Kristin Hardy - The Chef's Choice - The Chef's Choice

“Cady McBain, extreme gardener.”

“I like to live life on the edge.”

“Really?” He studied her. “That’s good to know.”

Her skin warmed. “That wasn’t an invitation.”

“Do I look like I need one?”

No, he looked like the kind of guy who just went after what he wanted, she thought uneasily. She just couldn’t figure out why it happened to be her.

“If you plant all this, you’ll have a lot of space afterward. You could probably find a corner for a commissioned job, couldn’t you?"

And there was the answer. Her eyes narrowed. “If this is about growing ramps for you, no. My hands still smell."

“Not ramps, microgreens.”

“If they grow in the forest, I’m not interested.”

“They don’t grow in the forest.”

“I’m still not interested.”

He tapped his knuckles on one of the wooden tables. “They don’t take much room,” he offered. “Just a little dirt and water and a week or two of growing time."

“Two weeks? You know what you’re going to get from two weeks of growth? Grass. Micrograss."

“Strongly flavored micrograss. They taste phenomenal, trust me. Makes all the difference in a dish."

“Then I suggest you tap into your underground chef network and find out where you can get some. In case you haven’t noticed, this greenhouse is full, and when I’ve planted the annuals I’ll be filling it up with perennials."

“The microgreens don’t take a lot of space. And I need them,” he said simply. “The restaurant needs them."

The thing she couldn’t say no to. “What, nobody in the entire country sells them?"

“The closest supplier I could find is a guy out in the Midwest.”

“And let me guess, you want local.”

“Bingo,” he said. “A lot of other chefs do, too. You know, this wouldn’t just help the Sextant,” he added thoughtfully as he wandered away from her along one of the rows. “It could work for you, too. You could probably supply microgreens to half the restaurants in Portland, in New Hampshire, shoot, maybe even Boston. You could turn a tidy little profit. Help you pay for this nice greenhouse.” Damon glanced over at her as he rounded the end of the bench.

“What makes you think I need help?”

He tapped a hanging basket with his fingertips as he walked, setting it swinging. “I know it’s new, and judging by the look of your truck, you’re not exactly rolling in dough.” He pushed another basket so it swayed. “And for a person who’s running a business, you sure seem to spend a lot more time around here than you do on job sites."

“I didn’t realize you were paying such close attention,” she returned tartly, reaching for more petunias to transplant.

“I always pay attention.” He nudged the next basket in line to sway with the rest. “Especially to people who interest me."

“Or to people who can do things for you.”

“Or in your case, both.” He came up short in front of her. “I find myself thinking about you, Cady McBain, a lot.

Why is that?”

“You’re bored.” She would have backed up but the wood of the workbench was behind her. “You’re stuck in a small town.” “It’s not boredom.”

“And it’s not about me.” She tried for dismissive but her voice came out oddly breathless.

“Oh, I think it’s very definitely about you. I keep finding myself wondering what it would be like to kiss you. I’m cutting up fruit and I’m wondering about the way you taste, about the way you always smell like apples and cinnamon.” He rested his hands against the bench on either side of her, trapping her. “When you’ve got a job that involves sharp knives, spending a lot of time wondering isn’t very healthy.”

Any reply she might have made dried up in her throat. He stood before her, his face a study in lines and planes. The ruddy glow of the afternoon sun coming through the greenhouse walls turned his skin golden, like that of some herald in an old painting. His eyes were hot and dark on hers.

“You know this doesn’t make sense,” she said unsteadily.

“Probably not, but we’re both wondering about it.” He moved in, stepping between her feet.

“I’m not your type.”

His fingers slipped into her hair. “I’d say that’s for me to decide."

“You’re not my type.”

“I think I can change your mind,” he whispered. And then his mouth came down on hers.

If he’d been gentle, she might have been able to ward him off. Perhaps he realized that, because he gave her no chance to think, just dragged them both into the kiss.

Heat. Friction. The warmth of mouth, the slick of tongue. The pleasure burst through her in a furious blend of taste and texture until it was all she could focus on. He kissed her as though he owned her, as though he’d watched her and learned every nuance of her. She had no defense for it, no way to hold back, and even if she had she was too dazed to want to. The hand she’d pressed against his chest to stop him curled into the fabric of his tunic, because she was suddenly afraid that if she didn’t hold on, she might go spinning away into a hot madness.

Cady had kissed guys before. She’d always figured it wasn’t a big deal; she knew what it was about. She knew nothing, she realized as she tasted Damon, inhaled the scent of him, felt the brush of the stubble on his chin.

And she wanted more.

He’d kissed her because he’d been curious, because he was tired and more than a bit annoyed at having her on his mind. It stung his pride to be preoccupied with a woman who claimed to be indifferent to him. But when he heard that soft gasp of pleasure, felt her finally surrender and slide her arms around him, it wasn’t about annoyance or curiosity.

It was about desire, pure and simple.

He’d expected a quick, matter-of-fact kiss that would satisfy his curiosity. He hadn’t expected her to be soft and yielding against him. He hadn’t expected that apple-cinnamon scent of hers to wind into his senses and make him dizzy. He hadn’t expected her to give.

He hadn’t expected her to drive every other thought out of his head.

When he raised his head, it was for the sake of his own sanity.

Stunned, Cady stared back at him. Her eyes were huge and dark. Her mouth was swollen from his.

Abruptly, he felt annoyed with himself even as he wanted more. This wasn’t what he was supposed to be doing here. He’d come to Maine to change.

Suddenly, change didn’t seem all that appealing.

She shifted away from him, eyes clearing. Perversely, it gave him the urge to hold her tighter. Instead, he made himself release her.

She paced a few steps from him as though seeking safety. “Happy? Satisfied your curiosity?"

“Not by half.” His irritation rose a notch because he realized it was true.

“Too bad, because that’s it.” But her lips still felt hot and bruised from his. He’d kissed her as no one had ever kissed her. He’d woken up every sleeping desire she’d ever had. He’d made her yearn, and that scared the hell out of her.

Because she knew it wasn’t real.

“That’s it?” he repeated and started back toward her. “I don’t think so. I don’t know what’s going on here but you don’t start up something like this and just shut it down.”

“I wasn’t the one who started it,” she retorted.

“But you were part of it. And you kissed me back, you can’t pretend you didn’t."

Cady could feel her cheeks heat. “So you’re a good kisser, big deal. You ought to be, after all the practice you’ve had."

Her jab didn’t make him angry, as she’d hoped. His slow smile was far more dangerous. “Practice has made me good at a lot of things. Want me to show you?"