But…he recognized how she’d responded to him last night. Not just to the filthy talker who liked sex hard, fast and dirty, but also to the man who’d done his damnedest to keep her out of harm’s way. These things marked the essence of him. So did the same guy who longed for chicken noodle soup from scratch and a side of grilled cheese using thick slices of homemade bread.

  If he wanted to win against Ginger—yet keep her close—he needed to channel that guy.

  Right now.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ginger poured the cherry wheat beer over the diced strawberries already liberally sprinkled with sugar. Using a spoon, she dipped into the mixture and tried it out. The beer lingered on the palate, a little bitter, but with a few minutes of sugar and strawberries, the final product should mellow out a bit.

  She was banking her pride on it.

  From the corner of her eye, she took chances watching Lee while getting a browned-butter-vanilla sauce ready. For a second there, she wasn’t sure his mind was still in the competition, his inaction cause for concern.

  She could almost forget the reason why they were even he
re in the first place. Six measly parking spaces didn’t warrant all this. Of course, she wouldn’t mind the ego boost if she beat Lee, but surely there had to be another way to settle the business of their restaurants?

  “I smell something burning!” someone yelled out.

  Gaze snapping left, Ginger blew out a “Shit!” when she realized her butter had gone from a hazelnut brown to tar black, specks of milk solids clinging to the bottom of the pan in charred chunks that no one would find appetizing. Time to start over, and that was time she couldn’t afford to lose.

  “Not handing this over to me, are you, Chef?” Lee said beside her. He’d stopped long enough to dump some sugar into a saucepan on his side of the stove before spinning back to the butcher block.

  Heat churned in her belly to find him next to her and in action. She was thrust back to the previous night, to the feel of his lips burning a trail down her neck, breasts and lower. The way those strong, talented fingers of his slipped between her thighs and then curved inside her body, touching sweet spots that made her see stars.

  She had to drag her gaze away from them and not focus on what they had done but instead on what they were doing now. Which… Her brow furrowed… Was he making… “Lee?”

  He grinned up at her, then went back to kneading dough. She glanced up at the ticking clock, amazed at his ambition. Then again, she’d expect nothing less from him.

  “Pass the beer if you’re not going to use it!” an audience member called out.

  Playing to the light heckling, Ginger picked up a bottle and took a large swig. The beer chilled her throat on the way down and settled the sensual heat churning lower. While the audience jovially booed her actions, they had no idea how she’d needed that little nudge from them. “Hey, Max, next time the harder stuff, huh?” she said, smiling.

  The audience hooted.

  Returning to the sauce, Ginger watched the edges for signs of bubbles. She wanted it to stay just beneath a simmer. If the heat went too high, she’d end up having to chuck the damned thing again. With twelve minutes left in the round, there’d be no opportunity to start it a third time.